The Sisterhood of the “Slightly Off”

I have this giant print in the entryway of my home. Legit giant, like 3.5 ft by 6.5 ft. Regularly, as people walk into my home, they see the print and start that knowing head shake thing that means, “Wait, is this…what is this?” They point their finger and try to access the part of their brain hosting their art history class notes from decades earlier. Once (if) they get it, and remember it is Michaelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam,” some will do a double take and proclaim, “But wait, there’s something’s slightly off about it.”

Art connoisseurs immediately know what’s wrong. Others can sense something is different about this particular rendition, but can’t quite put their finger on it. When my husband and I were first married we were poor, newly graduated college students. We both loved art but couldn’t afford anything that even feigned artistic. My husband’s cousin worked for an advertising agency at the time. She was doing a campaign and needed a vinyl poster printed of this scene. When she got to the print shop she noticed it was done incorrectly. The image had been mirrored. Adam was on the right hand side and God was on the left, instead of vice versa. Unusable for her campaign she was just going to toss it. I asked if I could have it and immediately hung it in our tiny basement apartment on 9th East in Provo. That vinyl print, which was never meant to be more than a temporary advertisement, has gone with me to every house I have ever lived in. It’s big and beautiful and not quite right, and I love it.  

The print, after twenty five years and six different homes, is falling apart now. It wasn’t meant to be hung and rehung across several states and many walls. The sides are coming unglued. The holes are getting saggier. But its beauty is not just the picture itself, but in its familiarity. It’s also beautiful to me because it’s “slightly off.” The imperfection of it appeals to me.

I identify as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When hearing me talk about my faith, people recognize its roots grounded in the LDS faith tradition. Plus, we own a trampoline and have children old enough to have children, and a middle schooler still at home. The tell-tale signs of being LDS. But the more I talk about my faith and the God I believe in, the more some people who identify as LDS say, “Are you sure you’re a Mormon?”

I was asked to speak in sacrament meeting a couple of weeks ago. One of the things I talked about was the sometimes-irreparable harm that can come from “othering” people at church, especially people who are already marginalized in our LDS faith tradition. I spoke directly about racism and homophobia. After my talk was over, someone came up to me, almost giddy, and said, “I can’t believe you said the word ‘homophobia’ over the pulpit.” 

I didn’t understand her reaction. “Why?” I asked.

“Because we need to hear about this, specifically at church, and we need to talk about it. At church.”

Okay then. Cool.

I always want people to know where I stand in my beliefs. All of my beliefs. I know I have some haters, but it was nice to have an ally. My oldest son is gay. I have told my daughter, who is in the Young Women’s Program, that if she is ever in a lesson where anyone says anything that is derogatory or makes her feel badly about the way her older brother (or anyone else for that matter) exists in this world, she is to politely excuse herself (or impolitely, if necessary), get up, leave the class, and come find me. We made a deal. She will get up and leave, or I will get up and leave if it happens in one of my classes. But neither of us will tolerate intolerance from a pulpit where we are in the audience. She knows that we will always side with our family and will not allow someone to speak about the way God does or doesn’t love someone in a way that is counter to our belief. That just isn’t the worship service we want to participate in. It puts a heavy burden on a pre-teen. It puts a heavy burden on me as an adult. I am not immune to what people think of me. But we have a deal and we honor it.

In fairness to her leaders, and to create a pathway for her to hopefully avoid potentially awkward interactions, when she entered the YW Program, I reached out to the YW President to tell her about the deal my daughter and I have. I explained it was not to be offensive or disruptive, but it was to allow us the space to worship in ways that were good for our family and good for our souls. The YW President was very receptive to the conversation and understood both my concern and my messaging about the deal my daughter and I have.

