I Have A Really Good Excuse!

It's a short blog this week, but I have a really good excuse. I've been visiting my adorable granddaughters!

She just can't sit still for the camera.

Neither can Grammy.

Thank god the General Authorities in Salt Lake stepped up to the plate this week and wrote the satire for me.

Stung by the persecution they suffered in the press last October when they denied women admission to the semi-annual General Priesthood Session, the Brethren made the brilliant decision to not only ban women, but also reporters--providing this blogger as well as at least one member of the press with the kind of high satire we could never have invented ourselves.

Honestly, what would bloggers like me do without them?

Then famous funny man, Dallin Oaks, used his time at the Priesthood Session pulpit to assure his exclusively male audience that women have authority!

Not to be outdone by his elders, 62-year-old Neil L. Andersen, the youngest Mormon GA, reminded the faithful that the church is still adamantly opposed to gay marriage--prompting Jeffrey R. Holland to make the following hysterical observation:

"Unfortunately, messengers of divinely mandated commandments are often no more popular today than they were anciently . . . and because their words at times seem harsh, LDS leaders are accused of being "provincial, patriarchal, bigoted, unkind, narrow, outmoded and elderly."

--Well, that almost covers it. Throw in homophobic and he nails it. 

Do you see what I mean Gentle Readers? Not even Colbert could come up with this stuff.

And how does Elder Holland view the likes of us?

"...if people want any gods at all, they want them to be gods who do not demand much, comfortable gods, who not only don’t rock the boat but don’t even row it, gods who pat us on the head, make us giggle, then tell us to run along and pick marigolds."

--Oh . . . I'm giggling all right.

Stay At Home, Sisters

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Bishop Paul Zimmerman
Subject: Priesthood Meeting Protest

It's come to our attention that some members of the Abbottsville Fourth Ward intend to travel to Salt Lake City to attend an upcoming protest. Before packing your bags, please read the following missive from Church Public Affairs to the event organizers.

Dear Sisters,

The Brethren have held some wonderful conversations over recent years relative to women in the Church and the invaluable contributions we make. The recent changes you have seen, like lowering the missionary age for sisters and encouraging them to dress attractively, serve as examples and were facilitated by the efforts of many extraordinarily fine looking LDS women around the world. 

After aggressively surveying their wives, daughters and secretaries, the Brethren have concluded that women in the Church, by a very large majority, do not share your advocacy for priesthood ordination for women and consider that position to be extremely unladylike. Declaring such an objective to be non-negotiable, as you have done, actually detracts from the helpful discussions that the Brethren have held as they seek to dictate the thoughts, concerns, and hopes of women inside and outside of the Church. 

The priesthood session of General Conference is designed to strengthen men and boys as they receive specific instructions about their stewardship over women; therefore we are unable to fulfill your request for tickets. You are certainly welcome to view the live broadcast of the priesthood session on lds.org, the Mormon Channel or BYUtv, at home where you belong--and dressed in any appropriately modest clothing. Even pants.

Your organization has again publicized its intention to demonstrate on Temple Square during the April 5 priesthood session. Activist events like this detract from the sacred environment of Temple Square and the spirit of harmonious patriarchy sought at General Conference. Please reconsider.

If you feel you must come and demonstrate we ask that you do so in the free speech zone we've set up a short twelve blocks away from Temple Square, conveniently located near the Harmons Neighborhood Grocery where many of you choose to shop. (See attached map.)

Kindest regards,

Kimberly Baker
Wife of an official church spokesman

If you would like to stop receiving these emails, we ask that you make your request in the aforementioned free speech zone. (See attached map.)

Also check out another great review for The Girls from Fourth Ward, this time from talented blogger, Jono! Read it here!

Darn, I Missed General Conference!

Mark and I were in London last weekend, where Season Four of Downton Abbey actually took precedent over the first worldwide broadcast of the LDS General Priesthood Session.

Coldly cut off from the one and only true church, I had to wait until I got home to hear the inspired words of the Lord's anointed. Of course my primary sources were exmormons here in the states--most of whom seemed more interested in my sneak peak at Season Four of Downton Abbey. 

Here are the few snippets of the 183rd Semi-Annual General Conference that I managed to gather:

• The feminist sisters from "Ordain Women" were gently turned away from the General Priesthood Session when the Brethren blocked their entrance with a garbage truck. 
• Singles, divorcees, and gays were treated to yet another scolding from Dallin Oaks.
• President Dieter Uchtdorf humbly admitted that LDS Church leaders had "made a few mistakes" over the years, evidently with the hope that this would inspire the feminists, singles, divorcees, and gays (etc.) to come back to church.
• No word on whether they ever moved the garbage truck. 

