When I was a baby, I was adopted by two wonderful, loving parents. I was given love, safety and security, and every opportunity to grow. My talents and abilities were fostered and encouraged. I really could not have asked for a better life, and how the Lord had guided me and protected me through that vulnerable time as a baby and led me to parents who would also guide me and protect me. I felt like I had gotten extremely lucky. Growing up as an only child I felt like I was my parents’ princess. The three of us were so lucky to have each other. Being adopted felt like something that made me unique, and I fully embraced it and accepted it as being part of my story. I understood that my birthmother had been young, unable to care for me, and had given me up because she wanted me to have a better life. I was Joseph with the coat of many colors– set apart, favored, and special– but also immature and full of pride. At age 18, I was preparing to go to college to study voice, which was my lifelong dream. Just after my birthday, I was reunited with my biological Mom, and all of my understanding of the circumstances of my birth, adoption, and of myself completely unraveled. I discovered that my birth mom had kept me for almost a year and then surrendered me to the department of social services where I became a ward of the state. A year later, she became pregnant with my half-sister and kept her. A few years after that she had my half brother and kept him too. I learned that she had no idea who my biological father was, which was contrary to the information she had sent along with me to my social worker. She came to my family home to meet me, and I proudly sang her an aria by Mozart to show her who I had become and how I used the life and talents that she had given me. She stared blankly at me and said, “Wow. If I had had voice lessons I would be able to sing just like you.” She then commenced to talk about how stunning and talented my younger sister was. As I tried to develop a relationship with my birthmother and extended biological family, it strained my relationship with my parents. None of us had anticipated how hurtful this meeting and relationship would be. My parents and I had thought it would provide answers to questions and fill in gaps. Instead, it created more questions, more confusion, and more gaps. This is when Satan started whispering lies to me. My young, prideful heart and immature self believed them. Satan whispered, You were a mistake. You were an accident. You weren’t wanted. Your birth mom didn’t want you and she still doesn’t want you. Your parents’ first choice was to have a biological child and you were second best. You aren’t your parents’ perfect princess anymore. You were born out of sinfulness and you are sullied by it to your very core. You don’t have a right to be here. You weren’t good enough then and you aren’t good enough now. If your own biological mother can reject you and forget about you, it means that no one can ever really love you. You have to earn your worth in the world by accomplishing and achieving things. I was Joseph in the pit. My heart and soul were in the darkest depths of an emotional pit and I didn’t know if I would ever come out of it. An anger and unforgiveness formed around my heart and locked me in like a prison. I felt a soul-crushing cognitive dissonance around feeling lucky and grateful for my parents along with this aching wound for feeling “tossed aside”–having been the only one excluded from my biological family. Some extended biological family members even added to this feeling, with one commenting that my presence was so disruptive to their life that they couldn’t wait for me to be given away. I was crushed. I felt like I was worthless. Ten years later when I started having my own babies, this anger and unforgiveness towards my birth mom festered and grew. As I looked into my first daughter’s eyes at 11 months, the age I was when she gave me away, both a sadness and a rage burned inside me. As each of my four daughters were born and reached this age, my rage grew. The prison walls closed in tighter. Four years into my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, miracles started happening surrounding this pain and unforgiveness. As I came to know Christ better, I came to understand just how valuable I am to Him. I came to understand, through His example, how to forgive, as He too was rejected by the people He loved. The Holy Ghost reminded me that Christ had also been of low birth, technically born out of wedlock to a teenage mother. Later, the Lord extended a true miracle to me. I bore my very first testimony as a new convert. I stated that while I didn’t know my biological Dad, I was so grateful that He sent me to my parents and that He gave me the ability to create my own family with my husband. Two days later, my biological father’s identity was revealed through a 23andme DNA test I had taken years earlier. My biological Dad had NO idea I was even born. He took an interest in me, my husband, and my daughters immediately. He told me how I was a gift from God and a blessing. He hugged my parents and thanked them for being so wonderful to me all of these years. He reminded me that God doesn’t make mistakes and that people do not come to earth by accident. Meeting him answered so many questions and connected so many dots for me. I started finding refuge in the scriptures, particularly 1 Nephi 21 and Isaiah 49. As I sang “I Am A Child of God” with my young daughters, I started to really believe it. I had experiences in the temple with biological ancestors who confirmed to me that I was NOT an accident, that I was sent here on purpose, by Jesus Christ. But still, deep down, I was in the prison. I still couldn’t find forgiveness for my birth mom. Even as all of these experiences were happening and the Lord was slowly healing my heart, I still couldn’t make the leap from knowing that I needed to forgive her to actually being able to do it. I prayed and prayed for a change of heart. After over 20 years, it finally came through studying Genesis 42-50 in the Old Testament for Come, Follow Me. I was reading chapters 45 and 50 of Genesis, and through Joseph’s example, I found my forgiveness. Joseph was rejected of his own family. He was sent to the pit, and later the prison. (and Joseph had it SO much worse than me! I merely felt wounded for being rejected!) In Genesis 45 when he was reunited with his brothers, there was not a hint of anger or unforgiveness on his part. He said to his brothers, “Now therefore be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you…So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God” (verses 5, 8). In Genesis 50:19 he says, “for am I in the place of God?” The forgiveness I felt for her was spontaneous and immediate upon reading these words. So much so that it took my breath away and the tears began to flow. I read the words again, as the Spirit read them: “It was not SHE who sent me hither, but God. Am I not standing exactly in the place where God needed me to be?” The Holy Spirit continued by telling me that The Lord wanted me to forgive her and free her and myself from this prison of unforgiveness-“You can let her off the hook now. This was all of God’s doing, and all things shall give thee experience and shall be for thy good!”-just as the Lord had said this to Joseph Smith in D&C 122. I came to this part of what ancient Joseph said to his brothers, in Genesis 50:20 ”But as for you, ye thought evil against me, but God meant it unto good.” But God. The victory of Satan’s lies were short-lived because God meant ALL of my experiences and heartache unto good. When we know the Lord, we can trust that even our pit and prison places can be used for our good. God led me to my wonderful parents, and I had a safe and happy childhood, and we get to be an eternal family someday. By facing the truth of the circumstances of my birth, I have uncovered a deep sense of the divine dignity that exists within every human being. I learned through my Endowment in the temple that my parents who adopted me are my rightful parents and that I can be sealed to them. The temple president told me this just before the ceremony started. This was a tender mercy of confirmation for all three of us that it truly was God’s will from the start that we belonged together! I was NEVER unwanted! This experience has also made me all the more fiercely protective and loving towards children. I have witnessed firsthand how God was able to turn my heartbreak and my pit and prison places into a refiner’s fire that has helped me to understand Christ better and what He went through. The fruits of this are more humility, more compassion, and the desire for my bowels to always be filled with mercy. Sometimes our pain feels like a mountain that won’t ever move– But God.

