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It is often easier to speak about the parts of life that unfold as we hoped. I could talk all day, every day about the many good things that have come to my life since my wife and I were married. But it can be difficult and awkward to talk about the things that go wrong. Although I love talking about my marriage, it is much more difficult for me to talk about another major life event—when I returned home early from my missionary service for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after seven months. Speaking about my early return and everything associated with it just does not come easily. That difficulty comes largely from within: at some point, I came to see returning home early as a personal failure—something that should not have happened—and that belief made the subject unusually difficult to discuss.

But what if we took a different perspective? We often talk about all the wonderful personal growth that full-term returned missionaries had while serving, but why should growth that early-returned missionaries go through after they return be any different? Of course, not all outcomes are going to be positive. Coming home early from a mission is a very challenging experience that can set a soul on a catapulting track toward self-discovery and growth. As an early returner, and now as a Ph.D. student in psychology, I was able to get funding to do a study on what causes early returned missionaries to get on that track of growth. 

My Early Return and How It Led Me to This Study

Before turning to the study itself, some personal context may be helpful. These “positive outcomes” may not show up immediately, nor do I think it’s fair to expect oneself or a loved one to cope with such a dramatic life event so easily. In one of my favorite articles, “Bereavement: An Incomplete Rite of Passage,” the author explains that someone may never entirely “get over” the loss of a loved one — they may learn to generally deal with the loss, but their perception of the experience continually shifts and evolves. I feel the same way about my early mission return. When I came back, I was almost numb. A month later, I was feigning happiness. Two months later, I was questioning my faith. Three months later, I began searching for any identity other than “early-returned missionary” that I could affix to myself, yet each “identity” I attempted to develop was more fragile than the last. My grades at Brigham Young University also suffered.

There was only one other existing academic study on early-returned missionaries. I decided to follow its lead in interviewing each person in depth rather than using survey data. Although this process limited the number of people I could involve in the study, other studies on the use of interviews for niche topics find that researchers tend to reach a sufficient sample level at about 12 interviews. The prior study I mentioned included 12 early-returned male missionaries and had questions on mission experiences, early returns, and post-mission adjustment. I wanted to expand upon this research by including women and spending more time speaking about the identity development participants had gone through since their early return and their perceptions of their future. I also remained open to other salient themes that emerged from interviews. So, I recruited 20 early-returned missionaries to participate in this in-depth study — 9 men and 11 women. I would like to stress that this was a highly emotional experience for most people, and I was extremely grateful for the opportunity to interview such wonderful people about their experiences.

Identity transformation

First, every person mentioned feeling an identity transformation in some way. One participant shared:

Honestly, I think coming home from my mission is a really big thing. It really defined who I am as a person and my understanding of church member[s], because before I thought a church member had to be someone [who] grew up in the Church, that served a mission … things like that. Then I [understood] that a church member is someone that just tries their best to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. And so that really [helped] me shape and understand the members of the Church in a broader sense and not just the typical Utah stereotypes. So, I think coming home from my mission definitely helped with that.

This sentiment resonated strongly with my own experience. Even as a missionary, I had felt that coming home early would be a condemnation for the rest of my life, rendering me always some degree of broken in church settings. Only after going through this process did I realize that it truly is impossible for anyone other than Christ to live a fully “perfect” life, and that joy comes in embracing my imperfections and Christ’s role in my redemption.

Hope for the future

Another finding was that 19 of the 20 participants mentioned an optimistic view of how their futures would develop, given their experiences as early-returned missionaries. Another participant shared:

It’s interesting because I feel less … fearful for the future because I’m like, I already have had something that has literally broken me down to lower than I thought I could be at, and I came out of it. So, it kind of gives me more confidence that whatever comes, I know I’ve been through the process before of only having God to rely on.

Personally, I feel the same way — I know that I can do all things through Christ because I have already been at my lowest, and He has lifted me up again.

Peacemaking and reconciliation

A third commonality, shown in 19 of 20 interviews, was that of peacemaking or some form of reconciliation. One early-returned missionary wrote the following in her journal while on the plane home from her mission, “My Heavenly Father is so wise in giving me an experience like this. It forces me to actually fully trust in Him, which I do. This is one of the first experiences in my life that I can’t fully plan out first.”

This was one of my favorite responses. Having a framework of trusting in God built from strongly needing to do so earlier in life can be so beneficial to one’s future. I’m aware that challenges lie in the future, both for me and this early-returned missionary, but trusting in God first above all else has provided a foundation for all of my decisions that will always yield the best outcome — even if I can’t always see it right then.

Empathy

Despite increased empathy for others not being directly referenced on the list of interview questions, the topic came up in 16 of the 20 interviews. One person said, “Had I not seen myself [at] such a low point in my life, then I wouldn’t be able to reach out to others in a similar state.”

This finding in particular is something I would love to explore deeper in future research. How amazing is it that our imperfections and difficult experiences can actually lead us to become more like Christ? Before my early return, I was of the mindset that early-returned missionaries could generally have stayed out if they had just tried harder. Only after returning early despite having given every ounce of dedication and effort to the Lord did I realize that I’d had it all wrong: I feel for people who are in similarly devastating circumstances. I wish I’d had that quality beforehand, but the empathy I developed is one of my most prized possessions, and I thank God for giving it to me.

Faith

A majority (14 out of 20) specifically mentioned having stronger faith in God or religion as a result of their early return during their interviews, while 4 specifically mentioned having weaker faith as a result of their early return. This strong majority of increased faith is encouraging. One person referring to their early return said:

Because of that, the steps I took afterward, it made me read the scriptures harder than I’ve ever read in my life, and it’s made me love just light, seeing people’s light, and the light of Christ in them. I feel like I’m able to see it so easily and I appreciate it so much because I’ve seen the darkness.

Faith is a lifelong journey, and mine has grown as I’ve appreciated the outcomes of my difficulties more and more. It really is amazing to see others appreciate the goodness of Christ even more after having some experience with darkness.

Perceptual change over time

A final theme referenced by the majority of interviewees (12 of 20) was that of perceptual change. One interviewee said, “I guess with more time that passes, I see it in a different way… So, I think it’ll always be in the back of my mind, or it’ll always be something I reference, just because it was very, very starkly different from any other experience I have in my life.”

It is hard to run away from such a formative experience, and I don’t believe it’s best to act like it didn’t happen. As with all difficulties in life, we tend to see our challenges differently with time, as we learn more about God’s love for us as individuals.

What Many Early-Returned Missionaries Still Need

There were more themes that came from these interviews, some of which included negative experiences, but those tended to be highly individual. What did seem to be uniform throughout the interviews was that these people wanted someone to talk to about their experience, but often didn’t feel that they could. One interviewee said that he didn’t have a single person to talk about his early return with — no member of his family would entertain the topic, and he didn’t feel like he could bring it up to his friends. The sense of loneliness this young man exuded was palpable.

Those close to early-returned missionaries can offer an invaluable gift: patient love and a willingness to listen without judgment. Early returners are changing and actively growing, just like you are. We have come a long way as a church community in normalizing the idea that those who might deviate from the normative experience are fully worthy of love and support, but I believe we can be even better, and in attempting to do so, can more fully serve as Christ would.

The post When a Mission Ends Early appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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New York Magazine’s The Cut published a long reported feature yesterday on Latter-day Saints, Utah, influencer culture, and the national appetite for “Mormon aesthetics.” Buried inside it is a serious thesis: Latter-day Saints helped shape key parts of modern online life—tech, genealogy, affiliate marketing, brand deals—and now a particular Utah-flavored influencer ecosystem has gone mainstream.

That subject deserves real cultural journalism. But the feature doesn’t treat Latter-day Saints seriously. It treats a living religious community as a cultural prop: a reliable source of weirdness, a costume rack of eccentric doctrines, and an acceptable target for winking contempt—then layers that tone over doctrinal errors and an over-reliance on critics with little balancing context.

Latter-day Saints do not need the approval of a lifestyle magazine to live out our faith, but there is something wrong when editorial culture still thinks it is acceptable, or even smart, to understand a religion through nothing but memes.

Criticism isn’t the Problem. Contempt Is.

The Church is not above scrutiny. If you want to examine PR strategy, media posture, investments, or Utah’s insular status dynamics, fine—do the work: show receipts and speak with informed believers, scholars, and, where relevant, critics. Latter-day Saints are so accustomed to sneers from legacy outlets that even serious critical coverage can feel like a relief. But this feature does not read like an investigation guided by intellectual curiosity. It reads like something else: a story that wants to be both reported analysis and group roast.

A Publication That Wants Credibility Can’t Cover Faith Like It’s a Freak Show

The clearest tell is the piece’s reliance on outsidery shorthand: familiar “Mormon jokes,” recycled late-night tropes, and online folklore presented as representative. That method is at best lazy, at worst socially corrosive. When a major publication treats the sacred life of its neighbors as a punchline, it is not merely “edgy.” It’s the normalization of contempt for a minority faith.

And to be blunt: there is a reason this kind of tone still shows up with Latter-day Saints more easily than it would with many other religious groups. The feature claims Latter-day Saints now carry real cultural cachet, yet writes as if anti-Mormon mockery is still culturally acceptable. That’s a sign that anti-Mormon mockery is still socially permitted in a way it wouldn’t be for many other minority faiths.

What the Piece Does Well

To be fair, the feature does some real reporting: It paints a vivid picture of a Utah influencer ecosystem; it traces how early Mormon mommy bloggers helped professionalize affiliate marketing and online commerce; it captures how “noncontroversial” family content became brand gold during the pandemic; it correctly notices that Utah’s particular blend of community networks, aspirational domesticity, and entrepreneurial hustle can be an accelerant for online business.

If you want to analyze a community that you believe has exported a powerful cultural product—“Mormon mom” influencer culture—then you also owe that community the baseline respect of accuracy and the basic fairness of being represented by more than its loudest detractors and its most sensational reality TV exports. 

Three Failures that Warrant Post-Publication Changes

The problems in the feature fall into three categories:

1. Factual inaccuracies
2. Statements included for the purpose of mocking Latter-day Saint belief
3. Unchallenged criticisms presented as if they are settled truth

These are not nitpicks. They go to the heart of whether the piece is journalism or polemic.

1) Factual inaccuracies: the kind that shouldn’t survive a competent edit

Some errors are interpretive. These are not. These are statements about what Latter-day Saints believe, teach, or do—asserted in the narrator’s voice—that are wrong, distorted, or presented with such sloppiness that readers are misled.

Here is a catalogue of the most obvious problems:

Doctrinal claims that are misstated or sensationalized

• The piece claims there is a doctrine of spending 1,000 years in “spirit prison.”
• It claims spirit prison is for the “least worthy,” implying a ranked afterlife prison system.
• It calls spirit prison a “temporary hell,” borrowing a loaded popular image that distorts how Latter-day Saints understand the spirit world.
• It states inaccurately that women cannot prophesy in the Church—erasing a long Latter-day Saint teaching about women’s spiritual authority and gifts.

