Allow Time to Digest

A couple of days ago, something happened that stirred up a lot of people. You may be tired of hearing about that thing. This post is not a response to that thing, but rather a response to the responses to that thing. And a few other things.

First off, this thing that happened deeply upset a lot of people. That's why I was disappointed by the lack of patience, love, and attempts at understanding that I witnessed from both sides. Even some of those who were seemingly attempting to respond with love still came across as a bit cold and hurtful. I read many comment threads in which those who were grappling with this new information were further battered, rather than comforted.

We all believe certain things to be true, but there are some things (and certain times) that we don't need to share, regardless of their truth. It may be a fact that my dear friend is overweight. There is no time that I feel justified in pointing that truth out to her. It would not be kind. It would not build our friendship. It would not be helpful. Very often, these truths that we feel inclined to share at inopportune times are well-known by those with whom we are sharing. "Reminding them" does nothing but scrape an open wound they are attempting to heal.

When an issue like this becomes front and center, we feel a need to do something. Say something. Respond in some way. But hasty responses can do a lot of harm that we may never be aware of. I admire the friend who, upon learning this news, was somewhat hurt and confused, but responded, "I need some time to digest this." This is a matter that may require a bit of time to resolve. Some of us may never be 100% okay with it. I don't think that means that we still can't have strong testimonies. One of the more rankling comments I repeatedly hear is something to the effect of, "If you believe the prophet speaks with God to give us revelation then you shouldn't have any doubts." I respectfully disagree. I have a very strong testimony that the prophet, Thomas S. Monson, speaks for the Lord. That does not mean I have never felt anxious, concerned, confused, or sad about anything--even commandments or policies. It feels a little uncomfortable at times. I would say it even hurts. But I also believe that those times I am hurting are stretching me, molding me, and making me stronger. Eventually. In the meantime though, I feel a bit weak, vulnerable, and I need a little bit of extra love and understanding. The last thing I need is for people to freak out because I'm unsteady.

I sat in a church lesson awhile ago that made me squirm. The lesson was based on Rosemary M. Wixom's talk, "Returning to Faith." I loved this talk. The teacher didn't though, and admitted it up front. It made this teacher uneasy to listen to a story of a young mother who had questions about the gospel. And this concern/panic began before the young mother had even left the church--it was off and running at the first mention of doubt. And throughout the young mother's story of questioning, learning, growing, and returning to the church, this well-meaning teacher continued to interject expressions of alarm. It made me incredibly uncomfortable to see what had been for me a calming, reassuring lesson in persisting in spite of doubts turned on its head.

I saw this same discomfort with others' uncertainty present in the faith-filled responses of many. I am very glad that there are so many strong members who have not struggled with this issue. If you are one of them, I commend you. I also ask though, that you be patient with the rest of us. This is a sensitive issue that can merit some deep concerns. They will likely not be resolved in immediate response to something seen on social media, or shared by friends. It is great that you have answers as to why this thing is right and good, but those are your answers. You can feel free to share them if it feels right, but be prepared to realize that they may not assuage the anxiety of those in the midst of questioning. They will need to find their own answers in their own time. As much as we may wish to fix the problems of others and heal their hurts, we can't always do so. Occasionally, we may only offer hugs and prayers as others undergo their trials of faith. They, in time, can be prepared to do the same for us when we encounter our own uncertainties.

I think it's worth noting that not everyone who asks why is on their way to leaving the church. For those who are, it is not something that will come easily. Many who leave have struggled to stay for a long time. The gospel has become an integral part of them, and separating themselves from something that has been so dear to them for so long causes a great deal of pain. I think that whether our doubts lead us to apostasy or not, we all need a gentle environment in which to question.

Remember those things we believe but don't need to share? I keep hearing a lot of people saying, "I see this as a weeding-out of members." *Cringe.* I don't doubt that this issue will try many. It may even be a reason for departure from the church for many. I'm not going to bring that opinion to a public forum where struggling members may read it. 

You know the thing about weeding? I have zealously weeded strange plants from my flower beds only to discover months later that these "weeds" were some of the most beautiful flowers. I just wasn't familiar enough with them to properly distinguish them from weeds. We also learn from the parable of the wheat and the tares that if we attempt to weed in areas where wheat and tares have grown together, pulling the tares can result in the loss of some wheat. For that reason, tares were allowed to grow up with the wheat, and were sorted after harvest.

This is not my garden. These wheat, tares, flowers, and weeds are real people--our friends, our family, and those in our neighborhoods. Their souls are what's at stake here, not just a few missed flowers. That is why I trust the care of this garden to an all-wise gardener. As Hugh B. Brown's brilliant talk (which was made into a lovely Mormon Message) states in its title, "God Is the Gardener." This entire issue is one that I don't completely understand. My only peace comes from knowing that God is the one who is doing the weeding and pruning. Let's leave that to Him, please.

As we engage in tricky discussions, let's do our best to make our love and understanding increase relative to the sensitivity of the issues. While we may speak out in favor of our beliefs or correct factual inaccuracies, we should engage in such discussions with the utmost care. Regardless of whether we fully accept changes yet or not we all need love at this challenging time. Allow time for the Spirit to work in others so that they may receive their own answers and support them. Realize that, despite your wishes, you may not have their answer, and that's okay. Above all, remember that we are all children of God, and our words can deeply affect each other. 

"Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers.

I know thy heart, and have heard thy prayers concerning thy brethren. Be not partial towards them in love above many others, but let thy love be for them as for thyself; and let thy love abound unto all men, and unto all who love my name."

(D&C 112:10-11)

Peace Like a River

Oh, this world we're living in.

It seems like each day, there's something new to be riled up about. I am occasionally blinded by confusion over happenings in the country (Candidates, ugh!), my family (Having to accept the choices of others can stink), and even the church, occasionally (Heartburn over the situation with the BSA). Instead of seeing “Trees of green, red roses, too . . . ,” in this wonderful world, I can get caught up in the trials I witness and the issues I can't understand. In these times, I call upon my faith and one of my favorite paraphrases of scripture: “Peace like a river.”

The concept of having peace like a river shows up many places in scripture and has been turned into some lovely songs. I love the imagery that comes each time the scriptures mention rivers. As Lehi reminds us in 1 Nephi 2:9, they are continually flowing. We can count on the river to be constantly moving—always forward, regardless of the obstacles that may be encountered.

