In this space, Mormons benefited from the power of the collective. Together they strengthened bonds, experienced joy, and shared knowledge. For those too young to remember the violence and ostracism earlier pioneers faced, I wonder if they took this space for granted.
“Mormon pioneers believed God led them to this spot. God’s blessing meant they could claim the land as their divine birthright. In exchange, they were to build a righteous kingdom on earth.”
“Daniel planted our family in the soil of the Mormon church. He watered us with his loyalty to them. His faith in the gospel’s truthfulness was the warm sun, inviting us to sprout and bloom, taking hold of the church dogma with blind trust.
As adept as he was in finding good dirt for corn and wheat seeds, he did not spot the church’s tainted soil, which allowed racists like me to grow. Or maybe, the less tasteful truth is he did see it and planted us there anyway.”
“Unfortunately, instead of being left to practice their faith peacefully, the saints faced intense mistreatment for nearly fifteen years before beginning their mass exodus to Utah.
Their beloved prophet, Joseph Smith, was murdered in Carthage jail while awaiting trial. Shot in the back while trying to flee the assassination attempt by an angry mob.”
“Settled” is such a cozy word. I like to settle into a comfortable chair or settle down for a warm winter nap. But for eager settlers like Henry and Elizabeth Wood, there was nothing cozy about settling into the raw Canadian land which Britain had given in exchange for their allegiance.”
I was born into the Mormon church, baptized at eight. I received a patriarchal blessing and worked hard to be a faithful Latter-Day Saint. I planned to attend Brigham Young University and expected to marry a returned missionary to build a family. I was continuing a faith tradition my family had worshiped in for overContinue reading “Redemption”
“Conversations with Racists Like Me,” is a writing idea I have been actively trying to ignore for nearly four years. The thought creeps into my brain when my guard is down in the wee hours of the night. It whispers when my anxious busyness cannot distract me. Much energy has been spent in avoidance. AtContinue reading “Beginnings”
TERESA’S THOUGHTS: Instead of sharing about the book writing process, I want to share why I am writing this book at all. A book which is an autopsy of my own racism. Where I learned it. How I stayed blind to it. And where I might go from here. This dissection is painful and messyContinue reading “Bridge”
TERESA’S THOUGHTS: On Monday I attended a writing group which meets in a conference room at our local library. This is not a critique group where writers share their work in progress. Instead, this group meets to write. Most bring laptops we plug into a shared outlet at the center of the room. A fewContinue reading “Writing With Others”