“Worthiness” and church practice presented as caricature

• The piece asserts that for Latter-day Saint women, “worthiness” depends first and foremost on marriage and motherhood. That is an editorial line that reads powerful and condemnatory—and it is misleading. Latter-day Saint worthiness has formal, published standards and interviews; you can critique those standards without inventing new ones.
• It describes bishops’ interviews for youth and lists topics that are not included in the youth interview questions.

Internet folklore treated like representative practice

• The piece presents “soaking” as a way young Mormons can have sex without breaking chastity covenants, treating it like a real, meaningful “loophole” in lived religion. At best, it’s gossip; at worst, it’s a joke inserted because it’s humiliating.

Errors of basic terminology

• The feature confuses temple clothing worn in the temple with temple garments that are first received in the temple and then worn as an everyday religious commitment. That confusion is exactly the kind of thing that happens when a writer is covering a community from the outside and does not slow down to learn the vocabulary.

Sloppy claims about history and demographics

• The piece asserts that Black men could not hold leadership positions before 1978, when what it appears to mean (and should have precisely stated) is that Black men could not be ordained to the priesthood prior to 1978.
• It gives a Utah Latter-day Saint self-identification figure with no clear sourcing, and different from the most widely reported Pew Research figure.
• It reports an incorrect count of temples announced in 2025—again, a checkable detail that signals a lack of verification.
  

[Editor’s Note: New York Magazine has since corrected the final two errors, but declined to fix the other factual mistakes in the piece.]

These are not obscure theological disputes. An understanding reader might handwave these away as honest mistakes or minor points. But these are precisely the kinds of facts that journalists care about (or at least should). The errors suggest an editorial posture of stereotype-driven credulity: if a claim sounds weird enough, it is assumed true, and therefore not worth checking.

Religious reporting is challenging and detail-heavy, which is exactly why careful outlets verify doctrine and terminology with knowledgeable members of the faith and scholars—so the people being described can recognize themselves in the description.

In response to a request for comment about the article’s editorial process, Lauren Starke, head of communications for New York Magazine, replied, “Our writer consulted a wide range of sources with varying perspectives, and the story was carefully reported, edited, and fact-checked.” If so, these varying perspectives and careful reporting did not appear in the final draft of the article. It does not even appear that an in-house religion reporter was consulted. 

2) Mocking statements: the paper trail of contempt

Even if every factual claim were perfect, the piece would still have a problem: it repeatedly deploys editorial asides and framing choices that read as intended to belittle.

A story can have a voice without being cruel. This one is cruel in small, deliberate ways—the kind that accumulates until the reader understands the assignment: these people are weird; feel free to laugh.

Here is a catalogue of the clearest tone cues:

• Opening with a sexual pun as the entry point into “Mormon” Utah: a signal that this community will be handled with a wink, not with care.
• Describing Latter-day Saint beliefs as “zany” in the narrator’s voice—an adjective that invites ridicule rather than understanding.
• Referring to Mormons as “freaks” (even as part of a broader cultural arc). If you want to understand how a community went mainstream, you do not need to label them freakish. That’s not analysis; it’s sneering.
• Casually conflating Latter-day Saints with polygamous shows like “Big Love” or “Sister Wives.”
• Throwing out tangential doctrinal ideas with no purpose beyond making it appear silly, and in a way an average member would not recognize as “what we believe.”
• Bringing up “soaking” as a narrative beat—not because it’s crucial to the thesis, but because it’s humiliating and clickable.
• Referring to church reserves/investments as a “war chest” rather than using neutral language like “savings” or language Latter-day Saints would use themselves such as “rainy day fund.”
• Referring to the most serious source on the church as “a Happy Valley mom who posts educational content about the faith.” While Latter-day Saint women often view their roles as mothers as the most significant, the phrasing here is clearly meant to downplay her professional accomplishments and portray her as a frivolous home vlogger. 

None of this advances the core journalistic purpose. All of it advances a social purpose: to reassure the reader that they are part of the in-group that knows how to roll their eyes at the out-group.

A publication can choose that posture. But it shows they should not be considered a serious, fair-minded journalistic institution.

3) Unchallenged criticisms: letting the loudest critics define the subject

Professional journalists abide by The Society of Professional Journalists’ code of ethics. Or at least they are supposed to. 

One of these codes is to diligently seek subjects of news coverage to allow them to respond to criticism or allegations of wrongdoing. The article fails on this front. According to internal sources who asked to remain anonymous because they were not authorized to speak on the subject, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was not brought in on the article until late in the process. New York Magazine did not diligently seek out other Latter-day Saint organizations who could respond to the criticisms in the article either. 

Reality television is not ethnography. It selects for spectacle, conflict, and extremity; it is not designed to be representative. Most readers understand that instinctively. But when the subject is Latter-day Saints, that genre literacy seems to vanish: the most sensational export becomes the interpretive key for the whole community.

The feature repeatedly gives critics a runway and does not bother to add context, corrections, or faithful perspectives—especially when describing sacred worship. In over 6,000 words, the article manages to include only a few active Latter-day Saints. Jasmin Rappleye, an experienced content creator with serious doctrinal literacy, was woefully underused as a source—she is given a brief quote about “publicity,” and responds to one allegation that influencers are paid directly by the Church (they’re not). Meanwhile The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City star and frequent church critic Heather Gay is featured in a quarter of the article. 

This is where the piece crosses from “critical” into “polemic”: it grants authority to the sharpest negative descriptions without doing the basic work of hearing from people who actually practice the faith. 

Examples from the article include:

• It repeats “magic underwear” without noting that Latter-day Saints find that label offensive and have asked others to stop using it—something a respectful publication would at least mention if not honor, even if it still determined that underclothing or a religious minority was a proper subject of journalism.
• It presents “community surveillance” as a defining cultural norm without giving ordinary faithful members a chance to explain how they experience community, accountability, and belonging, and push back on the narrative.
• It gives a critic’s description of temple worship designed to make sacred practice sound ridiculous without any counterweight from a believing voice who can explain what temple worship is intended to be and why it matters.
• It allows the Church to be inaccurately labeled “a theocracy”—a term that describes governments, not churches.

The only moment where balance appears is when the writer needed a denial for legal reasons (the clarification about the church paying influencers). Everything else—the theology, the worship, the moral life of millions of people—gets flattened into outsider narration and the commentary of critics.

That isn’t how you cover a religion. It’s how you prosecute one.

The Biggest Omission: Jesus Christ

One might not expect a cultural publication to take our faith in Jesus Christ seriously (though it did identify us correctly as Christians). But if you are writing a cultural article on why Latter-day Saints do what they do, and you do not talk about how we love Jesus Christ and try to follow His example, then you are not telling the full story.

The story turns a Christ-centered faith into an aesthetic, a machine, a brand strategy, and a collection of quirky doctrines for outsiders to gawk at. Readers come away thinking Latter-day Saint life is mainly about branding, surveillance, and monetization. You cannot tell the truth about Latter-day Saints while ignoring its core animating fact. That omission doesn’t just offend believers. It robs readers of the most important explanatory key to the lives of Latter-day Saints.

Why This Matters Beyond “Hurt Feelings”

Some editors respond to criticism like this with a shrug. They determine it is not their job to be the Church’s PR, or they believe that upsetting people means that their hard-hitting coverage landed. 

I am sorry to disappoint you. But it is also not your job to be the PR for Heather Gay, and an article about how a Hulu reality show made people buy sodas with syrup in them is not hard-hitting coverage.

The reason Latter-day Saints don’t like this kind of coverage is because it’s bad. 

And Latter-day Saints have a long history of being treated as something less than fully American—something exotic, suspect, culty, ridiculous, or dangerous. The article tries to say that is over, while making it very clear it is not. 

The story even gestures at historic persecution early on, then proceeds to participate in a softer modern form of the same impulse: they’re weird, so it’s fine to talk about them in a way you would never talk about others.

A fair feature can be sharp and unsparing and still meet standards of fairness and accuracy. If a publication wants to cover religions—especially minority religions it believes are culturally influential—it should meet the minimum bar:

• Get doctrine right or do not summarize doctrine.
• Avoid lazy stereotypes and derogatory tropes.
• Do not turn sacred practice into spectacle for clicks.
• Include the voices of sincere practitioners, not only critics and reality TV proxies.
• When you make an error, correct it publicly.

We invite New York Magazine, The Cut, and the author and editors of this article to make a public apology to Latter-day Saints, and if they don’t remove the article, to at least correct the inaccurate statements and remove the mockery. 

Moving forward, this can be an opportunity for reflection and improvement. 

One of the most frustrating parts of being part of a community that pop culture periodically discovers is the sense that you are never being spoken to—only spoken about. That your real life is invisible behind the versions of you that sell: the cartoon missionary, the “zany belief,” the “magic underwear,” the reality show scandal, the internet rumor, the aesthetic mood board.

Latter-day Saints are not asking to be shielded from critique. We are asking to be treated as fully human and honestly represented.

New York Magazine can do better. But “better” is not a vague aspiration. It starts with the basics: accuracy, fairness, and the humility to admit when a story uses a minority faith as a punchline.

The post The Ethics of Contempt appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Though body dissatisfaction can often seem like an isolated and unique experience, countless individuals struggle to love their bodies. As a gift from God and a vital part of His plan, the body is one of Satan’s most prominent targets. He may make individuals feel alone in their trials, but body image issues are widespread. 

Approximately 0.28% to 2.8% of the U.S. population will experience an eating disorder at some point in their lives, and numerous others may resort to disordered eating (e.g. diets or unhealthy eating behaviors that don’t fully qualify as an eating disorder). Additionally, about 75% of people are dissatisfied with their body size. Often in religious settings, the faithful are taught from a young age that their bodies are temples and are gifts from God, but still some struggle to love their bodies and wish to change them. 

Love 

President Jeffrey R. Holland taught “The first great commandment of all eternity is to love God with all of our heart, might, mind, and strength—that’s the first great commandment. But the first great truth of all eternity is that God loves us with all of His heart, might, mind, and strength.”

Many of these research participants expressed sentiments of being able to love their bodies because they knew that God loved them. As Ashley, a young female participant from Utah, said, “Heavenly Father loves me because I’m myself and not some image in a picture.” Likewise, Olivia, a young adult who grew up outside of Utah, shared, “Just because someone else is skinny, it doesn’t mean God doesn’t value me or love me or care about me. The doctrine has played a major part in my healing process or processes.” 