I have loved the peace like a river metaphor for awhile now, but time and thought deepen my love and understanding of the phrase. When I originally took note, I think I imagined the beauty and calm of a river segment somewhat like this one. It didn't take me long before I realized that rivers don't always look so placid. Sometimes they look like this, this, or even this. (At this point, you're probably very glad that I've shown you all these pictures of rivers, since you may not have known what I was talking about in the beginning. Be advised that I am now talking about the river in all its incarnations. Except this one.)

Not all of these rivers seemed calm to me. And yet . . . I was oddly okay with the phrase “Peace like a river” applying to each of them. Examining all, I found that rivers, regardless of their state of flowing, bring me peace.

But how? And does the analogy apply in less than tranquil cases? I submit to you that yes, it does. I believe it is possible to experience peace in situations that would seemingly leave us battered and breathless against the endless stones and torrents.

The Guide to the Scriptures gives the following insight/definition to the word peace: “In the scriptures, peace can mean either freedom from conflict and turmoil or the inner calm and comfort born of the Spirit that God gives to his faithful Saints.”

God can take us out of the conflict, but he often takes the conflict out of us.

D&C 121:33 prompts some thought: 

How long can rolling waters remain impure? What power shall stay the heavens? As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the Missouri river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from pouring down knowledge from heaven upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints.

Paul echoes these assurances; “And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:7).”

The flow of the water isn't always slow and easy, but it's at the most turbulent moments that the river can be most powerful—if we can only endure to partake of the clarity of mind available to us. As the scripture in Philippians suggests, we may not understand how, but the peace of God can trump all understanding—or lack thereof, and keep us focused on the Savior. And, as we learn from Nephi, if we live according to the commandments, “then [will] thy peace [be] as a river, and thy righteousness as the waves of the sea (1 Nephi 20:18).” We, like the river, can become an unstoppable force for good.

Henry B. Eyring said it this way:

If we have faith in Jesus Christ, the hardest as well as the easiest times in life can be a blessing. In all conditions, we can choose the right with the guidance of the Spirit. We have the gospel of Jesus Christ to shape and guide our lives if we choose it. And with prophets revealing to us our place in the plan of salvation, we can live with perfect hope and a feeling of peace. We never need to feel that we are alone or unloved in the Lord’s service because we never are. We can feel the love of God. The Savior has promised angels on our left and our right to bear us up. And He always keeps His word. ("Mountains to Climb," April 2012, Emphasis added.)

I conclude with some lyrics from one of my favorite songs and a few more thoughts.

So, hold on thy way,

For I shall be with thee.

And my angels shall encircle thee.

Doubt not what thou knowest,

Fear not man, for he

Cannot hurt thee. . . .

My kindness shall not depart from thee.

("My Kindness Shall Not Depart From Thee," Words and Music by Rob Gardner)

Yes, I sometimes experience frustrations, and life can be filled with turmoil. But without my faith in the Lord, Jesus Christ, and His atonement, I would be forever hopeless, depressed, and anxious. If my testimony were in the feeling I get when I go to church, the organization of it, people who attend, or even the character of the leadership of the church, I would have left long ago. It is not; however, so I have not, and I will not. Whatever else may happen in my life, I continue to have faith in God and cannot deny the truthfulness of the gospel nor the critical way in which I need Jesus Christ's atonement. So, amid the rocks and rapids of the world, church, and family, I will continue downstream with the peace that comes from doing what I know I need to do.

(BONUS: I love this talk by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, but didn't use it. Please enjoy it--the parts that are relevant to this topic, and those that aren't, but are still great!)

Dove, Doors, and WHO AM I, REALLY?

Complete the following quote from the popular musical, West Side Story:

"I feel ______!" 

A. Pretty

B. Average

C. Pretty average

###

You've probably seen at least one of Dove's Real Beauty Campaign videos: The one in which a rather typical looking woman is transformed (by means of multiple stylists, cosmetic products, and some Photoshop magic) into the sort of model we would normally see in advertising, or this depiction of women describing their own looks versus the much more positively described perceptions of others. I just saw their new segment involving a couple of signs (“Beautiful” and “Average”) labeling doors, and women choosing which door they enter. As would be expected, many women did not identify as “Beautiful,” and as such, chose to walk through the door marked “Average.” This simple act was foisted as a tragedy. I disagree.

While I agree that women should love themselves, I actually don't see feeling beautiful as a requirement to loving one's self. I certainly don't believe them to be synonymous. There is also the curious observation that my healthy perceptions of my own beauty are often indicative of the way I feel about myself overall, though not necessarily the other way around.

I'm not disputing the claim that we are all beautiful; I whole-heartedly support this idea. But in a world of such beautiful individuals, I believe the average (if we could model such objective concepts mathematically) to still be . . . beautiful. I find it perfectly acceptable that I identify with the status quo in a world where the standard level of loveliness is so high.

Besides, if there were multiple entry options, which door would each of us choose? Given my wide range of talents, abilities, and strengths (I've deactivated my sarcasm, so take me seriously!) I would not simplify my “me-ness” to be my outer shell—beautiful as it may be. Is that okay? Well, I'm okay with it, and around here, I make the rules. What I truly think and feel about myself when I'm alone is far more significant than an arbitrary door chosen when others were looking. A more telling choice than a publicly declared “Average” or “Beautiful” may be a privately determined “Beautiful,” “Compassionate,” “Creative,” “Intelligent,” (etc.) “All of the Above,” or “None of the Above.” Or, we could get right down to the heart of what we want to know—“Love myself,” or “What's there to love?”

This gets a bit deeper and grittier than the previously selected euphemisms, but if our goal is truly to find struggling women and help them feel good about themselves, why pretend? Let's do be real: If we want to make a change, there are more lasting and substantial ways to boost girls' and women's self-esteem levels (or, you know, anyone's—regardless of age or gender). Must all of our lifting be based on [feelings about] appearances? Let's sink our foundation deeper than that.

So we feel that our looks are average, or perhaps we think we're beautiful: Let us all walk through that door with confidence. I'm okay with whatever I may see when I look in the mirror because I know I am more than can be seen. With my average looks, my wit that exceeds expectations, and my satisfactory-level intelligence and kindness (among many other positive traits), I think I comprise a rather enjoyable package. I love me, and would invite you to do the same for yourself—regardless of the doors you may be walking through.

