How would you respond to this (only a snippet of what I received):

I believe that there was some reason that the priesthood had been denied to the Blacks and that it was God who made that law, just as it was God who cursed the Lamanites with dark skin because of their disobedience. As to whether Blacks are born black because they were not valiant in the pre-existence is opinion and conjecture, but the regulation barring Blacks from the priesthood, was in itself a judgment from God. That is why it was necessary to have a revelation from God that it was time to have that doctrine set aside in preparation for the Second Coming.

It is my understanding that Cain and his descendants were cursed with not being able to hold the priesthood, and they were marked with a black skin so that others would know not to mingle with and marry them, therefore bringing the curse on their children, which was the same reason that the Lamanites were marked with dark skin. The reason that Blacks could not hold the priesthood is as old as time itself, and we don’t fully understand why, we just know that that is the way it was. Jews have historically been mistreated and hated and we know that that is a result of their ancestors’ responsibility for denying Christ as the Savior and bringing about his death. Their lot was to be smitten and scattered and become a hiss and a byword — the same for the Lamanites and their descendants, the American Indians.

None of the persecution and cruelty visited on Jews, Blacks or American Indians can be justified and explained away as “they deserved it,” but it was the consequence of choices made by their ancestors when they rejected God.

Let’s start with high school and seminary. Seminary should be the rough equivalent of a high school class on the book of scripture being studied. My impression was that it never aimed that high. In fact I think it aimed at being a very repetitive Sunday School class and it usually failed to hit that mark. The target that was most often struck was babysitting.

It seemed to me that the instructors wanted the students there so badly that they’d never risk frightening them off by actually requiring them to learn anything. Most classroom activities were designed to entertain rather than instruct or bring tears rather than academic learning. Since it is seminary occasional tears are okay, I suppose.

But I certainly didn’t come out of four years of seminary with same level of understanding that I got out of any of my other high school courses. More than once I asked seminary teachers why some sort of “honors seminary” wasn’t offered. There was certainly room for it with 2,000 students attending the program. They looked at me in horror (I must have come across as quite the elitist) and told me there would never be such a thing. More than once I was told to stop bringing up difficult subjects that the lessons (when there were any) raised. After one teacher gave me a flat out false answer in class he held me after to tell me that he wasn’t allowed to talk about the topic (the priesthood ban) and admitted to having misled the rest of the class.

I had friends that stopped going to seminary. The stated reason was that they had another class they wanted to take and couldn’t fit it into their schedule with seminary. But in truth the experience of being treated like an imbecile each day in seminary was incompatible with their high-school sized egos. If seminary had been something other than a waste of time they would have been dropping other classes in order to make room for it in their schedule, or going to early morning seminary.

Even assuming that an honors track is impossible for egalitarian reasons, I still think that a more rigorous program would do more good than harm, and would be an improvement for the majority of students over the babysitting that I witnessed.

Entering college I had high hopes for institute. These were quickly smashed. Our institute director was a local stake president who seemed more interested in devotional material than providing a college level course in the D&C. One day he said we were going to discuss a section that had recently in the news and asked us to guess what it might be. Since the September Six and the Strengthening the Members Committee were in the news I quickly mentioned D&C 123. He said, “No,” and quickly moved on. I approached him afterwards and was told that we certainly were not going to discuss that topic. At that point I decided that I wasn’t going to go to institute for the sake of going to institute. I was going to go because it was interesting to me and worth my time. Given that it was neither I stopped going to institute the rest of my freshman year and then left on for a mission.

When I returned to campus there was a new institute director who actually taught as if he had serious, intelligent college students as his pupils. He would bring up difficult topics and we’d discuss the issues around them. The difference was night and day. I would often take several courses at a time and continued attending after graduation. Other students were similarly energized and attendance went up dramatically.

This institute teacher eventually joined the faculty at BYU. I dropped in on one of his classes there once and found him teaching in the same energetic, engaging manner. Unfortunately the students clearly weren’t interested in anything more than babysitting. I lost track of the number of times, “Will this be on the test?” was asked.

Of course religion is a required course at BYU so students aren’t taking it just because they’re interested in it, which will increase the dead weight in any class. That experience however has made me question whether serious seminary and institute courses would work. Perhaps there aren’t enough students that want such an experience in studying their own religion. Or maybe they just been trained by the system to expect pablum.