In addition to feeling loved by our Heavenly Parents, several of the members brought up their relationship with Jesus Christ, and knowing that He died for their sins also helped them to love their bodies more. Olivia expressed, “The Atonement of Jesus Christ, that is something that has always helped, especially when I’m feeling my lowest.” Whitney, a young participant who grew up outside the United States, also shared:  

It’s hard for me. There are people [who] would be like, ‘Oh yeah, …Christ knows how you’re feeling.’ I’m like, ‘But how could he know what …a 19-year-old girl is feeling when she hates her body?’ [Because] I just feel like it’s such a different experience for everybody. But also, it just felt like there’s no way anybody else could know what this is like. And I think of just coming to like, develop that relationship. Like He understood…where I was mentally. Maybe he never hated His body … But He cared about my struggles and He understood my mental difficulties that I was having in every aspect. Not just about my body.   

Knowing that their Heavenly Parents loved them and Christ had atoned for them helped these members to find peace and work on accepting their bodies. 

Purpose 

In addition to knowing they were loved, many brought up the idea that knowing that God had given them their bodies and had a plan for them gave them purpose and helped them in their relationship with their body. Sophie, a middle-aged female participant who grew up internationally, observed:  

It gives me perspective in the sense that my body was an essential part of the plan of happiness, like I completely understand this and that always brings me appreciation that I know that I chose to come here to receive a body and that was my choice.  

For several participants, God’s plan helped them have a long-term or eternal perspective on life, their bodies, and what was most important. Sophie continued:  

I’m still far from where I would like to be in terms of being completely happy with my body. But typically, when I can envision this kind of truth, it gives me a perspective that my bra size really does not matter in the grand scheme of things. 

Lastly, Cristin, a middle-aged participant from Utah, described how she was able to find deeper meaning and purpose during a low point in her eating disorder:  

There’s something deeper … that I’m not put on this Earth just to be this physical being. Because I felt so low, that you get to that point where you like it’s not worth it anymore, if this is all that it is. That I don’t want to have to go through this all the time. It’s exhausting. So if it’s just restriction and isolation and avoiding food and avoiding people, so I don’t have to deal with that, there’s gotta be more to life than that. And that’s really helped me in a way, see that there was more to life than the physical and that deepened my faith.  

Because these participants knew that God loved them and had a plan for them, this helped them as they healed from their eating disorder and learned to love their bodies. 

Perfection

Though many were able to cling to knowing that God loved them and had a plan for them during their recovery, others also brought up a sometimes unspoken pressure to look and be perfect. Various women shared how they had to gain a better understanding of what it meant to become perfect as they recovered. Naomi, a younger participant who grew up outside of Utah, shared: 

I think we have a culture of comparison, and I don’t think that has anything to do with doctrine. … I know that’s not what God wants us to be doing. But because we’re all striving to live better lives and just to improve ourselves spiritually, I think that can just kind of bleed into other areas … I think it’s because we are taught to improve ourselves and to repent and to be the best that we can, to be closer to God. And I think maybe people interpret that as like, how am I appearing to other people? And maybe misinterpreting it a little bit.

Similarly, Ellie, a middle-aged participant who grew up outside of Utah, explained, “Obviously, we have doctrine on becoming perfect, but it’s the act of making improvements, right? Rather than, I think what a lot of people see as the definition of being perfect without flaw.” 

Though these participants had started their journey of recovery, many have not. Just as these participants did, members of The Church of Jesus Christ struggling with body image should focus on beliefs such as that Heavenly Father created our bodies and loves each individual as they are, our bodies are an essential part of the Plan of Salvation, and we are working on progression, not perfection. All of these teachings can be vital in supporting individuals in forming a healthy body image. 

Additionally, acceptance could be fostered through artwork that represents a variety of body types, skin colors, and abilities. Lastly, this could entail creating a nonjudgmental environment and opportunities within one’s congregations, quorums, classes, or families to openly discuss body image, media pressures, health, appearances, ability, why God made each of us uniquely, and how that knowledge may influence the way we see those around us and our own body. This is important for both men and women to discuss. For as President Holland has noted,

There is no universal optimum size … I plead with you young women [and all] to please be more accepting of yourselves, including your body shape and style, with a little less longing to look like someone else. We are all different. Some are tall, and some are short. Some are round, and some are thin. And almost everyone at some time or other wants to be something they are not!

Ultimately, God made every individual unique and wants all to be invited to come, join, and be loved. We are all created in His image. And in that shared truth lies the beginning of healing—knowing that, as unique children of loving heavenly parents, through Christ we are enough, and we can be made whole.

The post In His Image: How Faith Can Heal Our Relationship with Our Bodies appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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Faith is hard. One of my favorite writers is Flannery O’Connor, an American Southern Gothic novelist and short story writer. O’Connor was a devout Catholic, and her published prayer journals and letters give us a glimpse into her life of faith. In a letter to a lifelong friend and pen pal, Louise Abbot, O’Connor responds to what must have been Abbot describing a trial of faith, saying: 

I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe. I know what torment this is, but I can only see it, in myself anyway, as the process by which faith is deepened. A faith that just accepts is a child’s faith and all right for children, but eventually you have to grow religiously, as [in] every other way, though some never do.

What people don’t realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross. It is much harder to believe than not to believe. If you feel you can’t believe, you must at least do this: keep an open mind. Keep it open toward faith, keep wanting it, keep asking for it, and leave the rest to God.

It is interesting that she both acknowledges that for some, faith can be excruciating—the cross itself—but also the way by which faith is deepened. In other words, this is how it is supposed to work.

Many I know who have struggled with faith are unsure how to initiate these kinds of conversations with friends or seek out literature that will help them find the truth. Perhaps they have reached out to loved ones about their doubts, and have received dismissive or surface-level answers like “just read your scriptures more” or “It sounds like you’ve been reading anti-material.” Often they have been convinced by nonbelievers or former believers that any faith-positive source is biased or deceptive, or that once the “shelf is broken,” there is no going back. 

Too often, we treat church meetings as the place where every spiritual concern must be resolved. But not every question belongs in the chapel pew. Some conversations about faith are sacred—and require a different setting, a different pace, and a different kind of attention.

Faith is hard, and we should normalize the challenges, and ebbs and flows, and questions that come along with a life of devotion. No believer goes through mortality without crying out to God in agony of a great loss, or feeling silence from the heavens, or seeking out greater meaning or understanding of God’s plan. After all, this is part of the process. 

But how we go about normalizing these struggles matters.  In our efforts to normalize any challenge, we risk romanticizing it—or worse, reinforcing it. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the movement to normalize mental health challenges. 

Mental health has become the lens through which we view nearly everything. Diagnoses appear in social media bios. Therapyspeak—words like “toxic,” “trauma,” and “boundaries”—has seeped into casual conversation, often stripped of clinical meaning. Employers hand out mental health toolkits, colleges offer petting zoos during finals, and celebrities tout the virtues of therapy for every relationship hurdle.

But things aren’t getting better. Symptoms of anxiety and depression continue to rise, especially among adolescent girls. Even emotionally stable teens now pathologize normal ups and downs, often self-diagnosing via TikTok. Gallup reports that Americans’ self-assessed mental health is the worst it’s been in over two decades. Suicide rates have increased by 30% in the last 20 years. Parents are more fearful than ever—reluctant to let their children roam the neighborhood, convinced that every stranger at Target might be a kidnapper.

We are more anxious, more fragile, and more volatile. This culture of constant rumination and performative validation is not serving us well. Bringing in “faith crisis” to every church meeting risks creating the same culture of unhealthy navel-gazing in our spiritual lives.

First, the right setting: In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are often taught that the most important part of church attendance is taking the sacrament and renewing our baptismal covenants. President Dallin H. Oaks has taught that we attend church to serve (not to be served) and teaching manuals such as Preach My Gospel for missionaries and Teaching, No Greater Call for general membership emphasize that our primary purpose should be to invite others to come unto Christ. I would humbly suggest that the right setting for a deep dive into questions and doubts is probably not in our regular Sunday meetings. 

This is somewhat tricky. Avoiding hard questions might leave struggling members isolated—or lead them to those who’ve left the covenant path and want others to follow.

On the other hand, among the members and visitors at church each week are likely widows, those who are caring for elderly parents, have sick or disabled children, have lost jobs, have mental health issues, and myriad other challenges. These people come to church for the balm of Gilead that is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Our niche Joseph Smith historical questions, while they may feel immediate and pressing to us, can detract from that important purpose.

Flannery O’Connor chose faith, even when it didn’t feel effortless. During her graduate school years, she attended Mass daily. She journaled about the tension between her desire for God and her sense of distance from Him. “My thoughts are all elsewhere,” she confessed. But she showed up anyway. She didn’t wait for certainty before practicing devotion. When prayer felt elusive, she turned to writing, pouring out her longings, her doubts, and her imperfect love into beautifully wrought prayers. She didn’t pretend to be more faithful than she was—she simply brought her full self to God and asked for help.

We can do the same. In times of spiritual struggle, our offering may be small—a prayer uttered in hope rather than confidence, a Sunday School comment made despite nagging doubt, a verse of scripture read with an open, aching heart. But small offerings matter. They are expressions of our desire to stay in a relationship with God. And that desire, acted on, can become the seed of faith.

The right people and the right sources also matter. When we’re struggling with mental health, we’re careful—ideally—not to rely on unqualified influencers or unreliable forums for advice. The same care should apply when we’re facing serious gospel questions. Not every voice online—or even in our social circles—is equipped to help. President Russell M. Nelson has warned us against “increasing (our) doubts by rehearsing them with other doubters.”

For some, the right person might be a trusted family member, a close friend, a ministering sister or brother—someone who can listen without panic and respond without platitudes. For others, it might be a mentor, a bishop, or someone with experience navigating similar questions. But we also have to prepare to be that kind of person for others—to receive their questions with love and patience rather than fear or defensiveness.

The Church provides a helpful resource called Helping Others with Questions in the Gospel Topics Library, which outlines practical ways to support loved ones in faith crises. Outside of official church resources, organizations like Mormonr or FAIR Latter-day Saints offer thoughtful, research-based responses to common questions and criticisms. These sources won’t perfectly answer every question—but they are striving to be both spiritually grounded and intellectually responsible.

It’s not wrong to hear out questions or criticisms. But we shouldn’t let them monopolize the conversation in our hearts and minds. Doubt may be a part of our path—but we get to choose who we walk with, and who we let guide us, and how much space we want to give to those doubts.

Flannery O’Connor was not only a gospel seeker, but also a guide. Her own wrestling made her a compassionate companion to others in their searching. She never claimed to have perfect faith—only a determined one. Her writing continues to offer a kind of spiritual hospitality to those who want to believe but aren’t sure how.