Abandoning Perfectionism for the Hope of Perfection

I've never really liked New Year's Resolutions. You'll get a better taste of why by the end of this post, but suffice it to say that I have to approach my goal setting in a little different way than is traditionally presented because I hate that so many resolutions are made, broken, and abandoned by the beginning of February. I've been thinking about some of the goals that people make, and I've decided that I like the whole “I'm giving up _______,” thing. You know, like, some people give up sugar, soda, or carbs. Except, I've decided that I'm going to be giving up my expectations for perfection and the guilt/disappointment I experience when my [perfect] goals aren't met.

It's a hard line to walk—the one at the juncture of “I love myself just the way I am,” and “I strive to be better every day.” I've spent my whole life pinballing between my pursuit of perfection (accompanied by a side of heavy self-criticism, a dose of depression, and a dash of guilt) and my couch of apathy (which, oddly enough, seems to come with the very same side-effects.) And, as I find myself ricocheting from one end of the continuum to the other, I keep praying that I will be suddenly sucked into a gravity well that will keep me in the, of course, perfect balance of accepting myself and being my best.

It hasn't happened yet.

But I hope every day that, like the graph of y(x)=e^-x∙cos(2πx), as I approach infinity, my amplitude will continue to approach zero as I attempt to better myself. Unfortunately, just like the complex equation given above, I find that I can only continue to approach my “zero” (which in this case is perfection)--I can't actually reach it. Bummer.

This is a frustration that has affected every aspect of my life for . . . pretty much always. Ask my mom about doing my hair when I was little (Me: “My ponytail is bumpy, mom! I want it to be smooth!” Mom: “Malinda, it looks fine. Nobody can even tell!” Me: “But I can feel it, and it's bumpy!”). My wanting everything to be perfect stuck with me for awhile and was something everyone around me paid for, not just myself.

However, I recently (just before cutting my hair) made peace with the idea that it's okay for some hairdos to be a little messy. I stopped plastering my fly-aways to my head with hairspray and was finally able to do some cute inside-out ponytails and buns—which I had never been able to do before because I ran the risk of ruining my perfect ponies.

Another long-standing habit I kicked? Plucking my eyebrows. This was a big deal. In about ninth grade I decided I was done with bushy eyebrows and started compulsively plucking. This was . . . not a good idea. I went through years of trying to fix what I had done those many years ago, convinced that the only way to fix things was to keep pulling my eyebrows off my face. It was awkward. My grandpa commented on their unevenness, my mom told me I needed to stop, and even after I was in college, a guy in choir commented on my “unique” eyebrows. Anyway, after years of wondering what to do with one eyebrow that grows up and another that grows down, I decided to leave them alone.

Actually, I gave myself an overly simplistic Economics lesson first. It went something like this: “Self, there's a quantity and a price for beauty here. The price can be money and time, and the quantity can be determined by the question “Just how beautiful am I aiming to be?” If I'm honest with myself, there is an amount of time and money spent on my beautification process which I find to be worthwhile. Once I exceed a certain time or price, though, I find that reaching the “Supermodel” side of the x-axis is not actually that important to me. When I find the place on the graph where I'm willing to pay the price for the results I'm getting, it doesn't make sense for me to try to do more.”

This is exactly what happened with my eyebrows, and actually, I've found that the more natural look compliments the shape of my face better than any other I've had. I have applied this same concept to the amount of make-up I wear (I've stopped trying to cover my pimples—I was actually just making things look worse there, too), the style vs. price of my clothes, and (don't tell anyone!) the frequency with which I shave my legs. By letting a few things slip out of my “beauty routine,” I have found that I can still look and feel just as good—or better—without spending quite as much time and energy on things that weren't as important to me as I once thought. As my dad said the other day “Getting beautiful? Well, I thought you were beautiful before, so you apparently wasted all that time!”

I have tried to apply this same concept to my approach to housecleaning. I am still working to accept that some days I just won't get around to laundry and dishes, but I have tried to minimize the frustration I experience when some things just don't have a place, and others aren't in their given place. I am trying to make my housecleaning mantra: “Is my home clean enough that my family and I can feel the Spirit? [If yes,] Then what else matters?”

There are things about my house that matter. I am not going to become a hoarder and endanger anyone's health, but if our dishes are clean enough to eat off of, why do I need to worry about my floors meeting that standard? If my family is safe and we can enjoy our time at home, perhaps the hours I could spend scrubbing every surface to perfection could be better employed teaching my children how to love and care for each other—or keeping myself mentally and spiritually aligned so that I myself can add to an atmosphere of peace and comfort.

Of course, it's easier for me to write about these changes than it is for me to actually enact them. I slide back (frequently). And it's simpler to tackle the things that people see than it is for me to handle the inner, personal habits that few know about. I feel safer discussing confessions like “I don't want to lose weight, but I want to live healthily!” and “I don't just want to look good—I want to be good,” than I do admitting “I have a real problem trading my criticality for charity,” or “Sometimes I feel like a nasty person. Then I consider how blessed I've been and I feel even worse about being the way that I am.” These are the issues I would rather sweep behind my fridge and ignore than have to deal with. But they are oh, so more important than messy corners.

In conclusion, setting goals is hard for me. What begins as a gimmick that most people forget by February transforms into a thorough evaluation of my whole life and a long process from which I emerge blue, battered, and somehow bearing deep symbolism that may or may not be helpful as I proceed with my life. But I end with the same tone with which I began. To quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell,

Just as doubt, despair, and desensitization go together, so do faith, hope, charity, and patience. The latter qualities must be carefully and constantly nurtured, however, whereas doubt and despair, like dandelions, need little encouragement in order to sprout and spread. Alas, despair comes so naturally to the natural man!

Patience . . . permits us to deal more evenly with the unevenness of life’s experiences.
("Hope Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ," October 1998)

I know I have my limits. I just hope that *MATH ALERT*  like the graph from the beginning of this entry, my limit as x approaches infinity will be zero. Or, (for those of you who understandably panicked at the previous sentence) that as time goes by, I will continue to make fewer and fewer mistakes.