I wonder if SIR/CES has considered ways to address these issues and how often the concept of actually teaching the subject matter as if it were a serious academic course rather than a serious of Sunday School lessons for the uninterested has come up.  I do know that Church leadership is very concerned about the activity rates of young adults, including the rate at which they attend institute.  Perhaps young adults would show more interest in institute if the material was interesting.  Certainly the gospel and various aspects of it have the potential to be the most interesting of subjects, but when we strip them of their complexity in order to indoctrinate those that have already been indoctrinated rather than educating them we risk pushing them away.  Show them the depth that can be had and they might just dive in.

As Mother’s Day approached, the inevitable question of what type of flowers to purchase came up. The Bishop decided that the ward would not give out flowers that year. He thought it was a silly tradition and not really worth all of the effort (I would guess his wife has not received flowers in years, if ever). However, he forgot to account for the fact that there were tense dynamics in the ward between the stay at home moms and the working moms/non-moms. The tension had been building between these two groups for months for various reasons (one sister in particular, a self-described former feminist turned stay at home mom was driving the tension). When Mother’s Day came and no flowers were given, several stay at home moms (including the sister who was a key driver of the tension) went to the Bishop in tears about not receiving flowers. The Relief Society President and the Bishop’s Counselors were blamed by them for the fiasco and many unkind things were said on both sides, including one sister telling the RSP that she "hated children and mothers", although, unbeknownst to her, the RSP was trying to get pregnant at that time. The Bishop then had to spend a lot of time talking to these sisters as well as the RSP and working mom types to resolve the battle. It was a battle brought on inadvertently by the Bishop between two sides already tense toward one another. It took many months (and the problem sister moving out of the ward) for the tensions to cool off.

In another Mother’s Day Sacrament Meeting a couple of years ago, a woman of 30 or so talked about how her entire life she was raised to believe she needed to get married and have babies. When she graduated from high school she went to college to get married then tried to have a baby for 5-6 years unsuccessfully. She told of how she hated Mother’s Day since she had no children and sometimes would not go to Church on Mother’s Day as she was so angry. They just had their first child a few months before this talk and, I think she was asked to speak about being a new mother, but that portion was lost in her talk. I think her story is sad, but I have heard this type of story many times before.

First, I believe that raising children is one of more important reasons we are here on this earth. However, it is not the only reason we are here on this earth. It makes me sad when women seem to stake their entire worth and value on the ability to bear children. What are we as a Church (and more broadly a society) doing when we make women feel that having children is their primary and sometimes only purpose here on earth? We are causing untold amounts of heartache, grief, and depression to women on either side of the motherhood equation (mothers and non-mothers), not to mention considerable tension between stay at home moms and those who are not in that position. Yes, being a parent is important but so is learning charity, learning to overcome temptation, serving others (both within and outside of the Church), person development, etc.

Personally, I think one of the many contributors to this problem in the Church is Young Women’s, where most of the lessons are focused on being a wife, homemaker, and mother, with few lessons on anything like getting an education, your self worth even if you don’t get married or are unable to have children, etc. Interestingly, the Young Men get lessons on a variety of topics. Perhaps if we taught the Young Women that they have significant worth regardless of their state of marriage or child bearing abilities, we would have less problems like those described above.

They were horizontal in the truck when they heard footsteps approaching through their rolled-down window. My friend didn’t think too much of it at first, so focused was he on the attractive young woman in the car. But the footsteps got nearer and nearer, until they finally stopped right beside the truck. My friend looked up and saw L. Tom Perry looking down at the two of them.

It was obvious where they had just come from, given their (now somewhat loosened) dress clothes, and the scriptures sitting on their dashboard. Elder Perry, in that inimitable voice of his, said to them with a big grin: “Nice day, isn’t it?”

They quickly sat up and adjusted their clothing. My friend stammered out, “Yyyyeesss, it IS a nice day.”

To which Elder Perry replied heartily, “Why then, let’s keep it that way!”

I think that story is hilarious, so vivid, and so embarrassing for my friend. But oddly enough, it has also helped me in my weaker moments when I am tempted to do something I know to be wrong. At moments like that, I’ll sometimes say to myself in a booming, gravelly voice, “It’s a nice day, isn’t it? Why then, I ought to keep it that way!” and then that temptation doesn’t seem so appealing compared to the beauties of a sunset, or cherry blossoms, or the cool breeze blowing across the greening grass.

This story I offer to you, dear readers, as I write from Utah on a beautiful spring day. For a laugh, but also in the hope that it may be helpful to you in those moments when you may be tempted to ruin an otherwise beautiful day.

So, ladies, do you ever wear nice pants to church? Do you know anyone who has worn pants to church? If you do know of women who have worn pants to church, were they all “feminists” (whatever that means)?

Men, what do you think of women who wear nice slacks to church?