In that way, O’Connor mirrors the very work of the gospel: inviting the wounded, the weary, and the wondering to come unto Christ, even when we ourselves are prone to wander. If we can become the kind of believers who sit with others in that space—without panic, without platitudes, but with patience and love—then our faith, however imperfect, becomes not only our anchor but someone else’s lifeline.

Faith is hard. But as with most hard things, it is transformative, refining us in the very hardest of times to become who only God can see in us. That is the work of a disciple—not to have all the answers, but to keep walking with God, and help others do the same.

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This is the 7th article in our Peacemaking Series. The previous article: The Complex Art of Christian Kindness: Building Bridges

I don’t agree, but I’m not saying anything. 

I’m going to keep my opinion to myself. I don’t want to rock the boat. I’m just trying to avoid contention; I don’t want to argue or start a fight. I want to maintain the peace, get along, and play well with others. If I say something, it’s a party foul: nobody likes a party-pooper, buzzkill, debbie-downer, wet blanket, tight-wad, stickler, contrarian, Nazi, one-upper, smart-aleck, know-it-all, skeptic, cynic, nay-sayer, zealot, fanatic, troublemaker, right-winger, left-winger, fence-sitter anyways! There’s a lot of pressure to choose a side and be a team player. It takes less effort to go with the flow, blend in, keep my head down, and roll with the punches. Right now, I’m being selfish: I need to let others have their turn. It’s important to listen to those you disagree with, be open-minded, and have diversity of thought. If things get out of hand, then the system will correct itself. Plus, it’s not like they’d listen anyways…right?

There are so many “good” reasons to stay quiet.

Many haven’t had effective communication patterns modeled for them. Online, clickbait writing and algorithms tend to exploit extreme opinions and communication tactics, promoting the most extreme and loudest “shouted” opinions because it maximizes engagement. For the same reasons, so many movie conflicts get “resolved” by shouting matches, fist-fights, gun-fights, building smashings, battles, death, and war. Not to say these problems are new; they’re only the most recent evolution in negative gossip and tall tales. We are saturated with extreme portrayals of what disagreements can lead to.

But disagreeing is so important. I’m sure we’ve all felt the crushing blow of accountability when hearing variations of the quote, “Bad men need no better opportunity than when good men look on and do nothing” (Mill). But realistically, not all disagreements are good versus evil; rather, they distinguish among variants of “good, better, best” (Oaks). Unilaterally shared information, collaboration, and perceptive participation are necessary in resolving such issues. 

The seventh of its kind, the following article is a compilation of research used when creating a video for The Skyline Institute’s playful yet informative videos on conflict resolution called the Peacemaking series. This month’s video, “Disagreements Bring Balance,” teaches the value of and tactics for voicing one’s opinion, even when disagreeing.

Our intent is to help people embrace vocal disagreement through an empathetic framework that can align actions with beliefs. There are several contributing factors affecting one’s ability to disagree effectively, such as personality, emotions, and verbal tactics.

What Makes Me So Special?

It is clear our genetics––as much as how we were raised––have a significant influence on our personalities. Psychologists often use the Big Five personality traits—or Five Factor Model (FFM)—to describe our natural tendencies. The traits are Openness (to new experiences), Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism—often remembered by the acronym OCEAN. For our purposes, Agreeableness is most relevant. Agreeableness describes the tendency to be compassionate, cooperative, and trusting in social interactions. Individuals high in agreeableness are typically described as friendly, patient, and often prioritizing the needs of others––seeking to maintain positive relationships. Personalities oriented toward agreeableness are just going to have a harder time finding the internal motivation to disagree. Those who score low in agreeableness (or high in disagreeableness, depending on how you wish to phrase it) will find the motivation to disagree easier. However, they will find it harder than agreeable people to express their disagreements in a socially effective way.

Consider the irony of staying silent because of wanting to respect and not contradict someone else’s opinion. It’s almost as if saying, Their opinion is important, they should share it, and I should listen to it. In fact, everyone’s opinion is important, everyone should share, and we all should listen. Except for my opinion, I will not share it, and therefore, no one can listen to it. When stated in this way, the illogic is exposed. 

As an example of this same sort of illogic, one co-author of this current video works as a mental health professional at an OCD clinic and interacts with clients who have determined they are unworthy of God’s forgiveness, often diagnosed as scrupulosity. When he asks them, “Who is God willing to forgive?” They reply, “Well, everyone.” He then, smiling, gently asks them, “So what makes you so special?” To which they often chuckle, recognizing their own mistaken perception of themself. So for those of us who don’t share our opinions out loud for fear of whatever reason, consider: What makes me so special that I’m the only exception to the rule ‘every voice matters’, or ‘two heads are better than one’? We invite you to consider yourself responsible for voicing your perspective; every voice matters.

Brene Brown’s research on these ideas clarifies the power of vulnerability. Vulnerability is a social currency that strengthens and deepens relationships. Relationships die when only one side is vulnerable. Internally, if I consistently diminish and disregard my own voice by not sharing my opinions out loud, I reinforce a negative perception of my own thoughts and ideas or a negative perception of other people’s opinions about my thoughts and ideas; and, repetitive silence can lead to resentment and emotion bottling. Externally, it will eventually impact my relationships with others “because, as it turns out, we can’t practice compassion with other people if we can’t treat ourselves kindly” (Brown). Instantly obliging without voicing one’s opinion excludes the other participants from the opportunity of increased perspective and possible collaboration (to be explored more in an upcoming article). Intrapersonally and interpersonally, a deep sense of connection can only come from authenticity: letting go of who one thinks they should be in order to be who they are. The principle of sharing isn’t just for kindergarten. To truly connect with others, we also have to share our honest thoughts and feelings—starting with ourselves.

Some might not share because they think other people aren’t worthy of their opinion. It’s worth considering whether that reluctance comes from a place of insecurity masked as arrogance—often, what looks like detachment is a quiet need for compassion.

Tactics for Assertive Communication

With motivation lined up inside of an empathy-oriented framework that is mutual empathy toward self and others, we can move on to verbal strategies that help structure disagreements effectively. Last month, we highlighted the importance of curiosity—like asking questions and restating the opposing view before expressing disagreement. This month, we share tools for expressing disagreement. These help foster “emotional safety” in our relationships.

Assertive communication clearly states personal needs with consideration for the needs of others. This is in contrast to passive or aggressive communication. Passive communication is preoccupied with the needs of others, inappropriately apologetic, and timid or silent. Aggressive communication focuses only on personal needs, often with an intensity, blame, or shame at the expense of others. Then, of course, there is that toxic cocktail of passive-aggressive communication that shames others while never clearly expressing personal needs. Just like other problems, the best way to address passive-aggression from others is not to ignore it (that would be passive), or by attacking it head-on (that’s aggressive), but by 1. keeping emotions in check, 2. directly addressing the negative behavior, and 3. asking direct questions. For example, you might say calmly, “It looked to me like you rolled your eyes. That makes me feel small and disrespected. I think I’ve upset you—do you want to talk about it?” This is what assertive language reads like; it clearly states personal needs; it is unambiguous and addresses the actual issue (which is not eye-rolling); and, it creates space for them to express their needs and feelings; also, it doesn’t force a conversation. However, even if the language is assertive, but the emotion is uncontrolled, then the communication is no longer assertive: the emotional intensity tips it into aggressive communication. The manner of conduct and the language expressed contribute to the quality of communication, whether it’s aggressive, passive, passive-aggressive, or assertive. 

Communication that is couched in personal experience doesn’t shift blame and direct anger toward other people. Instead, it focuses on personal feelings and personal perceptions of the situation. The Gottmans––marriage relationship experts––recommend using “I statements” or “I language” as a technique for verbally structuring disagreements. Begin any statement with an “I,” and make sure what follows is factual information from your own perspective. For example, an “I think…”, “I feel…”, or “I noticed…” are all particularly good ways to generate a “soft start” in a disagreement. This isn’t an excuse to say something like, “I think you waste your time on video games.” That’s still blaming and shaming the other person. Instead, describing without placing judgment, like “I’m worried you’re spending too much of your time on video games,” would be way better. Better yet, adding “… and I think it could be affecting your grades and relationships. I want to see you succeed and spend more time with you myself. Can you help me understand this from your perspective?” The real concern is addressed, vulnerability is shared, and an abundance of space has been created for the other person to share their feelings. There’s a chance the person could be wasting their time, but the latter conversation could foster an environment for the next Shigeru Miyamoto. 

Lastly, we offer the tool of talking in parts as a way of exploring and giving voice to the complex array of emotional nuances inside of oneself, especially when in a conflict. This technique draws from therapeutic models like Internal Family Systems (IFS), which recognize that we often have multiple internal perspectives. “Part of me wants to, but another part of me doesn’t.” One of the benefits is that there’s no limit to how many parts of you there are; “Part of me feels angry, but part of me gets where you’re coming from, and another part of me doesn’t want me to admit that.”

Closing Exercises

As our last exercise, let’s construct a “soft start” for an argument. Think of the last conflict you had or one that’s preoccupying your mind right now. Surely something came up. For the sake of exercise, let’s go with it. No scenario works out perfectly, but assuming the best, let’s apply the techniques in this article. 

1. What am I feeling? Emotions—like awkwardness, frustration, or fear—usually pass within 10–90 seconds. Instead of pushing them away, notice what you’re feeling and name it. Then choose how to respond. For the sake of the exercise, name the emotion, and accept it. Whether it sticks around depends on how we react to it, our thoughts, and our actions. So, what am I gonna do? Let’s decide to say something—which might not be appropriate for every situation (more on that in a future article), but for the sake of the exercise, let’s play it out in our mind.

2. What questions should I ask? Find my curiosity. Foster a feeling of goodwill. Ask as many clarifying questions as necessary. Do not try to trap or blame, seek understanding. For the sake of the exercise, think of at least 2-3 questions that could help or would have helped.

3. What is their perspective? Restate their perspective for them to hear in a way with which they would be completely satisfied and wholeheartedly agree. It is a generous and compassionate perspective of the other person, not some reduced characterization or strawman. We must steelman their argument and maybe even take the time to consider, Do I really disagree? At the very least, what do we agree on? Vocalize what you agree on. For the sake of the exercise, restate their opinion in the best version you can consider.

4. Share my perspective. Use assertive language. State actual needs and feelings. Use “I statements” or talk in “parts” to help. Avoid shame, and seek the deeper connection your vulnerability has enabled. For the sake of the exercise, structure an example of using at least one “I statement” and one talking in “parts”.

Depending on the situation, these steps may not always happen in the same order. But generally, understanding the other person (Step 3) follows curiosity (Step 2). And, Step 4 often clarifies Step 1 as we speak out loud.

May you find belonging and a deeper connection, and make more peace within yourself and your relationships.