For this next year, my plan is to do the best that I can to improve myself while also better coping with unhelpful guilt and disappointment that will come as I try and fail to change. For me, this plan will include daily prayer and scripture study, trading out time and effort spent on activities that hold less value to me in order to spend more time doing what I love, and journaling regularly to assess my progress. 

In short, I think that this year my goal will be that rather than shame myself, I will instead use my goals to make me happier. It seems that one of the best ways to approach my resolutions would be with gratitude that I can even change at all. As Josh Groban sings in “Thankful,” there is indeed So much to be thankful for.

Happy New Year from the Streets!

 

Why CAN'T We Be Friends?

Once upon a time my computer died so I couldn't write any blog posts for awhile. This was a most unfortunate event. Luckily, it magically came back to life (by means of my husband, not a fairy godmother) and we are now living happily ever after once again.

Which is good, because once again, I have something to say.

This entry is going to cover some things that I've tried to say previously, but haven't explicitly stated. This time, I would like to just come out and say what I've been thinking, rather than alluding to it. Please continue reading, as these same thoughts could be affecting you or someone you know and love.

My problem is this: I'm a Stay-at-Home-Utah-Mormon-Mother.

Actually, that's not the problem—at least, not to me. My problem is that there are some people who think this is a problem. I keep encountering people (sometimes other Mormons, even) who get all uppity about Utah Mormons. Also, people who think Mormon women are being oppressed. And don't let me forget the disputes about stay-at-home moms. If you are unaware of how these criticisms go, the gist is that we're all weak people with nothing to say, oblivious of the unfortunate way we've all been made from cookie cutters. We've been pushed into our current roles because we have no other options. To those perpetuating these myths I say: You're wrong. Please stop.

I take great issue with all of these views because, to the untrained eye, I fit this mold. To those looking at conditions and statistics instead of people, I am one of THOSE people. I grew up in a small Utah town. In fact, I've never lived outside the state of Utah. I'm the oldest daughter in a rather large family who has never really “gone astray.” I am also the mother in a loving two-parent home, who chooses not to work outside the home in order to care for my daughter. To the casual observer, the only thing that sets me apart from the rest of the “Happy Valley” Mormons is that I don't live in Happy Valley. (And I don't have a white picket fence around my yard. Also, a dog. I don't have a dog, either.)

Anyway, the purpose of this entry is not to gripe about how I'm being judged by people who don't know me. It's to tell the world—or at least, those brave souls that will stumble across this—that even though I may look like all the other cookie-cut Mormons, it's not because I don't have any other viable options. I am educated. I don't stay at home with my daughter because I couldn't get better work. I CHOSE to live this way. Just as I have chosen to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ. Yep, I was born and raised in this church, but I have also tested it (Alma 32:26--43).

You can show me all the reasons not to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had someone try to do that to me yesterday. I say try because, in actuality, I was more aware of the arguments against my religion than they were. I could have compiled a longer, more comprehensive list than the one with which I was presented because I have seen and heard many arguments as to why I shouldn't believe what I do. I'm not living in a spiritual vacuum—although, admittedly, if there were such a thing/place, it would be in Utah—I've encountered opposition. And if anything, examining their criticisms has made me into more of a believer. There are reasons I am who I am. If you would like to hear them, I'll tell you. If not, that's fine, too. But please stop relegating me and those like me to a few measly labels.

I'd like to rally a cause—the force of so-called cookie-cutter Mormons. Rise up! (Sorry, little BYU joke, there . . . ) Because, if I were were a betting man—er, woman—I would bet that they, like me, are more than they appear. Following a somewhat upsetting experience in which my attempts to befriend members of a different faith failed because their tenets discouraged interacting with “nonbelievers,” I have become sensitive to just how detrimental divisions based upon differences can be. So you're not a Mormon? Okay. Let's still be friends. Grew up outside of Utah? Great. You probably have some powerful experiences to draw from. You're a man? Thank you for the things you do that I can't. You're a hardworking mother who's balancing a career while raising your family? Can you offer me some tips for time management and efficiency?

So, you're different from me in some way? That's cool. Let's stop judging one another and start learning from one another.

In a beautiful talk highlighting our faith and its foundation, our previous prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, had a wonderful quote for those with beliefs that differ from ours: “To these we say in a spirit of love, bring with you all that you have of good and truth which you have received from whatever source, and come and let us see if we may add to it.” I would, in this same spirit, echo to the wide variety of individuals in the world, these same sentiments. I'll bring the good that I have, and you can see if you can add to it.

Hello! I'm a Conservative Christian. Let Me Tell You What I Really Believe.

So, I'm getting a little tired of having various internet memes tell me what I believe and how I live my life. Mostly because they tend to be wrong. Occasionally, when I run across one with a particularly amusing punchline, I read it and snort before getting on with my life. Unfortunately, most of the memes describing “my lifestyle” that I encounter are just offensive to me. The other day I saw a meme with a caption saying something to the effect of “I'm a Conservative Christian and I believe in the sanctity of marriage. So do four out of my five previous husbands.” I didn't laugh when I read this one. Instead, I got a bit upset and cried some angry tears because I feel like I am being misrepresented on the internet—along with many others who share my similar values. You may say, “Well, yeah, but that's because you're part of the group. If you were on the opposing side of the fence, you would find it funny like the rest of us.

Would I?

The whole point of me telling you this is to tell you that I, as someone who identifies as a “conservative Christian,” am an individual. A real person. And at the risk of sounding too much like an episode of Sesame Street, it makes me sad when people aren't nice to me. Actually, it makes me sad when people aren't nice—whether I'm the victim or not. So, don't give me this crap about “The tables being turned,” and “How do I like it?” because although I have my beliefs, I DON'T HATE GAY PEOPLE. I don't post memes ridiculing people who are different from me, and I don't sit around in my spare time thinking of all the reasons I think they are going to Hell. In fact, I don't even believe in Hell in thetraditional sense, and the person I most frequently condemn is myself. I don't enjoy it when anybody is mocked and ridiculed, whether they believe as I do or not!

Yes, I'm a Christian. A member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—you may more readily recognize the term Mormon. I also happen to lean to the right politically. I do value the sanctity of marriage. I understand there are many who oppose my viewpoint. If you are one of them, that's okay. I think you're wrong. But I also know that you think that I'm wrong. The issue I'm concerned with here is not who is right and who is wrong (because I think we'll find that at the end of the day, we each believe the other is wrong, no matter what is said). My concern here is that yes, we disagree. Now what?