Has Hillary Clinton ruined the LDS perception of the pantsuit?

o Starts at 9 pm (when it is finally dark). If you get there by 7 pm, you will be able to pick from chairs near and far and lawn wherever you want to spread out. Unless you want to pick out someone specific from the cast, there is no real benefit to being close.
o The show goes on rain or shine, so bring wet wear if appropriate.
o Get a sticker as soon as you walk in because the cast proselytes for the hour or so before the performance and they will keep approaching you if they do not see your sticker and will ignore you if they see it. I always walk up to a cast member (they are easy to spot—they are in costume) and ask for a sticker so I don’t have to talk to them again. You might be more social than I am.
o You can bring your own food but the only reason the town of Palmyra tolerates us is because their community organizations make a killing off concessions every year. I recommend the salt potatoes.
o There are anti-Mormon protesters every year. They cannot come on Church land to distribute literature, but you will not be able to avoid them if you park opposite the performance area, which most people do. I have never seen anything get very heated—most people just smile and walk–but they do sometimes get all kitted out in temple clothes.
o THIS ONE IS TOP SECRET—the Wednesday night before the pageant begins, they do a dress rehearsal and you can attend. There are no crowds, and probably no protesters (I can’t remember any).

Church Sites
o You are not allowed to remove anything from the Sacred Grove. No, not even leaves. Not even for your scrapbook, sister.
o Your experiences are pretty hit-or-miss and depend entirely on the missionary/docents. Most are light on the history and heavy on the testimony. If this is not your cup of tea, I suggest you avoid missionaries and guide yourself.
o Start at the most popular spots first thing in the morning and then fan out to the others (the ones that are farther out). The Grandin building will probably always be crowded, so try to get there right when it opens.
o The Palmyra Temple is worth a visit but you need an appointment and your own clothes. They bring out special missionary temple workers just for this season, so keep them busy! This is a mini Temple, but it is not like the other mini Temples—this is the super duper deluxe for Joseph mini temple. Give it a try—it won’t be like any other temple you’ve tried before.
o The Peter Whitmer Farm is out there, but it is my dad’s favorite. I must admit that I have never been there.
o I recommend you do some research before you come so you can visit some Church historical sites not owned by the church. I have visited the Inn where Brigham Young first received the Book of Mormon and the graves of Brigham Young’s first wife and other family members.

Historical Sites
o Erie Canal—take a boat ride, learn some history.
o Seneca Falls—not only was IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE filmed here, but this is also the home of the Declaration of Sentiments.
o Women’s Rights National Historical Park–free and fascinating–what more could you want?
o Susan B. Anthony House—the mother of our vote lived right here in Rochester. Tour her house, find the Utah connection (it’s there), and donate to the restoration.
o Fredrick Douglas Statues—The great man lived here for many years and published The North Star from here. He was the first black person to have a statue erected of him in the US, and you can see it in Highland Park but I really love the one in front of the Susan B. Anthony house of the real life friends conversing.
o Underground Railroad—although there are houses all over the region that served as stops, Auburn is a great town in which to enjoy this history in a compact area. Don’t miss Harriet Tubman’s home, Seward’s (of folly fame) home which served as a safehouse for runaway slaves, and the graveyard.
o George Eastman House—fascinating eccentric American inventor, his house in all its’ glory and fabulous photography exhibits.
o Mt. Hope Cemetary—one of America’s destination cemeteries. Final destination for Susan B. Anthony, Frederick Douglas, both Baush and Lomb, etc.
o Ganondagon–excellent cultural center for the Haudenosaunee–you call them Iroquois. They have a replica bark longhouse which is worth the visit in and of itself. If you are unfamiliar, I highly recommend becoming familiar with The Peacemaker.
o Jello Museum—Jello was invented in LeRoy, NY and the Museum is worth a visit—don’t make me convince you of the debt our culture owes Jello!
o Niagra Falls—I suggest you park on the American side and walk the bridge over to Canada. Make sure you have appropriate ID for all members of the family, even babies (copy of birth certificates). There is a fascinating but expensive Underground Railroad experience, too.

Local Points of Interest
o Sonnenburg Gardens—historic house and gardens.
o Letchworth State Park—if you want to camp or hike, this is a nice place to do it.
o Strong’s National Museum of Play—if you are traveling with kids, this is a great place to wipe out the memory of that last stretch through Ohio. Or to escape that pesky rain.
o Abby of the Genesee—this Trappist Montestary takes travelers and sells great baked goods—what else could you need?
o Tom Wahls—local fast food chain–they make their own root beer.
o Mushroom House—you’ve never seen anything like it!
o Nick Tahous—this restaurant is the originator of a local dish called a “garbage plate” but you can get knock-offs at many other diners. Rochester is the home of the hot dog—we call them “hots,” and they come in red and white. Try them.