The Peacemaking Series

You can view the rest of the videos in the Peacemaking Series HERE on YouTube. Each month, a companion article is released with new tools and insights. Next month’s topic is Forgiveness. To explore more articles by The Skyline Institute published in Public Square Magazine, visit us HERE. You’ll also find our original research supporting The Family Proclamation, along with videos and podcasts, at TheFamilyProclamation.org. Follow us on social media for more.

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For many sexual minorities within the Church, the temple can sometimes evoke feelings of exclusion or stir complex emotions that are challenging to navigate. Yet for me, the temple has become a sacred refuge—a place of profound healing, enduring peace, and personal revelation. From a young age, I have experienced sexual attraction to other men—an aspect of my life that has brought both confusion and introspection over the years. As a married covenant-making member of the Church, this part of me has become something I’ve learned to acknowledge, understand, and bring before the Lord. Through years of counseling, personal study, and deep spiritual searching, I have worked to reconcile these feelings with my faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel plan. The temple has been an essential part of that process. It has reminded me of who I truly am in God’s eyes and offered me hope, healing, and a path forward rooted in covenant relationships. In the sacred spaces of the temple, I have found peace with both my identity and my discipleship.

In this reflection, I share how the temple has been a guiding light through my unique struggles and a source of strength through its holy ordinances and divine teachings.

The Temple: A House Open to All

At the heart of the Church’s teachings is the truth that the temple is a place meant for everyone. President Russell M. Nelson has emphasized this, declaring, “The blessings of the temple are available to any and all people who will prepare themselves … The Lord wants all His children to partake of the eternal blessings available in His temple.” The temple’s doors stand open wide to all who earnestly strive to follow Christ, embrace His teachings, and live His commandments.

While society often imposes limiting labels based on identity, attractions, or choices, the temple strips away such distinctions. Here, all are seen simply as beloved children of God, each with infinite divine potential. For sexual minorities, this invitation is deeply transformative. In a world that might cast me as “other” or define me by my sexual identity, the temple teaches that we all can come unto Christ and receive His healing—without any labels, without division. The temple is a sacred space where every individual is invited to covenant directly with God and receive His promises.

The Baptistry: A Symbol of Purity, Repentance, and Unity

One of my most cherished spaces in the temple is the baptistry. The baptismal font, supported by twelve oxen, symbolizes the cleansing of sin, rebirth of spiritual identity, and forming essential covenants with the Savior. For those who have faced pain, trauma, or past mistakes, the baptistry can represent Christ’s power to heal and forgive.

Each time I sit near the font, I am reminded that no matter our history, we can be made new through the Savior’s Atonement. This sacred ordinance is a poignant reminder that renewal is possible—not only for ourselves but for our ancestors through proxy baptisms. The twelve oxen supporting the font remind me that salvation is a collective effort, rooted in the legacy of covenant Israel. It reminds me that I am not alone; God surrounds me with family, friends, and leaders who help carry my burdens.

Safe Touch and Healing from Trauma

For those who have endured trauma, abuse, or difficulty with physical touch, the temple offers a unique place of healing. The initiatory ordinance, performed with reverence and respect by temple workers of the same gender, presents a sacred experience of safe touch. This environment fosters trust and healing, allowing wounds from the past to begin to mend.

For me, especially, this sacred touch affirms my gender identity and provides a safe space where I can feel secure and valued. It is a quiet yet profound balm for my soul.

The Covenant of Taking Christ’s Name

The temple garment symbolizes the covenant to take upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ. In this holy place, labels, identity politics, and social divisions dissolve. Instead, we are called to become disciples of Christ, united by His name and His love.

As the Apostle Paul wrote, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). In the temple, all are equal before God; our truest identity is as His beloved children.

For me, this truth has been freeing. While others may find meaning in specific labels, I have found peace in embracing my eternal relationship with Christ alone. This relationship is what defines me, brings lasting worth, and reveals who I truly am. I belong to Christ, and as I keep the covenants I have made with Him, I am reminded of His protection as I honor the temple garment and my belonging to Him. 

Resurrection: The Promise of Complete Healing

The doctrine of resurrection offers profound hope to all who have suffered emotional, spiritual, or physical pain. The resurrection is not merely a return to life—it is a promise of perfect, complete healing. I believe my unwanted sexual attractions stem from deep emotional wounds, fears, and unmet needs. I hold with full faith that in the resurrection, these pains will be fully healed, and these struggles will no longer define my eternal journey.

Elder Uchtdorf’s words ring true to me: 

Every time the Savior healed anyone ‘afflicted in any manner,’ both before and after His Resurrection, it was a testament to His ultimate power to heal our souls. Each miraculous healing was but a prelude and promise of the lasting physical and emotional healing that will come to each of us in the Resurrection, which ‘is the Lord’s consummate act of healing.

The temple, rich with symbols of resurrection, instills within me a hopeful anticipation of that day.

The Altar: A Sacred Place of Sacrifice

The altar in the temple symbolizes sacrifice—a vital part of spiritual growth. For sexual minorities, this concept resonates deeply, reflecting the personal sacrifices made to align my life with God’s will. While the Book of Mormon teaches that “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25), true joy arises not from indulgence but from consecration and sacrifice.

At the altar, we are invited to offer our whole selves—heart, mind, and body—as living sacrifices. The temple endowment teaches that life’s “thorns” create necessary opposition and trials. I find comfort knowing my struggles are not meaningless; they serve a divine purpose to help me lean more heavily on the Savior and learn unwavering trust.

The altar also symbolizes death—the death of false beliefs that have burdened me: the belief that I don’t belong, that my attractions define me, or that I am unworthy of love. The temple is where these lies die, replaced by eternal truths of God’s love and acceptance.

Gender in the Temple: Healing and Honor

Gender is a sacred part of God’s plan, reflected in the temple’s respectful separation of men and women during ordinances. This division is not exclusionary but designed to foster healing, respect, and understanding.

For sexual minorities who have struggled with confusion related to gender or identity, the temple offers a rare and precious space to heal. President Nelson reminds us, “Spend more time in the temple, and seek to understand how the temple teaches you to rise above this fallen world.”

In a world moving toward erasing gender distinctions, the temple upholds the divine importance of masculine and feminine roles, offering a sacred environment where these roles can be understood and embraced.

Marriage and Sealing: Trusting God’s Eternal Plan

The temple teaches that God’s plan for marriage is between a man and a woman—a truth that can be challenging for sexual minorities to reconcile. I have learned to trust in God’s higher ways, reminded by a line in my patriarchal blessing that in the next life, I will be reunited with both family and “loved ones.”

President Holland has said, “I wouldn’t know how to speak of heaven, without my wife or my children. It would not be heaven for me.” I agree—heaven would not be heaven without my wife or children, but also not without the companionship of cherished friends who are vital to my emotional well-being.

The sealing ordinance also reinforces my roles and responsibilities as a husband and father. Though imperfect, as I strive to do my part, the Savior’s grace covers my weaknesses, promising immense blessings to those who remain faithful.

The Veil Ceremony: A Moment of Divine Connection

The veil ceremony is one of my very favorite temple experiences. It offers a tangible sense of closeness to the Lord. I often reflect on how Christ desires to communicate with me and draw me near. Standing before the veil, I feel seen, loved, and fully accepted.

The veil, rent at the Savior’s crucifixion, symbolizes the bridge He created—through His sacrifice, we can return home and be united with Him. This ordinance encapsulates the intimate relationship God wants each of us to have with Him.

The Celestial Room: A Place of Light and Reflection

The celestial room is a sanctuary of peace where I commune quietly with my Heavenly Father. Often, I ask Him, “What do You want me to know or feel today?” The answers come as gentle assurances of His love and awareness of my needs.

Our prophet encourages us to “think celestial,” and the more time I spend in this room, the more I carry that light into the “lone and dreary world.” Surrounded by beauty and light, I leave with renewed hope to share that light with others.

Sharing the Temple Experience with Friends

Going to the temple with close friends or family enriches the experience. It becomes a space where we can share vulnerable moments, deepen gospel understanding, and uplift one another.

A few years ago, I invited a brother I minister to, to accompany me weekly to the temple. I wrestled with whether I was attending to feel closer to my friend or my Heavenly Father. Through prayer, I received reassurance that God gave me friends so that I might feel His love more fully.

Conclusion: A Journey of Wholeness and Hope

Each time I walk through the temple doors, I am reminded that I am not alone. The peace I find there renews my spirit and fortifies my resolve to live according to God’s plan. In His eyes, I am whole, loved, and infinitely worthy.

I share my journey in the hope that it might offer encouragement to others walking similar paths—or to those seeking to support them. The temple remains for me a sacred refuge—a place of healing, peace, and holiness that I cherish deeply.

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Spoiler Warning: Extensive spoilers for the 2002 and 2025 versions of Lilo & Stitch

There are few popular contemporary films that resonate more deeply with the Latter-day Saint ethic of family than Disney’s 2002 Lilo & Stitch. Its simple but stirring refrain—“Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind”—has made it a modern parable of sacrifice and loyalty. But the 2025 remake, which premiered this weekend as the number-one film in the country, rewrites that ending. And in doing so, it reflects both how our culture has changed in twenty-three years and suggests some ways we may be able to effectively adapt.

While the remake muddles the original’s message about familial sacrifice, it largely manages to sidestep those questions and introduces in its stead a vision of interdependent community care that is genuinely aspirational. While the film’s heart may not be in the right place, the actual solution it models points to the kind of supportive communities we can aspire to.

A New Ending and a New Ethic

The remake follows the original’s first two acts faithfully. As before, we find Lilo living with her older sister Nani after the death of their parents. Nani, just nineteen, struggles to keep custody of Lilo while managing job interviews and the chaotic new “dog” named Stitch, who turns out to be a genetically engineered alien fugitive. Through chaos and conflict, all three characters slowly bond into a makeshift family, climaxing in Stitch’s famous line, “This is my family. It’s little and broken, but still good.”

The original concludes by allowing Nani to succeed in this attempt. The film’s victory still includes and celebrates Nani making a considerable sacrifice for her family. The film concludes with a wildly contrived, but emotionally satisfying loophole—the intergalactic bounty hunters can’t take Lilo, because they are honoring the rules of the local animal shelter paperwork proclaiming Lilo as Stitch’s owner. And their family life is made stable with the addition of two of Stitch’s alien friends moving in.

While the logic of the ending is better the less you think about it, the emotions of the ending resonate because in the end, Nani still needs to sacrifice for her little sister, but that sacrifice pays off in familial happiness. 

The remake, however, opts for a more narratively tidy but emotionally fraught conclusion. This time, the bounty hunters attempt to erase Stitch’s newfound empathy. Lilo also gets kidnapped while trying to rescue him. Nani heroically arrives to rescue them both. But after Nani’s rescue, she doesn’t decide to return to their small, messy family unit; rather, she decides to leave for college to study marine biology. This means Lilo must go into foster care. Fortunately, their neighbor Tūtū is able to step in to care for Lilo.