There is a Bible story you won’t be learning about this year as part of Come Follow Me and Sunday School. It’s the story of the Woman of Thebez found in the ninth chapter of Judges. I see this oversight as a tragedy. This single chapter of the Old Testament contains incredible imagery relating to prophecies in the Book of Mormon, the Pearl of Great Price, Isaiah, and the New Testament. And, in my estimation, it is a profound commentary on the power of priesthood women have and will have particularly in the future. So let’s dig in! First off we have Abimelech, a man who would claim authority to rule Israel through his mother. Although the great judge and military leader, Gideon, was Abimilech’s father, what ultimately matters when it comes to priesthood descent in Israel is the mother. For instance, Ishmael may have been Abraham’s son, but he was not Sarah’s son, and so did not have the authority to claim the promises of the Abrahamic covenant[1]. Likewise, Abimelech was the son of Gideon’s concubine, and so had no claim to any authority. Yet somehow he convinced a people with a system of judges, similar to that in the Book of Mormon, to make him their king. The usurper Abimilech killed all seventy of his brothers except one, Jotham. This last survivor delivers a prophecy to his people in the form of a parable about trees. Sound familiar? (see Jacob 5). In this parable all the trees ask an olive tree to be their ruler, but the olive tree has a greater work to do, blessing the people with its oil. Likewise the fig tree and the grapevine refuse the honors of men offered them because their purpose is to nourish the people with food and wine. Are you listening with your spiritual ears? Food, wine, and olive oil? Finally the people turn to a thorn bush and ask him to be their king. This bramble ironically offers to provide shade for the trees, along with a threat to light himself on fire and burn all the cedars of Lebanon if they do not accept him. Let’s pause for a minute here and recap. A usurper king takes over what is essentially a democracy, by claiming authority through his heritage. Someone else we know did something similar. In Moses 1:19, “Satan cried with a loud voice and ranted upon the earth, and commanded, saying: I am the Only Begotten, worship me.” Begotten of whom? Born of whom? Also, in Isaiah 10 we are told that in the last days, Antichrist, code named “Assyria, rod of my anger”, will destroy the forests and cedars of Lebanon, as he conquers the world. In case you weren’t aware, throughout the scriptures trees are symbols used to represent people. One prime example that relates to our story in Judges is that of Nephi’s vision of the tree of life. Nephi is shown a vision of a tree bearing fruit. Next he is shown a vision of a mother bearing fruit. The tree of life in this vision represents Mary! (see Daniel C. Peterson’s “Nephi and his Asherah”[2]) Why is this important? Because the trees in Jotham’s parable are also all bearing fruit. They are female. And who is it in Judges 9 that destroys this Antichrist type? A woman! And not just any woman, a woman on a watch tower. Just to quickly sum up the rest of the story, King Abimilech is putting down rebellions in his region by, you guessed it, rounding up the trees…uh I mean people, and setting them on fire. Some of the people even flee to a temple and are burned alive. But the people of Thebez gather in a strong tower . From its height a woman sees the plot of Abimelech to destroy her people and, from her great height, she drops an “upper millstone” on his head. Spiritual ears listening time again! A woman, from a higher place, crushes the head of the usurper. What was Eve, (who by the way was created in a higher, more heavenly place, i.e. the Garden of Eden), promised after she partook of the fruit of the tree of knowledge? She was told she and her posterity would have the power to crush Satan’s head! Am I using too many exclamation points? Are you as excited about this as I am?! And who is it that is the stone of stumbling and a rock of offense to the wicked, but a stone of help to the righteous? Jesus Christ. He who is the first fruits of the tree of life, the tree that is the Mother. Want to know something else cool? The stone of help mentioned in 1 Samuel 7:12 is called an Eben- Ezer . Do you know what Eve is called in the garden of Eden? Adam’s Ezer – an help to meet his needs. So essentially, just as Christ is our stone of help, so too women represent Christ as an Ezer, the help that is sent to this world to meet its needs with Jesus Christ. What does this mean for you and me as women of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? Well, first of all it’s important to understand that the image of a watch person on a tower is used in the Church to denote prophets[3]. And a watchman in our day, President Russel M. Nelson, has said, “the women of this dispensation are distinct from the women of any other because this dispensation is distinct from any other. This distinction brings both privileges and responsibilities.” Then he has a footnote in which he comments that our time will “merge with the Second Coming of the Lord”. He goes on to say that the kingdom of God cannot be complete without “women who can speak with the power and authority of God!”[4] (his exclamation point, not mine!). But, in 2018 President Nelson also said “I fear that too many of our brothers and sisters do not grasp the privileges that could be theirs. He was speaking of priesthood privileges[5]. What are these priesthood privileges the prophet desires the women of the church to claim? They are the “spiritual treasures” he spoke to us about in his talk of the same title in 2019. And while I don’t think you’ll stick with me through an entire commentary here on that talk, I would encourage you to take the time after you’ve finished this essay to read, not just President Nelson’s October 2019 General Conference address[6], but to delve into the footnotes and scriptures he links to his comments to better understand the incredible priesthood power and privileges he is referring to when he invites us to “draw the Savior’s power into (our lives)”. Spoiler alert: He references people like Enoch and Melchizedek who walked and talked with God and had incredible spiritual gifts. Is it any wonder President Nelson went on to make the bold claim in 2020 that women in our day have “the spiritual power to change the world”[7]? If we have women who personally know the Savior, the way other prophets like Alma, Nephi, and Enoch personally knew him, if we had women who could draw on the power of their covenants and manifest the kind of godly power on this earth that in the past was used to prophesy, move mountains, defeat armies and most importantly, help to bring others back into the presence of God, could this crush Satan’s head and change the world? Oh yes, it could. Can you see now why I lament our Come Follow Me manual skipping from Judges eight directly over to chapter thirteen? What a travesty to miss this incredible type and shadow of our day! But this does not mean you cannot open your mouths as President Nelson encouraged us to and share these things with others. I would recommend you gain an understanding and testimony of them first though, if you haven’t already. Perhaps start with Isaiah and the Isaiah explained website. There is so much feminine imagery in relation to end time prophecy in Isaiah! Zion is a woman. We are the daughter of Zion. Zion herself is a land flowing with milk and honey, milk that can only come from females, honey that is only produced by female bees under the authority and lineage of a queen. I mean, can it be any more clear that women play an astoundingly important part in the establishment of Zion in these latter days? And now that you know about the whole tree symbolism thing, maybe you’ll be better equipped to pursue the exciting journey of exploring all the other hidden treasures the Old Testament has to offer you this year. One final thought, if you are concerned I might be encouraging the women of this church to get a little too big for their britches, remember what Moses, another watchman on the tower said: “would God that all Jehovah’s people were prophets, and that Jehovah would put his spirit upon them! (King James’s exclamation point, not mine!) (Numbers 11:29) Here is an example of a watchman on a tower, wishing there could be others up there with him, standing beside him. Will they be women? Will it be you? [1] Judges 8:3 1[2] Peterson, Dan. “Nephi and Asherah.” Journal of Book of Mormon Studies. Vol. 9, No. 2, Article 4. [3] “Watchmen on the Tower.” Ensign. April 2016. [4] Russell M. Nelson, “A Plea to My Sisters.” General Conference, October 2015. [5] Russell M. Nelson, “Ministering with the power and authority of God.” General Conference, April 2018. [6] Russell M. Nelson, “Spiritual Treasures.” General Conference, October 2019. [7] Russell M. Nelson, “Embrace the Future with Faith.” General Conference, October 2020

Recording of our November 9th, 2021 Fireside Conversation with Melina Wheelwright Brown about her book Eve and Adam: Discovering the Beautiful Balance . Melinda Wheelwright Brown earned a bachelor’s degree in economics from Brigham Young University and is a respected teacher and public speaker. She has a passion for solving problems, particularly those faced by women. This has led to her involvement in and support of several organizations, including Fight the New Drug, Days for Girls, Better Days 2020, Big Ocean Women, and the Elizabeth Smart Foundation, where she’s a current board member. Melinda and her husband, Doug, are the parents of four children and have recently entered the delightful world of grandparenthood.