I suppose we could continue to create and share fallacious memes that illustrate why the opposite view is stupid in addition to being wrong, but I'm personally getting tired of the same old arguments. Yes, sometimes heterosexual marriages end in divorce. I think this is unfortunate. But (forgive me, you'll have to step inside my religiously extremist mind here—try not to judge too harshly!) I don't believe two wrongs make a right. Divorce, like marriage, is a choice. And while some people may be making the choice of “serial monogamy,” I am not one of them. When I say that marriage is something that I hold sacred, this means that in addition to viewing marriage as between a man and a woman, I was particularly careful while searching for my own spouse. My grandma used to tell me that most girls are more selective of their prom dresses than their husbands. I was not about to be one of those girls. Because I view marriage as special, it's not a relationship I was willing to enter into with just anybody. I kept looking until I finally found someone I believed was worthy to be called my husband. Now that we have found each other, we are doing all we can to ensure that our marriage lasts. So please, don't lump me into a group that believes that divorce is a natural result of marriage. I'm putting a lot of work into this relationship called marriage, and I find it hurtful when others cavalierly come along and tell me I'm going to fail when they don't even know my husband and me.

But lets talk about something that many of those on “my side” have been guilty of. Like the idea that heterosexual people have a monopoly on the pursuit of happiness—particularly where relationships and family are concerned. “Gay people shouldn't get married or adopt because they can't have kids naturally.” You've probably heard that one at least a few times. I don't like it because I don't think that inability to reproduce “naturally” is something to rub anyone's nose in. You probably find the “gay people shouldn't have kids because they aren't good parents” line of reasoning to be as repulsive and distasteful as I find the “religious right-wingers are all hateful people who deserve their multiple divorces” logic—because it's a sweeping generalization that's wrong. Those people I know who identify as homosexual would make great parents if the opportunity came their way. It would seem to me, that the pain that comes to those individuals who are unable to marry or have a family for reasons related to sexual orientation is just as real as that of any single person who is unable to realize their need for intimacy or any couple longing for a child. We should stop mocking the sadness associated with these circumstances—regardless of the sexual orientation of those involved.

The debate over whether or not homosexuals should be able to marry is a sensitive one with very personal ramifications for both sides. It is a discussion that should be had civilly—which civility is typically lacking in internet memes. By all means, post factual sources that support your cause. Electronically share your beliefs—I will be. Just please, as you do your best to tell others how you feel about controversial issues, leave the memes out of it. This is a delicate subject with actual people on both sides, and we can't be fully represented by such sweeping generalizations.

Adolescents and Young Adult Fiction

I've been reading a bit of young-adult fiction. Yep. Me. I know this will shock some of you *Ha! Yeah, right.*, but I have. It's my reading equivalent of dessert—my [somewhat] guilty pleasure.

The reason I feel somewhat guilty about it is because somebody on some website wrote this article saying I should “feel embarrassed about reading things written for children.” In my situation, I disagree on several levels—i.e., it doesn't comprise my entire reading “diet,” many classics and great literary works are/were “written for children” (or have at least come to be viewed as such), and you know, other great points that I can neither come up with off the top of my head, nor do I care to right now because this was supposed to be a negligible part of my topic for the day and yet it has already highjacked this entire paragraph. Suffice it to say that I don't view the reading of YA literature to be inherently wrong.

Unless . . .

Here is the part of the blog in which people may snort at me, argue, and say I'm ridiculously conservative and naively idealistic. Also, some crazy zealots may agree with me and call for the overthrow of the American Library Association (ALA) or something equally rash. Me, I'm just going to tell you what I've been thinking and leave you all to do your thing. (There will be no refreshments at the conclusion of this discussion, so if that's what you're hanging around for, you are welcome to leave now and we'll all just pretend you've stumbled into the wrong blog.)

I'm wondering about the definition of the term young adult. I mean, adults are (or at least, used to be) identified as those who were say, responsible, and taking on the rigors of careers, healthy and relatively permanent relationships, caring for children, buying houses, etc. Skipping discussions about immaturity and delayed decision-making in adulthood (Another day, guys, another day!), let's simply say that adulthood begins at the—here in the United States—generally accepted age of eighteen. If adulthood begins at 18 and extends through the rest of our lives, I would identify young adults to be . . . oh, say, those between 18 and 30, at least. Therefore, I am a young adult.

You know who agrees with me? Psychologist Erik Erikson, whose name makes me wonder how long that name's been in the family. Erikson's stages of development names the period from about 12 to 18 adolescence, with the subsequent stage being young adulthood. Young adulthood stretches from about 19 to 40. In case you were wondering, the main conflict of adolescence is Identity vs. Role Confusion. In other words, “Who am I?” These issues must be resolved prior to advancement to the young adult conflict of Intimacy vs. Isolation (in which young adults seek love and permanent relationships), or the transition to young adulthood can be complicated by confusion and an inability to plan for the future.

According to this Wikipedia article on YA literature though, when the concept of writing especially for young adults originated in the early 1800s, author Sarah Trimmer described the audience as those between the ages of 14 and 21. This age range has been continually lowered, and now the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA [Not to be confused with Yalta—the Ukrainian port where world leaders met to discuss terms following WWII—or salsa, which is good on chips]) division of the ALA has defined young adults to be those aged 12 to 18 years old. The article claims that most young-adult authors are typically writing for those aged 16 to 25, while those writing for the 10 to 15 year-old demographic are writing Teen Fiction. This is a distinction that is rarely made, though. At least in my mind and at my local library, I find Teen Fiction to be lumped in with its apparently older sibling, Young Adult Fiction.