Sacrifice to Self-Actualization

While this shift is certainly an effort to clean up the original’s messy plot machinations, it is more than that. It tells us something about how our culture has shifted and the kinds of endings that audiences are willing to accept as happy and satisfying.

There are concerns worth noting in this shift. Family responsibilities have been framed as obstacles and family relationships as supplements to career ambitions and self-actualization rather than a purpose unto themselves. To be clear, the remake softens this with sci-fi conveniences—a portal between Nani and Lilo for virtual visits—but it still leaves us with a regrettable takeaway: in a happy ending, family doesn’t cost anything.

Of course, Lilo & Stitch isn’t the first to take this approach to family. It was trumpeted in Eat, Pray, Love. Disney had previously created a similar narrative in Frozen. 

But it’s this message, and our passive acceptance of it, that produces so many of the ills endemic to our age. Elevating autonomy above relationship produces isolation, not freedom. Our culture today is lonelier, more anxious, and sadder than ever before. These outcomes are the predictable results of the underlying philosophy that Lilo & Stitch’s changed ending reflects.

And as research consistently shows, children removed from their families—even well-meaning ones—fare worse in foster care. 

The film’s ending, for all its narrative cleanliness, undermines the truth that strong families are built through our love and sacrifice, not someone else’s.

A Hopeful Turn

And yet, there’s something to appreciate in the remake’s solution—namely, the introduction of Tūtū, a warm and willing grandmotherly neighbor who volunteers to foster Lilo while Nani studies. In contrast to the original, where the deus ex machina comes from aliens, here the saving grace is an extraordinary, but terrestrial, member of the community.

This isn’t just a plot convenience—it’s a vision of what Daniel Burns from the University of Dallas has called “forged families.” David Brooks has argued that embedding our families within these community support systems provides the best outcomes for everyone involved. These forged families are support systems built from blood ties and then supported by neighbors, friends, mentors, and faith communities. 

By introducing Tūtū, the film ensures that Lilo is still surrounded by love. So even though the film stops short of celebrating sacrifice, it does offer a quietly powerful image: a community member stepping in to allow the best long-term outcome. Let’s be honest: in the long term, Lilo would be better off if her sister had a college degree. 

Unfortunately, while that aspirational image is powerful, in our own culture, that sort of help is increasingly rare. As sociologist Robert Putnam has documented, American social ties have frayed, and neighborly involvement is at a historic low. But the idea that someone like Tūtū could exist—that we could build communities where older adults care for the young and vulnerable—points toward a richer vision of family and society.

While the remake’s ethic may not be rooted in the kind of familial self-giving that defined the original, it uses its sci-fi conventions to sidestep the question altogether. In its place is a different version also worth emulating. Not every family can hold together without help. But the kind of help we should dream of isn’t more institutionalization—it’s more neighbors, mentors, and Tūtūs.

The new Lilo & Stitch reflects the erosion of family-first values. But it also gestures, perhaps unwittingly, toward the antidote: a community-oriented model where interdependence, not independence, is the ultimate good. It isn’t the ending we might have wanted. And it no longer teaches the sacrifice for families that is still core to making a broad community-oriented model work. But it may be the kind of positive message we need at the moment. 

The post Disney’s Family Values: When Ohana Becomes Optional appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

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In the early years of gospel formation, Latter-day Saint parents and Primary leaders tend not to talk about the Wrath of God and instead focus on the positive and loving attributes of Christ described in the New Testament.  The ultimate goal is to become like Jesus. We often hear the phrase ‘Be Christlike’ and sing songs like “I’m trying to be like Jesus” and “I know Heavenly Father Loves Me.”   Children are taught to be kind, loving, gentle, meek, nice, charitable, and peacemakers. All of these attributes are essential, but incomplete.

The God of the Old Testament is Jesus Christ. In those scriptures, we see a God who follows through on consequences and values justice: the flood destroyed many, Sodom and Gomorrah were demolished, and the Israelites took 40 years to reach the promised land. In each of these stories, the consequences were a direct result of sinful choices. The God of Abraham is a God of covenants, who required His children to keep His commandments. I have heard many people state that they don’t like the God of the Old Testament because He seems too mean. It’s ironic when He’s described as not being “Christlike.”

In contemporary culture—and even within Latter-day Saint communities—there is growing pressure to be “nice” at all costs.  Unfortunately, this is happening in our wards too. I heard from one follower: 

One of the trends I’ve noticed is that our ward is increasingly becoming more divided due to new move-ins in the past couple of years who have brought an uneasy spirit into the ward. The underlying issue? No one wants to discuss hard topics for fear of possibly ‘offending’ others. Sigh. We are definitely living in the last days!

Perhaps we avoid difficult conversations, downplay doctrine, and hesitate to stand for truth because it might create discomfort. But is that Christlike? Or have we confused true kindness with mere politeness?

Perhaps we have also avoided teaching lessons about God’s justice: the moments when Christ rebuked hypocrisy or the times He boldly stood for truth despite opposition. While these stories might seem to contradict the loving Jesus we eagerly teach our children, could leaving them out unintentionally create an incomplete picture of discipleship—one that equates being Christlike with never making anyone uncomfortable?

Christ Was Kind, Not Merely Nice

If Jesus had only been “nice,” meaning primarily concerned about not causing discomfort to others, the Pharisees probably would have loved Him.  Perhaps they would not have sought His crucifixion. But His kindness—which calls people to repentance—made people uncomfortable.  Here are a few examples from Christ in the New Testament demonstrating this balance:

• Niceness would have ignored the woman at the well to avoid religious conflict. Kindness engaged her in truth, helping her recognize her spiritual need (John 4:7-26).

• Niceness would have let the rich young ruler walk away happy. Kindness told him the truth—that he lacked something, even if it was hard to hear (Mark 10:17-22).

• Niceness would have kept quiet before Pilate. Kindness bore testimony, even when it led to His crucifixion (John 18:37).

Clearly, kindness is not the absence of conflict—it is the presence of integrity.

Why Niceness is a Counterfeit Virtue

Many church members today may feel an increasing pressure to be nice rather than truthful. This shift reflects cultural trends, not gospel principles. Psychologist Jordan Peterson points out that “niceness” is often a socially enforced behavior, not a moral virtue. In contrast, kindness requires moral courage—the ability to do what is right even when it is hard socially. Psychologist Dr. Harriet Lerner describes this in her book The Dance of Connection:

Niceness is concerned with not upsetting others, even at the cost of honesty. True kindness is the ability to speak with clarity and care, even when the truth is hard to hear.

This distinction is critical in discipleship. The Savior was not simply “nice”—He was good. The difference? Goodness is rooted in truth. 

If we prioritize niceness over kindness, three common dangers arise:

1. Niceness Encourages Silence, Not Strength

Many hesitate to share their testimony of eternal truths—especially about family, gender, and discipleship—because they don’t want to offend. Elder Dallin H. Oaks, quoting Hugh Nibley, clarified, “You have to be willing to offend here, you have to be willing to take the risk. That’s where the faith comes in … Our commitment is supposed to be a test, it’s supposed to be hard, it’s supposed to be impractical in the terms of this world.” Truth spoken with love may still offend, but it is redemptive.

One sister shared with me,

I once hesitated to correct a Relief Society discussion that veered into personal opinions rather than doctrine. I worried that addressing it might seem unkind. But as I gently guided the conversation back to scripture and prophetic teachings, the Spirit in the room shifted. One sister later thanked me, saying she had been confused about the topic and appreciated the clarity. That experience taught me that truth delivered with love blesses rather than wounds.

Similarly, we’ve all been in situations where the desire for niceness overshadows the need for truth. For example, in one Relief Society class, a teacher started the lesson by asking, “What conference messages from the last conference did you find troubling? What didn’t you agree with?” Especially in this context, the question felt more divisive than enlightening, as it seemed to put personal opinion before the gospel message.

2. Niceness Seeks Social Approval, Not Divine Approval

Niceness is externally motivated—we want people to like us. Kindness is internally motivated—we want to follow Christ. The Pharisees were obsessed with appearing righteous (Matthew 23:5), yet Christ called them out for missing the heart of the gospel. Likewise, we are seeing the rise of a form of Christianity where doctrine is softened to fit social trends both within and outside The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This isn’t kindness—it’s spiritual abandonment. We have ample illustrations from church history and contemporary church leaders of how to express truth kindly yet with clarity.  Some examples include the Church’s statements on  the Respect for Marriage Act, as well as the Church’s position on  abortion.

3. Niceness Avoids Truth, Kindness Applies Truth with Love

Kindness does not mean weaponizing truth or being harsh: it means speaking with both clarity and care. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland put it best: “Defend your beliefs with courtesy and compassion, but defend them.”

One of the best examples I’ve seen came during a Relief Society lesson about the temple garment. Before studying the General Conference talk, the teacher boldly started her lesson, saying we were not here to get contentious about our different opinions regarding the temple garment. “We are here to discuss the words and teachings of our General Conference speakers and to follow the guidance from the prophets.” This is the job of a Relief Society teacher. This is the format that we should have in our Sunday discussions.

A Call to Kindness

Niceness will never change the world. But kindness—which is grounded in truth—will. President Russell M. Nelson has repeatedly emphasized that true discipleship requires both love and loyalty to God’s laws. Kindness is not about keeping the peace at the expense of the truth. It is about speaking truth in a way that invites peace, that invites Christ. As disciples of Jesus Christ, we are called to be “peacemakers” (Matthew 5:9)—not by avoiding truth, but by sharing it with compassion and courage.

The post An Inconvenient Truth and The Rise of Latter-day Niceness appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

What is Conflict?

How would you define the word Conflict? What does conflict look like? What does conflict feel like? Taking only 1 minute to complete the following statements right now––before reading the rest of this article––will help avoid bias, creating a valuable opportunity for personal insight.

Conflict is . . .

Conflict looks like . . .

Conflict feels like . . .

Here, conflict is defined as when two or more opposing forces meet each other. But don’t toss out your definition yet. Understanding visual or verbal analogies used when describing the word can grant insight into an individual’s intrapersonal relationship with conflict. Positive and negative conflict associations equally have pros and cons. Adopting a “conflict is natural” perspective––which is neither positive nor negative––leads to highly productive conflict resolution. Understanding one’s current perspective of conflict and maturing it toward a “conflict is natural” perspective can help Christian disciples answer the call of “Peacemakers Needed.”