“Pilate . . . said unto him, Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born” (John 18:37). He had the power to save Him from the cross, but he did not do it. He stated and restated that he found no fault in Him, yet he washed his hands of Him. Nevertheless, Pilate’s wife had told him, “Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him” (Matthew 27:19). This woman was excluded from the halls of judgment. Earthly power was in the hands of Caesar, of his governors, and of the Pharisees, yet Heaven turned to her, a woman, to warn her husband. She was ministering to her husband for the cause of justice. But the sentence of death was passed anyway. They did not listen to her still, small voice. What would have been the course of history had this woman’s advice been heeded? Whipped, crowned with thorns, vilified, nailed to the cross: this was the King of the Jews. A sheep silent before its shearers, a lamb led to the slaughter, acquainted with grief, He drank the bitter cup until the last drop and then gave up His spirit, finally freed from the agony of the Atonement. He bore our griefs and carried our sorrows, and with His stripes we are healed. (see Isaiah 53:3-5) Upright women stood in tears at the foot of the cross with their hearts full of love and sorrow for their Master: their faith was stronger than the fear of the soldiers, than the sword that pierced Jesus’ side, than the nails that pierced His hands, than the Pharisees who rejoiced before the dead Christ. They were witnesses. Unheard still, small voices. Even the elements of nature suffered and were moved by the death of their Creator. Then it was evening, His body wrapped in linen and laid in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. Silence. The Sabbath was a day of rest. But what rest could be found in the hearts of those who were not heard? Of those who called for justice and did not obtain it, of those who called for mercy and did not receive it? The first light of dawn painted the sky pink and the women, ready, on Sunday morning, brought the spices they had prepared in honor of the body of their King. They provided sacred ministry in honor of His physical tabernacle. But the stone was removed! The tomb empty, the linen folded, but where had they placed the body of their Lord? Two angels in refulgent robes came to them: “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen” (Luke 24:1 – 6). What news! What astonishment! The women ran quickly to warn the Apostles, who were locked in fear inside a room. Christ is risen! The tomb is empty! But, “their words seemed to them as idle tales, and they believed them not” (Luke 24:11). Their still, small voices went unheard. Yet, Peter rose and ran to the tomb with John, and they found things as the women had said. And Mary stood outside the tomb weeping. A voice spoke to her: “Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away” (John 20 :15). And then a still, small voice called her by name, “Mary!” She immediately recognized and responded to that voice: “Rabboni!” which is to say “Master!” (John 20:16). What an immense joy! What an extraordinary surprise! Her immediate affectionate impulse was gently stopped: “Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended to the Father: but go to my brethren and say unto them: I ascend unto my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (John 20:17). Again Heaven chose a woman for an announcement of great magnitude: “Jesus Christ is risen! I have seen the Lord!” And her voice was heard. “My dear sisters, whatever your calling, whatever your circumstances, we need your impressions, your insights and your inspiration . . . My dear sisters, we need you! We need your strength, your conversion, your conviction, your ability to lead, your wisdom, and your voices. We simply cannot gather Israel without you.”[1] May our voices be raised with loving steadfastness as we minister at home, at church, and in our society. May they be an echo of the whisperings of the Spirit: sweet notes that cheer, comfort, enlighten, and nurture. And if at times they are not heard on earth, let us persevere in faith: we will reap in due time. Heaven always listens. [1] Russell M. Nelson “A Plea to My Sisters” October 2015 General Conference; “ “Sisters Participation in the Gathering of Israel” Oct 2018 General Conference.

Elder Wong, in this last General Conference, shared the New Testament story of the man stricken with palsy, who was borne on the shoulders of four people to the Savior. When they could not enter because of the crowds, with determination they hoisted the man to the roof, cut a hole in the roof, and lowered him down so he could be healed. Jesus, seeing their faith, healed the man and forgave his sins. We are invited by Elder Wong to imagine this story in a modern church setting. One of the people bearing the sick man is a Relief Society sister, another a young man from the ward, another the Elders’ Quorum president, and finally a full-time missionary. (Although in Elder Wong’s version the missionary was a man, we might just as well envision a woman in this role). The modern imagery imposed on this ancient tale is stunning. It is the story of our cooperative ministry. “In order to assist the Savior, we have to work together in unity and in harmony. Everyone, every position, and every calling is important. We have to be united in our Lord Jesus Christ.” Each of the four people had a specific and crucial role to fill in the healing of their sick brother. They literally had to bear the burden together, hoist together, lower together, to bring him finally to the Savior. But as we learn how to pull together, let’s not forget the man stricken with palsy. He — every weak and seeking brother or sister — is the reason that any of this matters. For their sakes, we must accept the insight and skills that every woman or man brings to the table. For their sakes, we must lay aside pride and preconceptions, and invite everyone to lift the litter, believing in our cooperative strength. What role do you see yourself playing in Elder Wong’s story? What elements of our church community or culture keep us from cooperation? What kind of environment supports cooperation? How can you cultivate it in your ward or family?