The article goes on to tell us that the “Golden Age” of YA fiction took place from the mid-1970s through the '80s. At this time, limits were pushed such that common themes included rape, suicide, parental death, and murder. Come the '90s, these would grow to include drinking, sexuality, drug use, identity, beauty, and teen pregnancy. That's quite a list. At the risk of sounding old-fashioned, I don't think that teens (and when I say “teens,” I mean the group that Erikson defines as adolescents—the supposed audience of YA fiction) are well enough equipped to deal with all of these social issues. Nor do I think it necessary that they should be encountering the more dire of these adult situations, even if only in print. Yes, I know that bad things happen because this is the real world, and that, unfortunately, many teens are living out the “adult situations” contained in YA fiction. I regret that and realize that much of this is unavoidable. But I don't believe that it's healthy to glorify such unfortunate circumstances or to pretend as though these characters' plights represent those of the majority of teens. To present a large number of volumes in which “average” teenagers are endeavoring to resolve the Intimacy vs. Isolation conflict of their yet to come young adulthood before they've even discovered who they are—and to label genre and reader as “young adult” could be detrimental. It slyly encourages the continuation of premature maturation via the depictions of some very harmful behaviors for adolescents.


I see this as an issue that deserves some serious consideration. It should be something that authors, publishers, and librarians should think about while writing and selecting so-called young-adult fiction. But more importantly, it should be something that parents and their children talk about as books are bought or borrowed. Should certain books be banned? I'm not going to open that can of worms; in your household, that's your decision. Should they be discussed? Absolutely. It may be that you decide that your child is mature enough to handle a certain level of exposure through fiction. I myself have decided that there is no way that I can completely control what my daughter sees and hears as she grows up. Sadly, there will be some content and experiences that she will be exposed to, no matter how hard I try to protect her. Books may be a more gentle way for her to see the world as it is. However, as I teach her and help her to select the books she reads, I would hope that those selections would be uplifting. And I would hope those selections would be accompanied by her thoughts on the books and the characters, themes, and morals they contain.

P.S. I was only kidding about the no refreshments thing. We're stopping for chips and salsa on the way to storm the ALA. Contact me to discuss carpooling.

The Grace of Lovingkindness

Consider how I love thy precepts: quicken me, O Lord, according to thy lovingkindness.

Psalms 119:159

Words have meaning—even words in the scriptures. Whoops! I mean, especially words in the scriptures. I've often come across scriptural language that made me think, “Well, why didn't you say so?” but as I become more familiar with the language of the time, I see that is exactly what the authors were doing, and so beautifully, too! One of my favorite words as of late is lovingkindness. I think it's such a tender word, quite perfectly suited for its use.

The word was recently called to my attention by my grandma. She mentioned that while reading scriptures, she and my grandpa had come across a “funny word.” And while she tried to remember what it was, I thought of all the funny scriptural words that I could. Firkin. Whithersoever. Sackbut. Heh, sackbut. (I know it's a musical instrument, but it gets me every time!) I was surprised when she finally remembered. “Lovingkindness. Isn't that kind of funny? It's so long!”

So I spent the next little bit trying to figure out why my grandma would think that lovingkindness was a funny word. I concluded it was because it was an interesting combination of words that we don't typically use anymore. I mean, it seems somewhat superfluous. Is it really necessary to have both words? Doesn't kindness presuppose love? Aren't we kind to people we love? And then I thought of families, and both my questions were answered.

But really. How many times do we mistreat the people we love? Far too often. And yet, at the same time, we go on being kind to others that we don't love. We do this for various reasons. We may feel it's our duty to be kind. We may be behaving because people are watching us. Whatever the case, we are human; therefore, for us, the connection between love and kindness must be made so that there is no mistaking our Heavenly Father's role.

Isn't it wonderful that we can know that God is kind to us because He loves us? It's not simply because it's one of His Godly duties to treat us well. But because He is God, we can be sure that He will love us perfectly. Kindly.

Lovingkindness. It reminds me of an institute class I had in which we discussed tender mercies. The teacher explained that the Lord has given us many mercies. And then there are tender mercies. Some of his examples were “It's a mercy that God created this earth for us. It's a tender mercy that He made it beautiful,” and “It's a mercy that God blesses us when we have obeyed His commandments, but it's a tender mercy that sometimes, He just blesses us.”

I really love Isaiah 54. It begins with the Lord promising us that while we may have made mistakes in the past and sometimes feel as though He has left us, He has not forgotten us. Verse 10 reminds us that permanent as we may see the mountains and other geographic features, they will change. What will not change is our Father's everlasting kindness. Due to His lovingkindness and tender mercies, He is able, as verses 11 and 12 show us, to “lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with sapphires.” However He does it, He trades our hardships for precious stones. This is something that I just can't do on my own. I try, but I mess things up. I can harden my heart to stone, but that is of no value to me or anyone else. Somehow, though, He does it. He makes me into a “precious stone”-type person who is fit to live in this “precious stone”-type place talked of in Revelations 21 (especially verses 18—21).

To bring this back to my original verse in Psalms, let me explain why I find this verse to be particularly awesome. Did you know that, in addition to the “go faster” definition we tend to think of for the word quicken, it can also mean “to give or restore vigor or activity to; stir up, rouse, or stimulate,” “to revive; restore life to,” “to become more active, sensitive, etc.,” and “to become alive; receive life”? In pregnancy, quickening occurs when it becomes clear that something in there is alive. So, as a blessing for obeying the Lord's commandments, because of His lovingkindness and tender mercies, we can be more sensitive, revived, and restored. I find that to be lovely, and it makes me want to develop my own lovingkindness.

Lights on Hills

The Jehovah's Witnesses came by to see me again today. They hadn't been by in awhile. When they came by during the Saturday Session of April's General Conference and I accidentally answered the door with eyeliner and mascara on just one eye because I thought it might be my in-laws, I was nice to them. And while trying to show them but one side of my face at a time, I smiled and chatted for a bit. After all, I've known enough LDS missionaries to consider that it's got to be hard knocking on doors to try and talk to people about your church—especially in Utah! I tried to credit my kindness later when they came nearly weekly to try and talk with me, usually while I was at work. I thought they must be trying to catch us at the 8 to 9 months of pregnancy stage so that they could take advantage of the fact that we were starting a new phase in our lives and were a little bit anxious to do things right. And while I was telling myself that they kept coming back because of the way I was, it danced across my mind that their persistence speaks to their credit, not mine.

Yes, I was nice. But not “come-back-weekly-for-the-next-month” nice. Yet they came. And around this time I became determined to keep my front room clean so the next time they came, I could ask them to come in. Not because I'm interested in converting, but because I'm interested in the people themselves. I figured I would be honest and tell them “We're happy with our religion, but we always like to meet new people, so if you'd like to come in and visit, you're welcome.” Unfortunately, after I had discussed this with Alex and we had agreed on a plan, they didn't come back.