Conflict Associations

The video begins with a Rorschach-inspired inkblot. The seemingly random yet iconic inkblots of the Rorschach Test take root in Jung’s Word Association Test and Freud’s Free Association Technique. Each of the psychology practices endeavors to bridge the mystery of subconscious associations for conscious observation. For example, answers given to the statements at the beginning of the article can create the opportunity for the conscious self to observe subconscious associations with conflict. When exploring definitions, analogies, or sensations associated with conflict, consider the positive or negative nature of those associations. 

Negative associations typically characterize conflict as something repulsive or violent and to be avoided or discouraged. Examples from the video include rhinos charging each other, or the Earth covered and blown apart by explosions. One might picture two people verbally or physically fighting. Typically these scenarios have high or tense energy, but may also include feelings of isolation or fear motivating avoidance. If answers reveal a conflict perspective with negative associations this could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on the circumstance. These individuals are unlikely to engage in unnecessary conflict and make a significant effort to avoid negative outcomes when in a conflict. Sometimes, however, negative associations can lead people to shy away from necessary or productive conflicts, leading to hiding, isolation, or stagnation. For these people it’s important to remember not all conflicts end in pain, suffering, or destruction. Constructive conflict management can lead to peace, growth, and prosperity.

For Latter-day Saints, conflict is commonly associated with contention. In many cases, they are treated as synonyms. Having frequently facilitated discussions with Latter-day Saints regarding the theory of conflict management in educational and religious contexts, nearly every discussion includes the misquoted scripture “Contention is of the devil” (3 Nephi 11:29)––typifying a negative association. If any of them had a childhood like I did, they were probably repeatedly quoted that principle by a parent frustrated with their children’s bickering. And fair enough, the train of thought for this association is easy enough to follow:

The Devil is bad––Contention is of the Devil––Contention is bad––Contention comes from conflict––Conflict is bad.

This Transitive or Association Fallacy informs poor conflict management behavior typical of negative associations:

Shun the Devil––Contention is of the Devil––Shun Contention––Contention comes from conflict––Shun conflict. 

This paragraph could continue into its own article, and a future article will discuss the pros and cons of avoiding conflict and why it isn’t a one-size-fits-all conflict style. For now, it’s probably enough to point out that contention and conflict are not the same thing in Latter-day Saint doctrine (see TG Conflict versus TG Contention). Conflict is when two or more opposing forces meet each other. Contention comes from trying to resolve a conflict while motivated by anger. While all contention comes from conflict, not all conflict leads to contention.

The Farmer and His Horse

Indulge a Chinese fable first whispered to me in the backstage of a small theater several years ago by an older friend offering me perspective during a hard time. I was excited to hear the same story from Elder Garret W. Gong in his recent talk, All Things For Our Good. Just like all good fables, there may be differences in their telling and multitudes of meaningful interpretations. While trying to avoid forcing my take-away on you, I share the version as it was first told to me.

A farmer who lives on the frontier loses his horse to the wild.

His neighbors offer condolences.

While his father says, We’ll see.

The horse returns to the farmer, bringing with it a herd of horses.

The neighbors congratulate his fortune.

While his father says, We’ll see.

The farmer breaks his leg while riding a new horse.

His neighbors offer condolences.

While his father says, We’ll see.

War breaks out on the frontier.

The army does not recruit the farmer because his leg is broken.

The neighbors congratulate his fortune.

While his father says, We’ll see.

A Nature-al Perspective

A meditation of conflict associations may reveal a positive or negative subconscious bias. But there is a more productive conflict perspective. Conflict (just like rain, a natural phenomenon) can be thought of as either positive (like when a farmer needs more water) or negative (like when an outdoor dinner party gets rained on). However, consider how the management of the conflict can also be thought of as either negative (if the farmer drinks and gambles away his surplus profit) or positive (if the dinner guests dash inside and cozy up next to a fire). Consider these other analogies for conflicts observed in nature as used in the video;

• The biological differences of Male and Female
• Wood fueling a campfire
• The earth’s relationship with both the sun and the moon
• A wave washing up on a shore

Nature is full of conflict, yet it is neither positive nor negative. Conflict is just like nature; it is not the source of our positive or negative associations. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so” (Shakespeare in Hamlet 2.2).  Conflict is neither negative nor positive: conflict is natural. When adopting this perspective, instead of the conflict being positive or negative, it is our response to conflict––also known as conflict management––which becomes either poor (negative) or productive (positive). 

A Christian Application of the “Conflict Is Natural” Perspective

The Taijitu is a powerful symbol of the Eastern philosophy of Yin and Yang. It communicates at once both conflict and harmony and the reciprocal dependence of conflict upon harmony and harmony upon conflict; neither exists without the other. In a similar way, the Cross is a symbol of both suffering and exaltation and their mutual dependence; neither exists without the other. While both symbols have vastly more complex associations than these gross reductions, they may serve as effective visual analogies for the fundamental Latter-day Saint doctrine: “It must needs be that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11). Individual agency is enabled through opposition (2 Nephi 2:16). As linked before, Conflict in the Topical Guide only refers to two other words: Opposition and Problem-Solving. “The Savior’s message is clear: His true disciples build, lift, encourage, persuade, and inspire—no matter how difficult the situation. True disciples of Jesus Christ are peacemakers” (President Russel M. Nelson). Letting go of negative or positive bias and embracing a ‘conflict is natural’ perspective enables peacemakers in productive conflict management by reinforcing individual agency.

Want more?

Check out and share all 12 videos from the Peacemaking Series, now available on YouTube, or read similar research, videos, and podcasts at thefamilyproclamation.org. Return to Public Square monthly for more articles expanding on the theories used to create each video.

The post Conflict is Natural: How We Mistake Discomfort for Destruction appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

The reactions reveal a wide spectrum of perspectives within the church community. Is it possible that our reactions to the change offer some insight as to how judgment might play a significant role in how we live our faith?

On the other end of the spectrum are those who have already distanced themselves from garment-wearing, using their clothing choices as a form of protest against church culture. For some in this group, the introduction of new garment styles complicates their ability to signal nonconformity. Some may harbor latent resentment, feeling that these changes arrived too late—after they had already made their choice to leave or distance themselves from the Church. Their response likely holds a complex blend of frustration and indifference, as the garment no longer pertains to them, but, at the same time, somehow, it still bothers them.

Will some of them return to explore the possibilities now? Or will some who struggle feel more inclined to wear garments with greater regularity, given a wider range of comfort and fashion options? It’s encouraging to imagine that these changes might deepen faith for some. This hopeful possibility illustrates how small, thoughtful adjustments can bring about greater inclusivity and devotion.

For some who are more activist in their approach, the new garment styles are seen as a validation of their efforts, interpreting the change as a victory for causes they have championed. For them, it likely represents a step forward and hope for change on other issues. However, while this enthusiasm may be understandable, it overlooks possible deeper spiritual reasons behind any change within the Church. Rather than being a response to external pressures, these adjustments more likely come from a sacred process that reflects ongoing efforts to meet the needs of members while preserving the spiritual significance of many aspects of our faith. Recognizing this nuance allows for a more thoughtful, self-reflective advocacy.

Lastly, there is a group who are grappling with how these changes affect long-held teachings about modesty. For many, the garment has served as a tangible standard of modesty, and this shift challenges understanding of those details. This group is wondering how to explain these changes to others, feeling as though the foundation of consistent teachings has been unsettled without context or direction. This group represents those earnestly seeking a deeper understanding in their faith. Their response comes from a place of sincere dedication to the values they’ve cherished, and their desire for clarity and consistency highlights the importance of thoughtful, open dialogue as changes are introduced.

Our Common Thread:  Judging and the Role of Righteous Judgment 

Within each of these groups, it is possible that judgments are made about others. People often assess one another based on thin slices of external markers such as modesty, fashion, rebellion, or activism. There are subtle and distinct ways to send signals, such as wearing rainbow or flag lapel pins. Many wear crosses to signify discipleship, though others see that as disrespectful. And, of course, there are judgments based on whether someone’s clothing indicates they are wearing garments.

The Lord provides a higher, holier way of doing things, in this case, that of righteous judgment. Using righteous judgment and being judgmental can be considered two separate experiences. The desire of our own heart lies at the center of the difference. Righteous judgment involves discerning between good and evil, whereas being judgmental is more about casting blame, shame, or finding fault with others. Righteous judgment is used circumstantially to make observations, not to actually pass judgment on people in place of Christ. We are taught to discern situations and behaviors, not to condemn people because of them.

Righteous judgment is not about ignoring external signals that someone is maybe struggling with a certain doctrine or practice. Righteous judgment is about using love, empathy, and understanding to see beyond these signals. As Elder Hirst observed, “If someone we care about seems distant from a sense of divine love, we can follow this pattern—by doing things that bring us closer to God ourselves and then doing things that bring us closer to them.” 

It is not our place to look down or cast shame on individuals who may not be doing things in the way we feel they ought to or even the way that we have been instructed to by the prophet himself. Christ teaches the way to judge and tells us it is as plain as night and day. He offers this indication as counsel, “By their fruits ye shall know them,” and presents these questions to help our discernment, “Does it invite good and persuade belief in Christ?”  

Moving Beyond the Surface: Modesty, Identity, and Faith in the Modern World

Those feeling confusion—members who are struggling to pivot from the modesty standards they’ve long adhered to—are deeply affected by the changes. For them, garments have been more than just fabric; they have served as a powerful symbol of faith, representing obedience and modesty, and adopted as part of their identity as a covenant-keeping people. The shift feels unsettling because it touches on something they have deeply integrated into both their spiritual and daily lives.

It’s natural to feel a sense of loss when familiar practices change. But we are reminded time and again that it is the Lord who leads His Church through ongoing revelation. Just as temple practices and ordinances have adapted over time, this change in the garment invites us to trust in His direction while staying grounded in the eternal principles that have not changed. Sometimes, things change to help us better live the principles we’ve been taught. 

Perhaps one of them is empathy, to view each other with charity—to righteously judge ourselves, our faith, and others around us. Through this process, we can signal our discipleship and a higher, holier way of facing changes and navigating our reactions to them. Because, after all, there’s likely more coming.

The post Judgment, Modesty, and Identity: Navigating Reactions to Garment Changes appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

That was my first introduction to Ballerina Farm and the Neeleman family, though my sister could remember neither name at the time. Hannah Neeleman is the poised and beautiful face of their social media, which presents in idyllic, almost nostalgic colors, the homespun adventures of her life with her husband Daniel, and their eight children living on a 328-acre farm just outside of Kamas, Utah. Though the details of their life on the farm should, like the cow on the camping trip, present no threat to anyone with a different life and different choices, her 10 million follower count on Instagram means that their life, as it plays out on the social media stage, garners the attention and criticism of many. A July article in The Times on the family went viral after it made some strong and fairly offensive inferences about their marital dynamic, which were based on the author spending a single day with them and likely coming in with an angle presupposed.