Guest writer, Joseph M. Spencer is a philosopher and an assistant professor of ancient scripture at Brigham Young University. He has degrees from Brigham Young University, San Jose State University, and the University of New Mexico, having earned his PhD in philosophy from the last institution in 2015. He is the author of four books (most recently 1st Nephi: A Brief Theological Introduction), the coeditor of four collections of essays, and the author or coauthor more than fifty articles and book chapters. His work focuses on philosophy, theology, and scripture. Illustration of Abish by Jody Livingston Because readers of the Book of Mormon today often wrestle to make sense of its portrayal of women, an otherwise obscure figure from the Book of Alma has in recent years become an oft-celebrated heroine. Mormon recounts the story of Abish in Alma 19, and we’d do well to slow down and sift this particular scriptural text whenever we come to it. In fact, we’d do well to return to the story often, since there Mormon gives us one of the very few glimpses into the gender culture of the Lamanites—which, as the prophet Jacob tells us from early in the Book of Mormon, looks quite different from the dominant Nephite gender culture we spend most of our time reading about.  As one of only a few Book of Mormon women whose stories are told in enough detail to provide us with a real sense of their contribution, Abish deserves to be called a foremother for faithful Latter-day Saints today. Abish is in fact a remarkable example of what we’d today call intersectionality. That is, she finds herself without social privilege in three ways at once. First, as a Lamanite, she was or certainly would have been treated as a racial other by the light-skinned Nephites who stand at the center of the Book of Mormon’s larger story. Second, as a woman, she finds herself without certain social and cultural opportunities enjoyed by her brothers. And finally, as a servant, she was located at the bottom of a steep economic ladder, lacking rights and privileges others had.  Abish’s social circumstances echo a passage early in the Book of Mormon, where the prophet Nephi says that God denies none who come to him, “black and white, bond and free, male and female.” On all three of those measures, Abish could count on those around her denying her access to things and opportunities. In fact, the way Mormon tells Abish’s story, it seems he deliberately highlights her triple disadvantage. The story focuses first on the Nephite missionary Ammon, a figure of privilege in all three ways: he’s a Nephite, a man, and a prince. But then it comes to focus on Lamoni, the Lamanite king. Lamoni lacks one form of privilege since he’s a Lamanite, but he shares with Ammon the other two forms of privilege, in terms of gender and class. As Lamoni falls into a converting swoon, however, the story shifts its focus again, now to Lamoni’s wife. This queen lacks two forms of privilege Ammon enjoys—she’s not only a Lamanite, she’s also a woman—but she shares at least one form of privilege with him, since she’s at the top of the economic hierarchy. Finally, though, as the queen too falls into a spiritual trance, the story comes to focus at last on Abish, who lacks privilege in all three regards.  Mormon thus moves his readers through the story, tracking with them how each succeeding focal figure is less and less privileged but nonetheless stands at the center of God’s work in converting the Lamanites. This progress comes to its culmination with Abish, who essentially has nothing going for her. But, although she could count on human beings to treat her as less valuable because of her sex, her race, and her class, she didn’t hesitate to trust that God would use her. She seized the opportunity to set something crucial in motion, and it turned out that God had prepared her for exactly the moment she was willing to improve on. Abish marks the turning point in the history of the Lamanites. After five centuries of privileged Nephite men going among them hoping for missionary successes, it turns out that it’s this poor woman of color who stands at the fulcrum and initiates what is still the work of fulfilling God’s covenant promises to a misunderstood people.  Abish leaves us with work to do. She shows us that God sometimes has to push everyone with privilege out of the way so that he can call on those despised by the world to do the most crucial work. And she doesn’t hesitate to affirm God’s universal love despite social barriers, demonstrating to everyone that God means what he says through his prophets about real equality. Abish is a Book of Mormon figure for the twenty-first century. We struggle to achieve the ideal, and too often we resist making the changes God calls us to make so as to see that ideal realized. But Abish was ready and willing, divinely brought to the right place at the right time to begin to see God’s grandest promises fulfilled. Heaven help us to be so ready and so willing—and, where our own privileges obstruct the work, heaven help us to let God gently move us out of the way so that he can do his work.

"Woman at the Well" by Kathleen Peterson The first person to whom Jesus announced his ministry (at least recorded for us) was the woman at the well. When Bethany Brady Spalding and I were writing our Girls Who Choose God for the Bible, we had to sift through a lot of options, but this one was a shoo-in. I LOVED the lessons taught by Jesus’ choice. In choosing this woman, Jesus was proclaiming the importance of women, the seemingly insignificant, The Other. The woman at the well was female, from a different tribe, was poor. Christ lived two millennia ago. We wrote that book almost a decade ago. NOW, the importance of loving The Other seems the need of the hour. (Perhaps it has always been.) So, I admit, I almost started writing this essay by citing Trump and vaccines and abortion and gender etc, etc, etc –All the things that currently divide us so starkly. I may have proved my point when people immediately turn off and quit reading, but I would have lost the ACTUAL point— it is time for us to learn to love The Other. Who is The Other? Could be anyone. Could be many. Could be few. Could be a group. Could be an individual. Could be your neighbor, your spouse, your teenager, your friend. Could be yourself, even. I don’t know about you, but I have spent a lot of the last few years being disgruntled at The Other. I can whip myself into a self-righteous frenzy with internet memes and statistics. I can eyeball, snort, disdain. I am sorry to admit it, but this comes easily. What does not come easily is love. In this divided world, it seems almost impossible to feel respect for The Other. When I considered writing this topic, I felt a certain amount of despair, frankly. But then I remembered the Capitol Hill Ward. I lived in Washington, DC for more than a decade and prayed my way into the ward boundaries of the most soul-nourishing congregation I have ever known. What made so much light infuse that place? I would submit, loving and serving The Other. The ward was a wide range of polarities across race, age, and politics. As you may or may not know, the Capitol Hill ward is located on Capitol Hill of Washington, DC. It is filled with The Others. (Perhaps the same as your own ward, if you dig in a little.) In this ward, many many of the members worked for the federal government, the legislature, social justice nonprofits…on all sides of the issues. We had the chief of staff of one of the most conservative legislatures as the bishop and Hilary Clinton’s speechwriter as his executive secretary. Politics was not just our job, it was a passionate display of our values system. How in the world did this ward function so well? Because we had so much need in the ward that all politics took a backseat to serving. We came to respect each other as we served together. (Even as we continued to disagree…and we did.) As I drove across the country this summer, I saw a wide range of beliefs. And I started asking people along the way about loving The Other. One woman told me she had grown concerned about herself and how much she reinforced her scorn of others through news sources, conversations, social media. She saw that NOT loving The Other was impacting who she was becoming. I was inspired by her. What does it take to love The Other? It certainly does not require agreeing. It does not require not fighting what you consider the good fight. It does not require subsuming your values. It