Meanwhile, I was in London, surrounded by an infinitely more civilized, sophisticated, and welcoming society. Whenever I visit their wonderful city, I am amazed by how these tactful, genteel, and proper people are so adept at getting straight to the point. For example:

And then there's the theater!

According to the Daily Mail, Prince Harry recently took in this hit show in the West End. Isn't that smashing?

My next challenge: figuring out where to escape during the April conference.

Sorry President Uchtdorf, Carson's a way bigger rock star than you'll ever be.

Priesthood Session, Warm Fuzzies, Scary Temple Scene

Recently, a group of Mormon women requested tickets to the General Priesthood meeting. The LDS Church countered with the claim that the physical presence of women in the Conference Center would violate the sacred bonding between fathers and sons who attend the session together. As a feminist, I admire the efforts of this small number of women who seek to equalize their status within their church. But as an Ex-Mormon, I can't fathom why anyone would want to sit through this mythic snore-fest. Moreover, I question how much father/son bonding takes place during 90 or so minutes of verbal chloroform that is only enlivened by occasional scoldings toward those who are single, gay, or sometimes tempted to touch themselves.

But then, the Mormons are expert at promoting their bizarre and tiresome rituals as warm and fuzzy spiritual experiences. Lieutenant Matt Ryan discovered that when he inadvertently found himself inside a Mormon temple endowment session--under the guise of Brother Zimmerman, whose temple recommend he'd borrowed. It's just part of my new novel, False Prophet. (Yes, this is more flagrant self-promotion for my book--did you think it wouldn't be?)

Excerpt from False Prophet:

A voice from the speakers said, “We are instructed to clothe you in the Robes of the Holy Aaronic Priesthood.” I heard, “place the robe on your right shoulder.” It lost me after that. I saw that my neighbors were removing their Dearfoams. I popped mine off too, with barely a tug at the overtaxed elastic, and rummaged through my clothing for a robe. I found a long skinny scarf, what appeared to be a hat, and a folded square of white cotton. I figured it for the robe.

“Need help, Brother Zimmerman?” (actually Ryan.)

I looked up to see Brother Booze and a handful of others standing and staring down at me. 

“Nope, I got it,” I replied, and jumped to my feet. 

What they called a robe looked more like one of those sexy drapes that actresses wear in movies set in ancient Greece. It fastened with those annoying little hospital gown strings that I never could properly tie. When I at last completed the task, I looked around to see that the entire room was now fully accessorized and seated. Brother Booze leapt to my aid. 

“Where are the rest of your temple clothes?” he whistled. 

Indeed, where had they gone? The young red-haired man on my right collected them from underneath his seat. He stood, handed my hat to Brother Booze then tied the long white scarf around my waist. Booze placed what looked like a baker’s cap on my head, and came around behind to tie yet another string, this time connecting my hat to the shoulder of my robe. I stood still and stiff, aware that every eye was on me. 

Brother Red Hair searched under his seat again then mimed, “Where is it?” 

I shrugged. 

“Your apron?” Booze whispered. 

“The green thing?” 

Booze nodded. 

“I’m still wearing it.” 

Booze and Red Hair hiked up my skirt on either side. I flashed back to the pained expression of my fellow kindergartner, Rhonda Tressler, after I’d performed what I thought was a harmless playground prank. Brother Booze removed my apron and motioned for me to tie it around the outside of my clothes. Then the three of us sank gratefully into our seats. Red Hair pointed at my feet. 

“Brother Zimmerman, you need to put your slippers on,” said Brother Booze. 

Right. The Dearfoams. I guess I could manage that on my own. I found the left one in front of me on the floor and then felt around for the other. Shit. It must have traveled. If only the goddamned elastic wasn’t so tight. I dropped to my knees, searched under my seat, and those around me. I thought I spotted it, but when I touched the toe it moved. This was getting me nowhere. I climbed back into my seat and aimed a desperate look at the officiator. 

He cleared his throat. “Will the brethren in the room kindly check around their chairs for a stray slipper?” 

The room roiled with the bobbing of white caps, until a polite whisper of discovery came from behind, and the shoe floated hand over hand in my direction.“Thank you, brothers,” I murmurred before returning it to my foot and facing the altar. 

The officiator sent me a withering look and motioned to Brother Booze. Booze glanced over, grabbed the baker’s hat that dangled from my shoulder, and put it back on my head.  

I smiled up at the guy at the altar. He nodded, sighed, and depressed the button that activated the voice of God.

That will do! For now.

Click here to order False Prophet--and check out its first 5 star review from Mikayla Anne Pratt!