There was a little house in the middle of the wood,

a little old man by the window stood.

He saw a little rabbit hopping by,

knocking at his door.

“Help me! Help me! Help me!” he said,

“Or the hunter will shoot me dead.”

“Come little rabbit, come with me.

Happy we will be.”

Residents of Cambridge, Massachusetts, get your TiVos ready! A guy I work with has a 30-minute slot on a local-access cable channel in Cambridge, and he invited me to come on his show to talk about Mormonism. On one hand I should feel grateful—a 30-minute show means I get double the time Warhol predicted. But 30 minutes to a Thursday afternoon cable TV audience in Cambridge makes me just about as famous as I would be by not appearing on the show at all.

In any case, I’m appearing on the show in a couple of weeks, and I’d like to go in well prepared with talking points. The format of the show is pretty basic: he asks questions and I answer them. But I’d like to have three key points that I can emphasize and use as an anchor for the discussion, regardless of what he asks. What three key points do you think would be most valuable to make? Any other recommendations?

I should note that if you are LDS it’s in your best interest to provide helpful feedback. If I perform poorly on the show, there’s going to be two or three people in Cambridge who might think less of your religion. And nobody wants that to happen.

Oh, she sailed away

on a sunny summer day

on the back of a crocodile.

“You see,” said she,

“he’s as tame as he could be.

I’ll ride him down the Nile.”

Well the croc winked his eye

as she bade them all good-bye,

wearing a happy smile.

But at the end of the ride

the lady was inside

and the smile was on the crocodile.

I’ve been pretty much incommunicado these last few months because life and its inevitable lessons have been kicking my butt. Bill and I have separated (one loud violent argument too many for me) and I’m living in a (nice, clean, modern, quiet) little trailer in a little retirement village (I was recently bitched out by the board for speeding—15 in a 10 mph zone—they want this whipper snapper to settle down) in Parowan, Utah and working in a school for troubled girls.

There are pluses to my evolution: I’m learning about the journey and the need to follow our hearts. I’m experiencing a time of inner and outer quiet that is allowing introspection and hopefully, self improvement.

However, I’ve experienced a terrible loss this last few weeks. My sister, Dessie (who I wrote about in my personal blog a little over a year ago) died April 20 at the age of 51 of pneumonia complicated by MRSA. I am bereft.

This is a picture of the five of us on Dessie’s 8th birthday. I’m on the far right, shorter than my tomboy little sister, Chris (who now is a big cheese at the university and dresses to the nines, the epitome of style and class). Dessie is the fourth one down the line. I realized looking at the picture, which I’d never seen, that Dessie and I look a lot alike. Her eyes were different than mine, a wonderful green and cat-shaped—more sparkly and brimming with laughter, but she is definitely my sister!

This is a longer version of a tribute I’ve written about Dessie for my column. I apologize for my maudlin self-indulgent mood. I hope this gives you a picture of the magnificent person who has gone from my life.

“Dessie is a little giggle… “—that’s a line from a hokey little poem I wrote about my four sisters years ago. I was trying to capture each of them, what I loved and enjoyed, in one sentence. Because we were essentially abandoned by our parents, we had, at a very young age, learned to depend upon each other. We were —and are—closer than most siblings. While this has been problematic in many areas of our lives, as we age, I’m immensely grateful for the gift that my sisters have been in my life.

Dessie was the fourth of us girls. She was indeed, a little giggle. She had the most infectious laugh and could find humor in the darkest of moments. She was talented musically and always mourned the loss of her career as a ballerina or a famous singer. After a sisters’ night out to see “The Turning Point” Dessie sobbed all the way home because she should have been a star. The rest of us ignored her until I couldn’t hold it in anymore and cracked up over her dramatics, to the tune of her weepy, “Shut up, Arlene. You don’t know what it’s like to have talent.” Or a reasonable facsimile.

She found a home in Alamo, Nevada just before high school. The people of Alamo took her into their hearts and she flourished. She was popular, a cheerleader all her high school years and junior class secretary and prom queen. She married (and later divorced) the valedictorian.

Dessie’s proclamations of talent were not without merit. She could dance and sing and lead music supremely well. For several years, she led a large regional childrens choir in Las Vegas which performed all over town. She had a way with kids, a leadership ability combined with an innate instinct for teaching that produced success every time she worked with young people. She was, for many years, the young womens president in her ward. Her boundless energy and optimism made her perfect for working with young women, who I consider the bane of the church.