does, however, require kindness, respect, civility, a sense of humor, and perhaps not forwarding memes? (I’m guilty of this within the last hour, even.) Let’s not propagate the otherness. And, if my softer language is not motivating you, how about a clear statement from Jesus in the sermon on the mount? “But whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hellfire.” (Matthew 5:22) Yeah. I think that’s pretty clear. Feeling the temperature rising in my world… But, because I am a person who likes to know HOW to do something, I called one of my dearest friends who’s got super smarts and almost always thinks differently about something than I do. I’ve known her for almost three decades. We have a deep and respectful history, even as we’ve learned to navigate our differences. (In order to write this article I had to practice, too.) Here is what we came up with:   PRACTICAL TIPS – Disengage online when it’s a pile-on. – Don’t judge. Revelation can take you different places. It’s literally ok to disagree. The world can have nuance. – Seek to be united. One heart and one mind does not mean we think the same. We are united in loving. – Get to know someone who thinks differently than you do. Respect them, if not their choices. You don’t have to agree, but practice seeking to understand. – Check yourself. Are you building or tearing down? Are you being hard-hearted or soft-hearted? Are you worrying about someone else when you simply need to check your own beam/mote situation? – Put a reminder as you walk out the door…I happen to have a namaste statue. This phrase literally means, “the light within me honors the light within you.” The statue is a way to remind myself that all children are children of Heavenly Parents and should be treated with kindness. – Learn how you fight with a soft heart…without demonizing. If you engage with a difference of opinion, stick to the topic. Name-calling is never the way to understanding. – Make an effort to enlarge your literal or online bubble. Do you live in a smug or only reinforcing world?   Loving the Other can be hard. There are valid concerns… How do you love someone when they are hurting others? As a different friend pointed out, “What does loving Nazis look like? I stand by and let them take my neighbors?” Good question. A well-read friend recommended the story The Hiding Place , if you want to be humbled by what loving The Other can really look like. Another friend pointed out that we still sometimes need boundaries around The Other. You can love from a distance. Loving does not mean letting toxins seep into your life from an abusive relationship. Another inspired friend taught me more. She said – Our Heavenly Parents are the ultimate proof of loving The Other. How foreign must we be to Them? How disappointing? Aggravating? Ridiculous? Mistake-ridden? And, yet, we are repeatedly told that They LOVE us. That They never give up on us. They are eager to welcome us home. I went back to Capitol Hill ward this summer. Sacrament meeting had just ended and I turned around to find my old bishop/friend/cousin had run up to me to welcome me back with a big hug. This was the same man who had joking/not joking warned me to not teach his children about my wild-and-crazy environmental stances as I baby-sat his toddlers. He and I agree on nothing politically— but we sure do respect each other’s service and sense of humor. We were always able to find the good in the other. Perhaps that’s the key. Look for the good. Focus on the good. Celebrate the good. May we feel that same eagerness in practicing loving The Others we meet here and now. Probably today. So, this is less of an essay and more of a clarion call— let us love one another, as God has loved us.

Kay Moore was an eccentric member of my ward who I respected and loved but did not initially understand. Two years ago, in 2019, I felt a strong impression that I should take time to really listen to her. Kay and I arranged to meet weekly for a few hours, often at a local café, during which she would share her wisdom and her life stories. I wrote these things in a book that Kay titled, Observations of an Ordinary Woman . Here I record a shortened version of her influence on me and others. My appreciation for Kay grew as I understood her life stories, which she had kept largely to herself for 50 years. She had much to say about her philosophies, but sometimes lacked words to describe her tragic losses. She had been brutally assaulted at age 19 when she and a friend hitchhiked home from finishing school. At age 21, she was raped by her supervisor in the Navy and then subsequently gave birth to a child she gave to a family she chose at an adoption agency. Her father shunned her without finding out the facts. And, most painfully, at age 24, she lost her soulmate to suicide three weeks before their wedding date, after a drug overdose affected his brilliant mind. Reeling from these losses, Kay began to help marginalized people. She began by welcoming teenagers into her home who needed shelter and encouragement. When Kay told them, “You are loved, wanted, and important,” she felt like God was telling this to her, too. Later, she housed international students and more young people finding their way in life. Then, in the latter part of her life, she cared for developmentally disabled adult men in her home. In 2001, the missionaries knocked on Kay’s door, being a welcoming person, she let them in. The Gospel they preached felt good, and this surprised her. Her soulmate, Dennis Despain, had grown up as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints but was not active when Kay met him, in part, because of how his homosexual friend was treated at Church. She first met a bishop of the Church when he arrived at her door to tell her Dennis was dead. She first entered a Church building when attending his funeral. And, Kay initially believed that the religious expectations Dennis had grown up with had added to his despair.Her first impression of the Church was wrapped up in these painful memories, but as she investigated, she felt the love of God more strongly with this people than any other of the many religions she had sampled. So, in April 2001, she was baptized and received the Gift of the Holy Ghost. Kay told me that joining the Church was the best decision she ever made. She explained that during the years she had sat in Church, wisdom distilled upon her in that atmosphere of love. She finally had words to describe the beautiful things that life had taught her.Kay was diagnosed with advanced inoperable cancer in December 2020 and passed away in April 2021. During her final months of life, she taught me and many of her volunteer caretakers beautiful truths, some of which I list here:   “Coming to God” is an intellectual decision to accept the idea of loving Heavenly Parents and allow Them to love you.   The first thing God did when creating the world was to observe the materials He had to work with. Then He created light to further appreciate the materials before Him. Likewise, we need to first observe and unconditionally accept our circumstances and the people in our lives. Only then can we effectively fashion an authentic life for ourselves and eventually be able to pronounce it “good.”   In the scriptures, there are “mind-patterns” to help us survive and really live. For example, in Exodus 20 we learn that God is a “jealous” God because He wants to be in our hearts first, so that we will be OK. His commandments are His reminders to keep His loving presence in our lives and treat His other children with respect. His last commandment to “not covet” is a reminder that He loves us just the way we are, and wants us to see ourselves as sufficient.   When you see a problem and can do something about it, why not do it? Everyone has a dysfunctional family, and someone has to give a damn. Helping others always requires sacrifice, but in the end, you and everyone around you will be better off because you cared.   Kay was a mother in every sense of the word – biological mother, adoptive mother, foster mother, and nurturer of the marginalized. I believe that it was her unconditional love of the people around her that opened her mind to big truths. And thus, she was also a spiritual “foremother” because her wisdom helped me and others see the love inherent in the Gospel and its invitation allow our Heavenly Family (Father, Mother, and brother Jesus Christ) to love us. Her influence lives on in the lives of the many people she helped and taught.