That particular aspect of the author’s analysis struck a personal chord with me. I went on my first date with my future husband the week before I moved to New York to pursue acting professionally and even as I landed in this bustling city dragging my luggage through Harlem looking for my new address, I could already feel that I might one day love that man more than this place. I flew back and forth from New York to the UK for a Master’s degree in writing and dreamed about various kinds of success. Now, I have three little children, live in a home far from any iconic metropolis and my big, beautiful writing desk is often blocked by giant hot wheel tracks and unfolded laundry, and sometimes I’m the one that puts them there. Hannah Neeleman’s would-be ballet studio becoming a school room for their homeschooled children sounds like an indication of practicality not patriarchy.

Agnew described Hannah Neeleman as a woman who “milks cows, gives birth without pain relief and breastfeeds at beauty pageants” and asked an interesting either/or question, though I think was unwilling to give both apparent answers equal possibility, “Is this an empowering new model of womanhood—or a hammer blow for feminism?”

The quiet query that follows such a question is what is feminism? It is only a hammer blow if it flies in the face of what feminism actually is. I naively thought feminism was a movement that fights for the rights of women to freely pursue any life they want, including raising a large family, cooking sourdough from scratch, and drinking milk straight from the cow. From the rhetoric surrounding the most recent election, however, it would seem feminism only includes a woman’s right not to have a child, even if it is the natural consequence of choices she has made. Those same people fiercely fighting for that apparent right do not rally quite as vocally around a different woman’s right to raise a large family.

“But Agnew (and the online chorus of Hannah’s detractors),” author Sarah Baird points out, “never meaningfully addresses why the Neelemans’ life might be inspiring; she doesn’t really seem curious about that.”

This author, and many other voices online, do not even leave room for the possibility that Hannah may love and value her country life and her meadows of bright-eyed, wild, and capable children as much as she claims to online. And that, at least some significant portion of her 10 million followers, are there to watch because they too see the appeal.

I am exactly Hannah’s age and though it is common for anyone to long for their childhood as a simpler time, those of us who came of age as technology advanced in unprecedented ways at the turn of the 21st century literally grew up in a simpler time. Now we have young children growing up in a frighteningly complex one while we attempt to navigate it with noisy, crowded, and conflicting technology as both our instruction and destruction. At times, I feel towards smart phones not unlike J.R.R. Tolkien felt towards the invention of the combustion engine:

It is full Maytime by the trees and grass now. But the heavens are full of roar and riot. You cannot even hold a shouting conversation in the garden now, save about 1 a.m. and 7 p.m.—unless the day is too foul to be out. How I wish the ‘infernal combustion’ engine had never been invented.

The world of social media is noisy and the overstimulation of motherhood is made worse by screens that constantly notify us of equal parts calamity and opportunities for overconsumption. We struggle to healthily navigate it ourselves and don’t know how to begin to teach our children to do better than we can. Enter a little glimpse into a simpler world. Ballerina Farm may be performance art, but the reason we’re still talking about it is because it’s so well done. The wholesomeness at the center of its aesthetic is something many of us are deeply craving. Maybe somewhere off in the rolling rural hills, a world still exists where kids have dirt under their fingernails and run through pastures and make lemonade out of a fistful of dandelions and rhubarb they found in the yard instead of fighting over iPads. Maybe I can’t have the farm, but it’s possible I could turn off the TV and let my 3-year-old help me feed our very first sourdough starter.

 Perhaps some women just look at “former professional ballerina” now “mother of eight” on paper and can’t help but write the story of a life that took a left turn. But their perception of what fulfilled womanhood looks like doesn’t matter. It’s Hannah who gets to decide if she’s happy. “When I first started dancing … I felt like dance was a part of me, a part of who I was meant to be,” Neeleman said in a clip from nearly a decade ago, while pregnant with her second child, “and later on, as I’ve become a mother, I felt that same connection to this calling—that it’s a part of me, that it’s who I was meant to be. I really feel like I was meant to be a mother.”

 There is a place for vulnerable, relatable mom-content that makes you feel less alone as you sit in a bathrobe at 4 p.m. in a wrecked house with the TV as your only salvation. There’s also a place for content that distills the magic of what motherhood could be and sometimes really is.

 I saw a brief clip of her teaching the candidates at the latest Mrs. American pageant some interview skills before the event where she would hand over her crown to one of them. She is in full glam make-up, high heels and has her baby carrier strapped to the front of her. She seems completely unencumbered by the presence of her baby and later wears her Mrs. American sash right over the top of the baby for photos. She made no attempt to downplay or hide the baby’s presence nor did she seem to be flaunting it. It was just a beautiful little fact of her current stage that she brought along for the ride. 

 That normalization of having a baby with you in public or even a professional setting is in stark contrast to the growing number of social media posts that say “babies shouldn’t be allowed on planes” or “people, stop bringing your kids to restaurants” and the growing popularity of the “child-free wedding”.

The alarming extension of the societal inclination represented in that article from The Times that says no woman could be freely choosing to have so many children, is a growing public disdain for children in general. What’s so strange about that growing impression is that we were all children ourselves. It’s not some annoying hyper-niche hobby that a tiny portion of the population disruptively dabbles in, it is an essential stage that every single human on this planet goes through. And every one of our childhoods involved an exhausted adult somewhere in the background rooting for us and raising us at great personal expense.

 It was, in fact, that same baby’s attendance at the original Mrs. American pageant, with her mother competing 12 days post-partum, that skyrocketed Hannah Neeleman into public conversation. Though perhaps it was the combination of a baby and a ballgown that kept people talking and brought on Megan Agnew’s original question about whether this was a new model of womanhood or a hammer-blow to feminism.

 My frank answer to that question is why does it have to be either? I attended the most recent Mrs. American pageant in Las Vegas, where Neeleman was passing the torch, to support a close family member who was competing. It felt very clearly like something I would never be interested in participating in. But I also sat in the lobby afterwards with that family member hearing about all the ways the experience had inspired and empowered her and felt so happy that she got that opportunity. That is feminism. Women supporting women in pursuing excellence and actualization in every sphere and not always rushing to say one form of excellence threatens another by its very existence.

 I can see that someone else was breastfeeding in a ball gown 12 days postpartum and be happy for her and also be happy that 12 days postpartum found me in my own bed snuggling my baby in a bathrobe. I can be overwhelmed with my three children and see someone else enjoying eight and not assume that must mean she’s under someone’s thumb and can’t possibly be choosing that life freely. It’s her right to love the feeling of hands covered in flour and lots of faces to wipe.

 But somehow, the more loudly society purports to fight for women’s rights, the less likely they are to include ‘raising a large family and finding joy in homemaking’ as being among them.

The post The Longing and the Loathing Inspired by Ballerina Farm appeared first on Public Square Magazine.

Like many psychologists, I have been increasingly concerned with the rising tide of narcissism. I am also aware of God’s use of terms like “chosen” and “special” in scriptures to designate individuals and groups. As I am always interested in the interface of psychology and faith, I wrote this book to examine the confluence of narcissism and being chosen and to help members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and other Chrisitan faiths, understand the truth and the lie at play in being God’s “chosen people.” 

The Truth

The truth is that we are special because we are all children of a Heavenly Father who loves us and with whom we enjoyed a special, personal relationship prior to coming to earth. Having left his presence we feel a void or a kind of homesickness that reminds us that we are more than merely mortal beings and inclines us toward our Father and his love.

The Lie

The lie is that we are special and others are not. We are uniquely set above others for greatness in this life and/or the next. The void we feel signifies our personal destiny for glory and inclines us toward the fame, prestige, wealth, and superiority over others we deserve. 

The Quadrants

Each of us is enticed by the truth and by the lie throughout our lives. I have identified  quadrants in my book to represent the ways in which we can be enticed. Whenever we accept both the truth and the lie we behave like ‘the Pharisee’ who is lifted up in self-righteous pride. At those times when we disregard the truth and embrace the lie, we become as ‘the Egoist’ who focuses on self-gratification, always wanting more. Hopelessness and alienation mark those moments when we, like ‘the Nihilist,’ deny the truth and the lie and feel worthless. However, there are also times when we are filled with the love of God and, like ‘the Disciple,’ we accept the truth and deny the lie. As we learn to practice discipleship more regularly the feeling of the void diminishes, we are filled with charity, and we reach out to bless the lives of all those around us.

Fluidity

The concept of fluid quadrants is unlike traditional personality texts that tend to stereotype and classify people into a particular type. The quadrants apply to everyone because we all respond to the truth and the lie in each of these four ways at different times and with some regularity. 

Discipline

The book provides a very practical and achievable method of gaining discipline over the fluidity with which we move through the quadrants. Regular application of the psychological practices of hindsight evaluation, mindfulness, letting go, and vigilance, combined with the resources God has provided us to fill the void such as the influence of the Holy Spirit and participation in the atonement through repentance and forgiveness, will steadily move the reader toward an increased amount of time spent in the quadrant of discipleship and a decreased amount of time spent in the other three quadrants.

Questions for the Reader to consider:

1. Have you ever had the feeling that you might be special? Do you feel like you might have a special mission or destiny? Do you read books like Harry Potter and wonder if you might be chosen for greatness? If so, how have you typically interpreted these feelings?

2. Have you ever felt a kind of void or lack inside of you, something unfulfilled, or a longing for something more than a mundane mortal existence? What have you understood that to mean? How have you tried to fill that void in the past?

3. If you are a child of a divine king, a prince or princess endowed with remarkable gifts, talents, and qualities, how does or should that feel?

4. Have you ever felt more special or superior to another person or other people? What did that feeling do for you? What, if anything, did it satisfy in you or say about you?

5. Think about times you have believed both the truth and the lie. What did you have in common with the Pharisees and Scribes of Christ’s time while you dwelled in this quadrant? Did this offer any fulfillment or relief of any sense of a void or a lack in your life? Did it last?

6. Think about times when you have denied the truth and accepted the lie. What did you have in common with the egoist while you dwelled in this quadrant. Did the pursuit of selfish pride and pleasure give you any relief or fulfillment of a void or a lack in your life? Did it last?

7. Think about times you have denied both the truth and the lie. What did you have in common with the nihilist while you dwelled in this quadrant? Did the hopelessness and despair of self-deprecation offer any fulfillment or relief of any sense of a void or a lack in your life? Did it last?

8. Think about times you have believed the truth and denied the lie. What did you have in common with the disciples of Christ time while you dwelled in this quadrant? Did this offer any fulfillment or relief of any sense of a void or a lack in your life? Did it last?

9. What small and incremental steps can you take today to increase how often you dwell in the disciple quadrant and how long you stay there? What barriers are there to entering this quadrant and how can they be overcome?

10. How can you more fully embrace and apply the practice of losing yourself in the will of Christ in your life?

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