Until now. But they caught me off guard. I had just gotten to a good stopping point while feeding Melody (but was only half-way done) when there was a knock on our door. Since I'm home alone all day with a baby, I made sure to get to that door—I didn't want to miss out on any adult interaction! They offered me a pamphlet about their website, and seeing as I was holding a baby, let me know that their site had a lot of good stuff for strengthening families there. Young, old, married, single: their site could benefit all.

I appreciated it. And I don't think they came by just because they want to get greater numbers in their church, but because they want the world to be greater. This world can be a scary, nasty place to live, and families are being weakened by everything from adultery to zingers (as in, clever but hurtful comments, not the Hostess treat). Television shows minimize the importance of parents and celebrities model the ease of marriage—and divorce. We NEED people going door-to-door distributing pamphlets because their websites are good for families. So, if you're looking for a website to help strengthen your family, maybe you'd like to browse JW.org, LDS.org, or a site of your own. As members of different religions, people in various areas, or just unique individuals, we're bound to disagree on some things, but the value of family is fairly universal. If it's a cause we believe in, what are we doing about it?

Because of the feeding situation, my messy house, and the fact that I had a spider running loose on my couch, I still didn't invite the Jehovah's Witnesses in, but I hope they come again. When they do, I'm going to invite them into my [hopefully sans spider, clean-ish] front room to thank them for caring about families. They offered me a wonderful reminder about just how important my own family is to me and how I need to value and care for them. While we may differ on some points, I'm grateful that the Jehovah's Witnesses are persistent and that they're spreading the word about having strong families.

Going Where No Congregation Has Gone Before: The Singing of Unfamiliar Hymns

“Thus, just as there will be many more Church members, families, wards, stakes, and temples—later on, there will also be many more nourishing and inspiring scriptures. However, we must first feast worthily upon that which we already have!” (Neal A. Maxwell in “God Will Yet Reveal” October 1986 General Conference)

What are we doing with what we have? I keep hearing people asking about when the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (which I will refer to as “the church,” since it's the church I belong to) is going to put out a new book of hymns. This would be nice, but I think if we would look inside our existing hymnbook we would find many hymns that are “new” to us because they are rarely sung in meetings. Before seeking to acquire a new hymnbook, I would advocate getting to know the hymns we have currently.

Let me tell you the perspective from which I write this. I currently serve as the ward music chairperson, which means that, among other things, I am responsible for selecting the hymns that our congregation sings each week. As a pianist/organist I have also used the hymnbook in my music sight-reading exercises. Thus, I find myself with a greater familiarity with the hymns than the average church member may have, and I want you to know that our current hymnbook is full of inspiring hymns. Many of the songs we never sing have lovely lyrics and beautiful music that would bring the Spirit to our meetings—if we we could get past the thoughts of “I've never sung this song before!” “Why are we singing this song?” and “Nobody knows this song.” That's why I'm trying to throw in some less familiar hymns (and why my ward may be wishing that the bishop would call a new music person).

I have heard people say that they actually hate this or that hymn simply because “we always sing it” and “I'm tired of it.” This is a very real phenomenon found in our congregations because we really only sing a small percentage of the hymns in our hymnal. I do not think that we should be hating any hymns. I understand having favorites, but to have a series of blacklisted hymns simply because they are commonplace is unbelievable to me. If we were to broaden our repertoire this would be far less likely to happen.

When selecting the hymns, I often make an effort to match the theme of the music to the topic of our Sacrament meeting. This is hard. I come across many hymns that I think would be a perfect complement to the talks, but I don't dare select them too often because I am afraid nobody will sing. Which is a shame, because I typically end up selecting a hymn everybody knows. Then, in my paranoia I find myself thinking “I'm probably reinforcing someone's dislike of this song.” I'm stuck. More than my concern over whether or not people hate the hymns I'm singing, though, I'm concerned that we aren't getting what we could from our music in church meetings. Having sung the same hymns repeatedly, I kick myself into auto-pilot and fail to pay attention to what the words I am singing mean. They become trite. Then again, if people are caught up in the unfamiliarity of a hymn they aren't likely to glean much meaning from it, either.

What to do, what to do? I understand that for organists with limited abilities the suggestion of an unfamiliar hymn can be quite stressful. Their comfort is more important than the introduction of new hymns. I would imagine that an organist having a nervous breakdown would be far more disruptive to the Spirit than singing “Nearer, My God to Thee” for the third week in a row. However, many of the hymns from the so-called “sealed portion” of the hymnbook are actually easier to play than the ones we know. It just takes a little looking. Remember, though: “Seek and you shall find”!

I like my comfort zone, and I know others do, too. There is a certain amount of peace that comes from singing an “oldie, but a goodie.” Can't we broaden our horizons and find more songs that we will love? That is my hope. I have some ideas I've tried to implement and some that I still need to test, but I'm trying to give it a go without completely scaring (and scarring) my ward members. I try to select a less popular hymn for the congregation to sing each week or so. I usually put it as an opening hymn so that people can forget the awkward feeling that can sometimes come from after having to sing a song they don't really know. I mark the hymns in my hymnbook with a date and my goal is not only to avoid singing the same songs too often, but to have a date by each song. I don't think I'll have this calling long enough for that, but I'm aiming for it. I also try to play through some less common hymns as part of the prelude on weeks that I play the organ. The thought has also crossed my mind to use the choir and special musical numbers to familiarize ward members with the songs they may not know. Occasionally the Mormon Tabernacle Choir will sing uncommon hymns during General Conference. Seize the opportunity and sing the song shortly thereafter in your ward! Perhaps the best place to practice new hymns is in the home. If you are a pianist, consider using the hymnbook to improve your sight-reading. If you are not, all the hymns can be found on lds.org. Sing them for Family Home Evening. Be brave and improve yourselves. Whether at home or in your ward, persist and rotate through until it becomes comfortable.

In short, by singing only the hymns with which we are already familiar, we deprive ourselves of the beauty they contain and progressively limit the hymns that we can sing—which can sometimes cause negative feelings or automatic singing of the hymns we do sing. These thoughts—or lack thereof—can disrupt the Spirit of the meeting. Singing a wider range of hymns can help with this. Keep in mind that side-effects may include decreased singing in your ward, nasty looks from ward members, and general discomfort. Singing less familiar hymns may not be for everyone. You may wish to discontinue treatment if your organist has limited abilities or if you experience chronic disruption of the Spirit. Talk with your bishop to determine if unfamiliar hymns are right for your ward.