I think the word foremother can be a noun or a verb. A noun, as in a mother who is situated before others, and a verb–to be a foremother, to care and nurture for those in front of you. So often we talk of foremothers–mother Eve being the praiseworthy epitome of such. But how often do we think about the ways in which we are foremothers? What are we doing to forge the path for future generations? A few weeks ago I read an article about an extremely inspiring woman in church history. I was baffled that I had not heard much of Martha Maria Hughes Cannon– a woman’s suffragist, physician, lecturer, wife, mother, and senator. Cannon graduated from medical school at the University of Michigan in 1881, after which she graduated as the only woman in her class from the University of Pennsylvania Auxiliary School of Medicine as the ONLY woman in her class. She then moved back to her home state of Utah, married republican candidate Angus M. Cannon, entered the race as a democratic senate candidate and defeated her husband. Cannon was the first female senator in the United States of America. Aside from serving two terms in the legislature, Canon raised six children, advocated for women’s suffrage, and served in the medical community until the day she died. Martha Maria Hughes Cannon’s story left me speechless. I called a friend and asked her if she had heard of this woman before. She hadn’t but was also baffled and amazed by this woman’s courage and legacy. Cannon pushed boundaries in her day. She stood alone much of the time–whether as the only democrat in her family, the only female in her class, or the only woman senator in the country. Cannon’s example and courage made a significant impact on women around her, and it still does today. I am a student at a CES school, and yesterday I attended the very first annual LGBTQ+ Pride Celebration organized by students from my school. We marched just south of campus. The next day, I woke up to see my picture on the front of a local newspaper–yelling and holding my sign. I felt proud to be representing the LGBTQ+ community, but I was nervous to have the picture so public because I didn’t want some of my friends and family who do not support that cause to say unkind things about me. Then, I remembered Martha Maria Hughes Cannon, and how she, too, pushed boundaries. I am sure that Martha Maria Hughes Cannon had people judge her and speak unkindly about her. But in the long run, we remember her for setting the stage for so many women in medicine and politics. Martha Maria Hughes Cannon was a foremother. But we all have an opportunity to be a foremother. Whether it is to actual children, younger siblings, or future generations, our actions now have the power to affect millions of others. I know that God gives us the strength to be a foremother, to push boundaries, to stand out and speak out, even when it is uncomfortable.

In 1996, statistics for Church membership indicated that there are now more Latter-day Saints outside the United States than within it. The next milestone in the Church’s international progression was four years later when language statistics switched to more than 50% of members speaking languages other than English. [1] Today, the LDS Women Project seeks to provide a platform that amplifies diverse LDS women’s voices through our interviews and essays. We do this by providing faith-based resources and inspiration to Latter-day Saint women from around the world. In an effort to make the LDSWP resources more accessible to our Spanish-speaking community, we are pleased to announce a collaboration with Refugios Fuertes, an organization dedicated to amplifying women’s voices and strengthening homes in South America. In our interview with founder Alejandra Salas, she states: “I think we’re living in a unique period in the world. Our leaders say that all the time. Evil is all around us, but the truth is that opportunities also abound, especially for women. Today we have a lot of privileges that our mothers and grandmothers didn’t. We just need to keep focused to feel encouraged and strengthen our homes. Our goal in Refugios Fuertes is to share that vision with other women and encourage them when they come up against life’s different situations with resilience and courage. I have been strengthened by listening to the experiences of other women and I have learned a lot from them. I think that we all have stories that could strengthen others.” [2] We hope that this collaboration will enrich all members of the LDSWP community. En 1996, las estadísticas de la Igleisa indicaron que había más Santos de los Últimos Días fuera de los Estados Unidos que adentro. El próximo hito en la progresión internacional de la Iglesia ocurrió cuatro años más tarde cuando las estadísticas de languages cambiaron a más de 50% de miembros hablando lenguas aparte de inglés. [1] Hoy, LDS Women Project (el Proyecto de Mujeres SUD) busca proveer una plataforma que amplifica las voces diversas de mujeres SUD por nuestras entrevistas y nuestros ensayos. Hacemos esto proporcionando recursos e inspiración basados en la fe a las mujeres SUD de todo el mundo. En el empeño de hacer que los recursos LDSWP sean más accesibles a nuestra comunidad de habla español, nos complace anunciar una colaboración con Refugios Fuertes, una organización que se enfoca en amplificar las voces y fortificar los hogares de Sud América. En nuestra entrevista con la fundadora, Alejandra Salas, ella declara: “Creo que estamos viviendo una etapa única en el mundo, lo dicen los líderes constantemente. La maldad está en todas partes, pero la verdad es que también abundan las oportunidades, especialmente para las mujeres. Hoy en día tenemos muchos privilegios que nuestras madres y abuelas no han tenido. Creo que, solo necesitamos mantener la visión correcta para poder sentirnos animadas y lograr fortalecer nuestro hogar. Nuestra meta en Refugios Fuertes es justamente trasmitir esa visión con otras mujeres para alentarlas a afrontar las distintas situaciones de la vida con resiliencia y ánimo. Yo me he fortalecido escuchando las experiencias de otras mujeres y he aprendido mucho de ellas. Creo que todas tenemos una historia que puede fortalecer a otras.” [2] Esperamos que esta colaboración enriquezca a todos los miembros de la comunidad LDSWP. Resources: [1] thechurchnews.com/archives/2000-09-02/other-languages-surpass-english-117840 [2] Find the rest of Alejandra’s story in our interview section

In March of 1838, the newlyweds, Wilford and Phebe Woodruff, were in Maine where Phebe had accompanied Wilford on a mission, and where she was staying with her family in town. On an afternoon off from preaching and traveling, Wilford and Brother Cyrus Sterrett went with their wives for a visit to the shore. Wilford writes that they: “…went several hundred yards from shore to a sand bar (it being low tide), to dig clams. The ground near the shore was much lower than the bar we were on, and while we were all busy digging clams and talking “Mormonism,” the dashing of the waves of the incoming tide against the shore suddenly made us conscious that we had fifty yards of water between us and the shore. The surf waves also added to our difficulty, and as we had no boat, our only alternative was to cross our four arms, thus forming a kind of arm-chair for our wives to sit upon, and carry them in turn to the shore, wading through two-and-a-half feet of water. By the time we got our wives and clams safely landed, the truth of the maxim was firmly impressed upon our minds, that “Time and tide wait for no man,” not even for a preacher of the gospel.”[1] Wilford, writing about this in his autobiography Leaves from my Journal , calls it “Adventures in the Surf.” Adventures, indeed. This was one of the more fun adventures the couple saw in their long lives and is a great example of their life as a pair: they’re just glad to be in it together. Phebe Whittemore Carter was born in 1807 in Scarborough, Maine. She was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1834 and moved to Kirtland, Ohio, soon after, where she met and married Wilford Woodruff in 1837. It was only a few months later that Wilford was called to serve in a mission in the eastern United States, and as they were just married and Phebe’s family was there, she went with him on the trip. And so we see their partnership and love story begin. Wilford, Phebe, and her father Ezra Carter, with daughters Susan and Phebe, Boston, 1849. Courtesy of Ron Fox Wilford took the Bible verse to go “without purse and scrip” to heart and couldn’t afford the coach ticket for both of them on the whole journey. He writes, “On my arrival at Hartford, not having money to pay the fare for both of us, I paid my wife’s fare to Rowley, Mass,…and I journeyed on foot.” What he means is he let Phebe ride in the coach and he walked 136 miles in two-and-a-half days to catch up with her.