Today, we had to look at each other and act on our deal. Thankfully, we were able to do it together. We had a high council speaker who launched in about how “the family” was under attack. My husband and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes about how there is this false narrative that the nuclear, Christian, often right-wing leaning family is “under attack.” But we rolled with it, because it isn’t an unfamiliar narrative to hear.  We shook our heads as we expressed frustration about the double speak, knowing that by saying “the family” was “under attack” was really code to actually attack gay marriage, and if I had to guess, transgender identities as well. But when the speaker started digging in his heels, really harping on gender, my husband bounced. My daughter was distracted, and I was curious, so we stayed. For another minute anyway.

In his next breath, the speaker mentioned how he felt “especially bad for women, who were really the ones under attack.” He then proceeded to talk about how women are told they can have it all, and how women are encouraged to be selfish. He talked about how now women “travel, get jobs, and make themselves a priority, instead of getting married and raising a family.” So we can’t give our babies a name and a blessing, we can’t hold positions of true authority at church, we can’t pass the sacrament, we can’t handle the money, we can’t be in the building alone, and now we also shouldn’t travel without feeling guilty about it? (I am laughing at the absurdity as I type this because I can’t believe it is 2025 and this guy just felt like he was nailing it, emboldened to continue). I looked at my daughter and asked her quietly to pack up her things, told her we were leaving, and I would explain it to her outside.

As we were walking out, the speaker started launching into a discussion about abortion from the pulpit. To be fair, I don’t know what he said, because I left. But as he said “abortion” on the way out, my daughter said, “Doesn’t this guy know there are children in the audience? I am not sure that is a subject for this group.” Out of the mouth of my babe.

Texting friends after church about the wildly inappropriate talk that was given, one of my friends mentioned how she sat there in the pew shaking her head wildly. She said, “Everyone around me could tell I wasn’t happy. You guys should start sitting in the front of the chapel so everyone can see you walk out.” I chuckled at the thought. She was joking, and that isn’t our goal, but it is a funny image. The idea isn’t to show the world our indignance, although if they do, so be it. But it is about upholding a promise I made to my daughter. It is also to uphold a promise to my older children who have left the church. I want all of my children to know about my testimony and what it includes and what it doesn’t. And it doesn’t condone homophobia, sexism, racism, or general judgment and hate speech. I promised all of them that when individuals who speak in antithetical rhetoric I believe to be in conflict with the teachings of Christ, that I would be a voice. I want to be active in my church because of my relationship with my Heavenly Parents, but I will NOT let hateful doctrine enter my head or my heart, nor their sisters’ head and heart. 

For many who have left their LDS church membership behind, this might seem incongruent. When I was speaking to someone I minister to who left the church, she said, “I just got tired of the code switching and couldn’t justify it anymore.” I get it. But I guess for me, that is part of my faith journey. Making sure that I am able to worship in a way that is good with my soul, doesn’t involve justifying or pandering, or being ashamed of my family. To be committed to my God and my family and know that the God I love and worship would never ask me to criticize myself, my children, and my life. My God would love me forwards, backwards, unconditionally, when I am spot on, or even when my worship might feel “slightly off” to some folks. 

For art purists, my version of the Michelangelo masterpiece is too far afield, almost blasphemous in its mirrored portrayal of the original. But I find beauty in this altered version. So as simple as it sounds, my testimony isn’t a masterpiece. Like my butchered version of the “Creation of Adam,” my testimony has turned into something it wasn’t really intended to be. It has come unglued in some places, it is definitely showing some wear and tear, and it has a lot of holes in it. Like, a lot of holes. But I hang that janky vinyl in the entryway of my home for all to see, in spite of its flaws. I’m committed to the deal my daughter and I made. To the promise I made to her older siblings. I will participate and love my God and serve my God, but it will NOT be at their expense. I will share my slightly off testimony, and show my version of the Gospel to anyone who will look close enough to see it. I want those around me to know that the sisterhood of the “slightly off” exists, is strong, and is accessible to anyone who wants to sit in the pews and shake their head with us, or when necessary, read our scriptures out in the hall.