Windy Sydney

I have been thinking a lot about the roles of women in the Church over the past couple days as you might have noticed by yesterday nights quick thought. This really bugs me. Every once in a while all the sexist crap floods my brain and I see anger for a few days until I can blog about it and take a deep breath.

Out of nowhere the other day, I remembered something that happened to me at girls camp when I was a teenager.

My friends and I packed up our stuff, grabbed our sleeping bags, and piled into one of the many minivans (or Mormon-Mobiles as my brother and I loved to call them) said a prayer for our safe arrival in the Wasatch Mountains, buckled up, and say church hymns for the entire three and a half hour drive. We were all very excited for the trip, we had been planning and talking about it for two months.

After what was supposed to be a quick bathroom break at a gas station that turned into an all-out junk food binge inside the convenience store, we arrived at our destination.

We all hopped out of our Mormon-Mobiles and took a look around. One of the first people I recognized was my bishop.

"Wait!" I thought to myself, "I thought this was supposed to be girls camp! What the Hell is this jerk doing here???" I guess it's fairly obvious that I didn't care for the man too much. I was more than disappointed to see the bishop because he was extremely arrogant and sexist. I didn't know this at the time, but he had even disowned his own daughter because she married a black man. Yeah... he is a real winner.

My leader gathered us up and we all set out to pitch our tents and organize our camp. I had put up a tent millions of times before because my parents took us camping all the time, and ours was up in no time. I walked around to help the others.

I saw a group of girls (the snobby-popular ones) really struggling with their tent. I walked over to help them out. One of the girls (Melanie if I remember correctly) was having trouble with the plastic poles that snap together and thread through the fabric to give the tent support. As I was trying to show her a better way to go about it, I heard some loud laughter behind me.

I turned around to see my bishop sitting on a bench (a log). He had his feet propped up on an ice chest and it looked like he found the sight of a group of teen girls having trouble with a tent absolutely hilarious. He had been sitting there laughing at them the entire time. Melanie looked like she could cry at any minute, and a couple of the female leaders looked at him in disgust.

We ended up getting the tent up with a little teamwork, and a little while later I talked to one of the leaders who witnessed what was going on. I asked her why the bishop was at our girls camp. I could tell she didn't care for the "Lord's appointed" because she took a deep breath and closed her eyes as if she was trying to regain her composure.

She told me this bishop was there in case of emergency. I wasn't really sure what she meant by that, and she said, "In case someone needs a blessing."

Late that night I was saying my prayers, and something like this went through my head:

"So... God... If Melanie, or another member of the brat-pack trips over Bishop-A-Hole's ice chest, you won't hear a blessing for her unless some guy says it? I mean, this guy is a first-class jerk, yet he has more pull with you than I do? What's up with that, God?"

And, before anyone suggests I made this up, I will ask you to go home and pray about it. It really happened. My bishop really was that rude, and this really happened.

So, Mormons... What is up with that?

Why do women have to go through a man in order to get to God?

Do you get how sexist and unbelievable that is?

Does God listen to men more than women?

Why would God be like that? What sense does that make???

Andee