[2,3] Phebe gave birth to the first of her nine children the next year while still in Maine. Sarah Emma was born 14 July 1838, and the new parents were as excited for her arrival as every young couple. While Wilford writes about the new baby on the day of her birth, it is Phebe that he’s concerned about the rest of the week as she’s starting to recover. He writes an update about her each day in his journal and spends the better part of the first several days sticking close to home helping with projects around Phebe’s sister’s house. Phebe and Wilford were separated often, leaving Phebe on her own for many of the challenges that faced the early Saints, yet she was not without support; like us today, she relied on a network of friends, family, and church members. When the couple were together, Phebe accompanied Wilford on speaking assignments, nursing the sick, and visiting the Apostles and their families. On 1 July 1839, before Wilford left on his first mission to England, Phebe and Wilford hosted the Prophet Joseph Smith, Hyrum Smith, Sidney Rigdon, and the Twelve Apostles for dinner at their house, then she and the wives of the other elders, Brigham Young and John Taylor, heading to England spent the evening at the Youngs’ home. Sidney Rigdon, joined by Joseph and Hyrum, gave Phebe and the others each a blessing.[4] For any of us today whose family has faced an overwhelming new calling, we can imagine the comfort it would be for the leadership of the Church to recognize the sacrifice she was making and bless her for what was to come. A similar scene unfolded five years later when Phebe and her children were preparing to accompany Wilford on his next mission to England, this time with Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball offering the blessing. Wilford records the blessing in his journal , writing that Phebe’s “life & health shall be precious in the eyes of the Lord and in the hour of distress & trouble thou shalt be preserved by the power of God.”[5,6] It was powerful moments like these that strengthened Phebe’s faith and made her equal to the tasks ahead of her.Phebe shares her own experiences of great faith, as well. In December 1838, while traveling through Ohio with Wilford on rough roads in the cold weather, Phebe was dying of brain fever. Wilford writes, “She called me to her bedside in the evening and said she felt as though a few moments more would end her existence in this life. She manifested great confidence in the cause she had embraced, and exhorted me to have confidence in God andto keep His commandments.”[7] Despite Wilford fervently praying for her recovery, she died the next day, December 3, yet Wilford blessed her and she revived. Phebe told her husband about what she experienced while he was standing over her body, which, of course, he recorded in his journal, “While this operation was going on with me (as my wife related afterwards) her spirit left her body, and she saw it lying upon the bed, and the sisters weeping. She looked at them and at me, and upon her babe, and, while gazing upon this scene, two personages came into the room carrying a coffin and told her they had come for her body. One of these messengers informed her that she could have her choice: she might go to rest in the spirit world, or, on one condition she could have the privilege of returning to her tabernacle and continuing her labors upon the earth. The condition was, if she felt that she could stand by her husband, and with him pass through all the cares, trials, tribulation and afflictions of life which he would be called to pass through for the gospel’s sake unto the end. When she looked at the situation of her husband and child she said: ‘Yes, I will do it!'”[8] Hearing Phebe telling of this experience in her own words allows us today to feel of her strong spirit and her conviction in the choices she made. By 1838, Phebe and Wilford had already experienced hardship, but it was nothing compared to what was coming. Still, Phebe chose to stay with her husband and weather the trials heading her way. It wasn’t even two years later that she lost her first baby, Sarah Emma, and had to write a heart-wrenching letter from Nauvoo to Wilford in England. She writes, Phebe letter to Wilford 6 Oct 1840 “…you cannot think how much I miss little Sarah Emma her death has disarmed me of all courage & fortitude. . . . O pray for me Willford that I may have grace and strength equal to my day–for I feel like a lonely child on the earth now but I endure it as for Christ sake knowing that nothing but a sense of duty to our heavenly father would cause us to part with the enjoyment of each of each others society; but I will try to be patient and take as good care of our little lad as I can untill you return, which I pray God may be soon, for it seames that you have been gone an age . . . do tell me something about when you think of comeing HOME.”[9] Sarah Emma’s death hit Phebe hard, just as it did Wilford when he got the news. When we read her letter today, we recognize the familiar voice of a grieving mother trying her best but just wanting her husband to come home to her. It’s comforting for the modern reader to feel her true, heartfelt emotions because they are so similar to how we would feel if we were in her position. In that same letter, however, she also shares the good news of the Restoration, as she writes of building the temple in Nauvoo and Joseph Smith’s revelation about Baptism for the Dead. It’s no wonder that every time she wrote her husband a letter, he commented on it in his journal with some variation of how he would “truly rejoice to receive” this letter. It was from Phebe that Wilford first heard this exciting new doctrine: “Now a few words from Brother Joseph sermon on the living’s being baptized for the dead that they may be judged according to men in the flesh; he has learned by revelation that those in this church may be baptized for any of their relatives who are dead and had not a…privaledge of hearing…this gospel even for their children, parents, bothers, sisters, grandparents, uncles, & aunts,— but not for acquaintances unless they send a ministering spirit to their friends on earth,— as soon as they are baptized for their friends they are released from prison and they can claim them in the resurrection and bring them into the celestial kingdom— this doctrin is cordially received by the church and they are going forward in multitudes, some are going to be baptized as many as 16 times— they have to be baptized and confirmed separately for every friend…Brother Joseph makes this doctrin look verry plain and consisten— he has been bringing strange things forward to the church this season— strong meat— he has delivered a course of lectures this season which were verry interesting…he says that the throne of God stands on the earth.”