Being around babies (and other myths about preparing for parenthood)

Something happened the other day that upset me. Really got me riled. So I'm endeavoring to right all wrongs with this entry.

Pfft. Actually, I'm just going to rant about it.

In recently discussing the birth of my daughter, someone asked me how my husband, Alex, has been with Melody. I answered quite truthfully that he has been wonderful with her. So sweet. Never a better dad, in my opinion. They responded with “Oh, that's great. I was just wondering because really, he hasn't spent a whole lot of time around babies, has he?”

Then somebody else chimed in helpfully: “Oh, no. So-and-so was more prepared to be a dad than Alex; he dated someone who had a baby.”

My issue here is not that I'm upset by the Alex/So-and-so comparison, but that my husband's parental readiness was called into question because he was being evaluated solely on the amount of time spent with children. I can't help but wonder how that works. Perhaps there's some sort of “Child-o-Meter” that tallies time with kids and exceeding a certain score somehow indicates level of preparedness? If so, do you get points for sitting next to kids in church and glaring at them in the supermarket when they scream? Are there triple rewards if a kid pukes on you? And really, what is this number? Have I passed it yet?

This must have been a most unfortunate system for Adam and Eve.

I'm used to being on the flip side: “As the oldest of such a big family, you'll be all set to have your own. You'll be a wonderful mom.” I appreciate that, I really do, but I still don't believe it—especially after having a baby. Preparation for good parenthood is not bestowed with the title of “oldest child” any more than it is given due to age, annual income, or number of times you've looked at a baby and thought that he or she looked cute. None of these things is necessarily indicative of how well you will hold up when you're tired and hungry, but you have to feed your baby first because she's hungry and screaming. None of these is guaranteed to show that you'll be willing to stick around when your wife's hormones are messed up, dinner's not ready, and the baby needs a diaper change. There are certain situations you can't be ready for, but emotional maturity and selflessness will go a long way to helping you to get up your courage and push through anyway. Those things are instilled not by time spent with children, but with effort and attention to improvement. Children may be an integral part of character development, or not. There are many ways to prepare for parenthood.

Alex is one of the sweetest, most kind-hearted people I know. His love, patience, and selflessness humble me. I have to try (yes, maybe this happens at our house occasionally . . . ) to get him to yell at me—and even then he is always the first to forgive. Sometimes he admits he's wrong when he's actually right, just to appease me. I knew he hadn't been around kids much when I married him, but I still picked him to be my husband because after seeing the way that he treated me, my family, and complete strangers, I knew that he had already been prepping to be a father. I may be the oldest of twelve children and I've changed many more diapers, but Alex outstrips my readiness for parenthood in the most significant ways.

So please, say what you may about other people, but my husband was ready for parenthood. And he's doing a bang-up job at it now, thanks.

Would you, could you, in a box?

I have a confession to make: when I worked at the institute, I would take things from the office. Don't panic—I had permission. I wasn't stealing; I was bringing home cardboard boxes.

I love boxes.

My first memory of my love of boxes comes when I was just little—probably three or so, I'm not sure. I just know that it was when the general store (“Old Clove's,” to my family) still had some sort of refrigerated shelving like you would have for meats and cheeses on the west wall, and I know for sure it was before my family moved to Moab and back. I turned four in Moab, so . . . I was pretty young.

ANYWAY, I had a small box that my mom had given me. It was small and flat—the kind with the removable lid that jewelry sometimes comes in. For the day that I had it I carried it everywhere with me and made great plans to find the perfect thing to use it for. Sometimes I put stuff in and took it out, but mostly I just carried this empty box with me. Until we went to Clove's and I lost it in the aforementioned shelving. I was devastated. My mom was unsympathetic. I did not recover my treasured box. Perhaps I've spent my entire life looking to replace it.

You never know when you'll need a box. They are incredibly useful when it comes to organizing things. If Alex and I weren't “poor college students,” I would have those fancy organizational boxes. But we're not, so I don't. That's okay. My bathroom shelves are in order thanks to some well-placed ramen noodle boxes. I keep my sheet music in a shoebox that I covered in old music. I use a blender box as a trash can in Melody's room. I load my closets with various boxes labeled to match their contents. It's a good system.

What's not a good system is the series of boxes that contain unsorted items that I'm not sure where to put them. So I put them in boxes and pretend that they are taken care of. Sure, I'll make it around to going through the boxes and sorting them into more boxes and eventually assigning them a permanent place, but in the meantime they merely provide a false sense of organization and a hiding place for my clutter.

I like boxes. Literally and figuratively. After all, isn't it “hip to be square”?

I need a bit of structure. You may have noticed that many, if not all, of my titles are some sort of recycling of other people's words. Cliches are my Achilles' heel (See? I can't even explain my feelings about cliches without using one!). I write “To do” lists and routines, if only to disregard them. I've been seen as a “good little Mormon girl” who has grown up to be a stay-at-home mom (with a blog, no less!) and I've tried to live up to many of the expectations that have come with those titles. The result: I take the traits and qualities that I've developed, re-box them, and give them a label that I find acceptable while discarding the less helpful clutter that comes with stereotypes.

“Boxes” have given me a way to put my thoughts and beliefs in order. And it works for me—as long as I don't use them as a permanent, disorganized catch-all. However, I have tried to keep some boxes that weren't benefiting me. I still have some. The good news is that I usually try to trade out worn boxes or boxes that are the wrong size for more sturdy boxes that better serve my purposes. And sometimes I just have to donate an entire box and its contents to the DI.

It drove Alex crazy right after we had moved to have me bringing home empty paper boxes from work. “Don't you already have boxes? Aren't you getting rid of boxes?” What he didn't understand, no matter how I explained it to him, was that these boxes were everything I wanted in a box. These were going to help me organize more permanently than the boxes I already had, so I was upgrading.

My Great-grandpa Farnsworth gave me some advice the last time I saw him before he passed away. “You don't have to pick up everything you come across, you know?”

Oh, I know. So when I do find something worth keeping, I put it in a nice box and label it.