Entertaiment

Last week in Relief Society, the question was raised: “Why is it so difficult to forgive ourselves?” And in my ever-helpful way, I suggested that it was because, when it comes to our own sins, we are in unique possession of all the facts.

“You only see what I did,” I said, “or read what I wrote, or heard me at the ward chili cook-off refer to the congealed mess in crockpot number thirty-one as seaweed and pond scum gazpacho.’ So if I say, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know crockpot number thirty-one was yours, I’m sure it’s absolutely delightful!’ then, in your kindness, you will forgive me. But I know better. I know that after I made that crack about your chili, I secretly high-fived myself for being so clever. And knowing I’m so snotty makes it harder to forgive myself.”

(In the interest of full disclosure, our own ward chili cook-off is tomorrow night, and it’s entirely possible I made up that gazpacho bit to intimidate the competition. See what I mean?)

This is also why I don’t make a habit of reading books like Forget Me Not. I love President Uchtdorf as much as I can love anyone I’ve never met but who, in his seventies, still has great hair and unapologetically sports a tan at General Conference.

But those books, those talks whose message is, “Ladies, you’re born awesome and you’ll die awesome and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise” just start to wear on me after a while.

Because, being in full possession of the facts, my truthful response to such a suggestion is, “President, if you spent one day inside my head, your next book would be Forget Me. Please. It’s Dark in Here, and Mean, and No One Has Done the Dishes in a Month.” I hope the good folks at Deseret Book would help him tighten up that title, but you get the point.

So we go to the general Relief Society meeting and get these wonderful, uplifting, encouraging talks, because apparently we’re like Mary Poppins with amnesia: We’ve forgotten we’re Practically Perfect in Every Way.

But we know otherwise, don’t we?

I was invited to speak at a stake women’s conference a couple of years ago, and the stake Relief Society president wanted me to deliver the message, “Stop whining and live up to your potential already.” It helped that the conference was on the other side of the country; made it sort of a drive-by chastising, like when the mob brings in out-of-town muscle to slap on the cement overshoes.

And I have to say, it was the most fun I’ve had with a bunch of women in a long, long time. We were able to let our hair down, in a manner of speaking, and just get real for a couple of hours. No more mind-reading, no more pretending we were something different than we were.

No more Mary Poppins.

It wasn’t one of those awful, maudlin confess your sins’ events. It was mostly just admitting that we women are every bit as capable of stirring up trouble, slacking in our callings, and failing to learn the doctrines that are actually the reason we even have a church in the first place-as anyone else. And it doesn’t hurt to be reminded once in a while that we’re made of better stuff, that D&C 121 is more about people than it is about Priesthood, and that every one of us has sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’

My kind of encouragement is the type that holds my feet to the fire and expects me to own everything I say, do, write, and think. Insist that I know the scriptures. Require me to seek revelation, and increased understanding of true, eternal doctrines and principles. Hold me accountable for my stewardships, all of them, even the ones that are inconvenient and I moan about every month. And don’t tell me I’m awesome when I know for a fact that I’m merely wonderful.

Because to be honest, you’re flattering me straight to hell.

******

On an unrelated note (No. Seriously. This has nothing to do with the above article.) this will be my last submission as a regular contributor to Meridian Magazine. I have thoroughly enjoyed spending the past year with all of you, and I’ll miss our regular pow-wows. But my other writing and speaking obligations-which I love, don’t get me wrong-are requiring more of my time than ever before. And while I’m delighted with the changes that are on the horizon, it has become apparent that something has to give. Thank you to the Proctors and the good people at Meridian for giving me a voice and half a million readers to yap with. And please! Visit me often at my blog, “My Real Life Was Backordered.”   The conversation will go on, as long as you drop by and say, Hey.’

Much love to you all,

DeNae.