[10] Soon she would arrive in the Salt Lake Valley, after Wilford and Brigham Young brought the first settlers there. While Phebe was the first of ten wives for Wilford (six of those marriages were very short lived, lasting from under a month to two years), she remained his confidant and partner throughout their lives. Looking at her marriage and her husband’s new wives from a modern lens, we can appreciate even more her dedication to her faith and her commitment to her husband. Phebe saw her husband for the last time on 9 November 1885, after Wilford had been in hiding off and on since late in 1879, for practicing polygamy. She died the next day; Wilford was not able to attend her funeral but watched from afar. During her long life, she saw the Restoration unfold, she accompanied her husband on three missions, she spent Christmas day 1844 on a boat bound for Liverpool and “was much pleased”[11] with the Christmas cake, she lost five of her nine children before their third birthdays, she counseled with her husband as he took more wives, and she was sealed in Nauvoo, where she also finally had a home of her own. When we read the letters she wrote and received, and the commentary of her husband, we get to know Phebe not just as an early Church History figure, but as a real person. We can see her faith amid the trials she faced–losing children, polygamy, separations from her husband. Most of us don’t have to experience anything like what she went through in her long life, but we can gain empathy for what she faced and see how learning directly from the Prophet Joseph and the early apostles, her husband included, would have strengthened her and her family. Her letters are honest, heartfelt, often painful, and always full of detailed information. Hearing her own words as she tells her story gives us a glimpse into her life, thoughts, and spunky personality. We can get to know her as a loving mother, a dedicated wife and partner, and a woman of great faith. To learn more about Phebe and Wilford’s story, visit www.wilfordwoodruffpapers.org . Kristy Wheelwright Taylor serves as the secretary on the Wilford Woodruff Papers Foundation Board of Directors and as an editorial transcriptionist for the Wilford Woodruff Papers Project. [1] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/3952[2] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/3938[3] Wilford, Phebe, and her father Ezra Carter, with daughters Susan and Phebe, Boston, 1849. Courtesy of Ron Fox[4] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/4603[5] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/4728[6] Blessing to Phebe from Brigham Young and Heber C Kimball, 28 Aug 1844[7] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/4591[8] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/4592[9] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/3891[10] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/3891[11] https://wilfordwoodruffpapers.org/s/wilford-woodruff-papers/media/5695

One hand guiding the soft wooden casket, the other hanging awkwardly by my side, I shuffled next to my cousins and siblings, guiding my grandmother to a place of honor for her last mass. Torrey Medina Bartlett. We knew Mémé was dying. It had been coming for years. Still, my siblings and I marveled at the weight the news carried. This beloved figure of our youth had been gone for years, fading into the haze of her own second childhood, unable to recognize anyone but her son and daughters. Still, the permanence of death offered a sudden, visceral grief. A wave of this grief hit me as I rolled Mémé’s casket down the aisle and registered the words of the song being sung by the cantor up front, it’s melody hauntingly beautiful. “Going home, going home. I am going Home” Once the casket had reached its place of honor at the front of the chapel, my siblings and I took our seats a few pews back from our parents. In the midst of Covid, I couldn’t sit with my mother, Torrey-Yvonne. With an ache in my chest, I watched her straight back and thin, stooped shoulders, under her graying black hair. As she gazed at the remains of the woman for whom she was named only a few paces away, I couldn’t help but see my future self. My own turn which would inevitably come to sit in Mom’s spot, this time mourning her. Stained glass in basilica Notre-Dame de la Daurade in Toulouse Then came the next words of the hymn; “Mother’s there, expecting me.” My eyes welled with tears, some bittersweet emotion I couldn’t name rising up within my throat. My gaze shifted from my own mother to the coffin carrying her mother, to the heights of the chapel. A view complete with an ornate crucifix and stained glass and a vaulted ceiling covered with beautiful green-tiled mosaics. A view intended to invite the viewer to contemplate God. I did. But in this moment, honoring my maternal grandmother, worrying over my own mother, it wasn’t God the Father I instinctively thought of. Instead, I imagined God the Mother. The eternal Mother who was ‘there, expecting’ Mémé. Yes, the hymn was referencing her earthly mother, Margaret. A joyous reunion to be sure. But in that moment of spiritual clarity, I looked further to our Mother in Heaven. An eternal, loving being, greeting my aged grandmother as the child she is to Her. Welcoming her back to her heavenly home with the embrace only a mother can give. In death, I was beginning to see Mémé as not merely my grandmother, but as Torrey. A daughter of God the Mother and God the Father. A complex, full person who had existed before my earliest memories of her bouncing me on her knee and would continue to exist after this morning’s last glimpse of her aged, carefully posed earthly body. Mother’s there expecting me. I learned vaguely about the doctrine of Heavenly Mother as a child. Her existence was presented almost as an obscure, irrelevant fact. A quirk in Mormon doctrine. As I’ve grown, I’ve found myself searching for Her more and more. An academic interest transformed into a spiritual yearning. In a religion led by men, guided by sacred texts written by men telling the stories of men, praying to a male God in the name of a male God, I woke up slowly to the permanent grief of a mother erased. A mother I didn’t know how to appropriately search for or recognize. A mother whose name I didn’t know. There in that Catholic chapel, at a service honoring the matron of my family, I finally felt my Mother in Heaven. More than feeling her I recognized her. I recognized her in all the nurturing memories of my mother, Torrey-Yvonne, and my grandmother, Torrey. In the stories of Torrey’s bravery and faith in the midst of adversity. In the intrinsic need, I had to feel my own mother’s embrace in this moment of grief. In the intense memories of childhood surfacing, reminding me of the primal equivalence of the words ‘mother’ and ‘home.’ In the spirit of comfort and belonging that poured over me as I looked around at the extended family scattered throughout the huge chapel to honor this powerful woman. Try as we might, we could understand Mémé only through the narrow lens of our relationship to her: our mother, our grandmother. I imagined that reunited with both her Mother and Father in Heaven, Torrey was greeted and honored as her true, most authentic, and whole self. Stories were told in the eulogies, silly and poignant anecdotes that highlighted Torrey’s unique personality and impact on this earth. Pictures were displayed of her as a young woman with a wide smile and intelligent eyes. It made me ponder my inheritance. A love of writing, travel, and literature. A knack for helping people feel included. A desire to know God. A heart-shaped face, fair skin, and thick hair. A shared name. In a million indirect ways, I am who I am because of her. In this moment of stillness and reflection, I considered my spiritual heritage. Who am I because of Her ? What shared name can I know Her by? I only knew that whatever is good in me must be a direct inheritance from Her . Staring at Mémé’s coffin, I was overwhelmed by the comfort of this ancestry, and the recognition of the divine feminine. Passed down not just from mother to daughter but from all good women to their sons, their friends, their communities, their homes. The influence any woman has on the generations that follow her. Mémé is not valuable simply because of her relationship to me as my grandmother. She is valuable because she is Torrey. A beloved daughter of a Father and a Mother in Heaven. A divine individual apart from anything she ever did or created– just as our Mother in Heaven is. Unlike Torrey, though, I don’t know what to call my Heavenly Mother. I don’t know how to honor her as both my Creator and Her own divine being. Is she one-half of the plural Elohim? Does she have her own name equivalent to Jehovah? I don’t know her personality or have stories focused specifically on Her and Her divine nature. All I can do is keep searching. As I live my life and recognize the goodness in others I can attribute it to the goodness in Her . And, if one day I’m blessed to have my own daughter, I hope to be as good a guide for her towards Heavenly Mother on this earth as my foremothers have been to me. I already know that I will name her Torrey.