She always had a big project going. I recall several times watching her pull up in their old truck, pick up a roto-tiller out of the back and proceed to till up not only her own garden spot, but several of the neighbors. She’d befriended several elderly widows and she would drag all her kids over to clean up their yards, yelling loud instructions and laughing often.

She was wonderful in countless ways, but not perfect. Don’t you find perfect people a bit tedious and boring? No, she was supremely and interestingly flawed, my sister. For instance, from the time she was a tiny girl, she could cuss in the most interesting ways. She’d lose her temper, a small whirlwind objecting to her big sisters picking on her, and call us terrible names as we stood there in amazement.

This temper got her into no end of trouble as a child, especially in some of the rough inner city neighborhoods of Long Beach where we lived. She started many a fight. Didn’t end most of them, but heck, she sure tried. Chris was always stepping in to rescue her as she was being pummeled, still yelling “I’ll kick your ass, you *******!” I myself would be sitting under a tree, lost in a book, oblivious to their fight. Chris would calmly pull the offending party off Dessie, punch them and send them off home while Dessie stood there, tears streaming down her dirty little face, shouting insults.

We’ve all tried in some way to redeem ourselves from the awful baggage of our white trash childhood and Dessie was no exception. She looked out for the less fortunate, taking groceries, mowing lawns, or providing a caring ear for the downtrodden. She didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word “no.”

We gathered at her house for our best parties, her loud laughter ripping through the rooms as we ate barbecued food and joked while our kids ran in and out. She was my best friend for much of my adult life and I spent long hours on the phone with her. I could tell her anything, I felt more comfortable around her, more myself, than with any other human being. The same is true of my other sisters, also, they are a part of me. I don’t feel I need to explain myself with them.

Again, nobody’s perfect. We had (and will probably always have) loud fights and disagreements. Strong opinionated screwed up women—what’s not for “Brother Contention” to love? But some bonds cannot be broken, even with a fight over whose kid started the fight.

Later, the wounds of childhood began to scar in terrible ways and life caught up with Dessie. She lost a lot as she struggled to deal with her inner pain but the most valuable thing she lost was herself. She lost the giggle. After the deaths of my children, the loss of my precious sister to mental illness has been the greatest loss of my life. Until now.

Dessie showed up unexpectedly at my house about six months ago, the same old smile, and for a moment, the laugh, the humor. I kept thinking “this might be the last time you see her” and I hugged her repeatedly, feeling her warmth, her aliveness, trying to savor and save it for later. I tried to pour my love into her and silently begged her to come back to us.

Still, the phone call from her son (sobbing, shaking, barely understandable) telling me his mother was dying (of pneumonia complicated by MRSA)on April 20 was a shock. This last few weeks have been a blur as we planned and executed her funeral. I remember moments. Her still warm body in the hospital, wrapping myself around her and rocking and sobbing, not wanting to leave her for a moment, but having to. Having to. God.

My sister, Chris, totally stepping up, staying in California and breaking through the red tape so we could bring Dessie’s body back to Utah for burial. To save money, she rented a van and drove Dessie back herself. I will always respect her for that. The Seinfield funeral that began with an organist who couldn’t hit a note (that was such a treat as I led the music and finally the congregation just burst into laughter, Dessie had to love that) and ended with a big “screw you” (from Dessie’s boyfriend to her children) playing of Kelly Clarkson’s “Because of You” at the cemetery. After “Amazing Grace” and the dedication of the grave. My poor mother in her wheelchair looking confused and traumatized as she sat by the large picture of her daughter which had been placed by the casket. My grandson refusing to leave my side as I cried, patting my shoulder and periodically hugging me.

I thank God for that last visit from Dessie, for that opportunity to tell her goodbye and “I love you.” Grief is a strange word, or maybe experience is a better word. Each death, each loss is unique because each person is unique to each other person. We cannot know how those who grieve feel; however, we will all inevitably lose those we love. So sooner or later, when someone tells you they’ve lost someone, you will only look at them and know there’s not a word you can say to ease that kind of pain. You can only, in seeming contradiction, know how they feel.

I’ve complained and whined and moaned a lot about the deaths of my loved ones. Truly, my heart has been broken over and over. However, I think I’ve learned something from this experience. Just a glimmer, a quick glimpse of how grieving can elevate one’s spirit instead of destroying it. I hope that God will work with me further in this and I can honor my precious sister by living my life with more joy and gusto and less fear. Blessed are we who mourn.