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.

Umm . . . Excuse Me, But Didn't You Mean to Give Me Some of That Banana Bread?

You already know I'm an awkward person. I mean, I already know I'm an awkward person, and I would think you'd have gathered as much from my blog entries. It's okay, though. There are other people in the world who share my awkwardness. College freshman and math majors, for instance. In fact, I met a great college freshman/math major who was awkward just the other day. It was great, and my day was subsequently brightened as a result of this encounter.

I was in my yard weeding a couple evenings ago. (I weed a little--almost--every day. I estimate that at my current rate, the northeast corner of my driveway will be weed free by about the time it freezes and all the weeds die. Ah, the circle of life.) In the middle of my weeding, I heard someone approach from across the street as a male voice said, “I haven't yet met my neighbors.” I turned to see who it was and was able to identify the voice's owner as a freshman even before he introduced himself. He was carrying two small loaves of what appeared to be banana bread wrapped in Saran wrap.

He told me his name was Josh (name may have been forgotten and then made up to protect the innocent, but I'm not actually sure) and asked if I was a student at SUU and I told him that I wasn't, but my husband was.

I think that's when things started to go wrong.

There was a slightly long pause in which I expected him to hand over the banana bread and high-tail it back to his apartment across the street, “the downstairs, but not the basement,” as he had told me just before he asked if I was a student. However, he kept his banana bread and stayed. So, I attempted to advance the conversation:

“You're a student? At SUU?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.”

“What's your major?”

“Math.”

I paused and realized that if there was damage to do it was already done. “My husband is a math major. Do you have an emphasis?”

“Yeah, actuarial science.”

“Oh, really, that was his degree, before he changed it!”

So, we discussed why Alex is no longer interested in an actuarial job for a short time and then came to another pause. And I again expected to part ways, each of us holding a loaf of banana bread. Again, I was wrong.

“So, Malinda, right? Well, it was nice to meet you!”

“And you . . . , I forgot your name, sorry!”

“Josh.”

“Right, Josh. Good to meet you. See you later!”

“Right, bye.”

And then he walked off with my banana bread.

Okay, so maybe that's a bit presumptuous of me to call it “my banana bread,” but every other time I've had a neighbor introduce themselves while holding goodies, I have come out with some in the end. Also, every time I've approached a neighbor with a treat, I've given it to them. Maybe we're all doing this wrong?

So, after he left with both loaves of bread, I just stood there. . . until he was out of earshot. Then I laughed.

I mean, it was funny to me. Why make the effort to come over to meet your neighbors with bread in tow and then take it home with you? Perhaps it was as Alex suggested as he interrupted my story (before I had gotten to the punchline—he thought he was so funny) and Josh said, “Well, I really intended this bread for unmarried people,” and went home. I could understand that. If you're using your “Getting to know the neighbors routine” to pick us on girls, it can be a real downer to encounter an old married woman. You probably don't want to waste your banana bread on her—it takes time to make, and you aren't getting any less single! I get it. And having been in the single realm, I could see it being true for many guys. Hence, the laugh.

But maybe—and I'm gonna go with this option—he was just a little flustered and not used to how these situations go. It's his first time away from home and he probably hasn't done this a lot. Maybe he's a new high school graduate who's still acclimating to the concept of meeting girls—or a returned missionary. Who is also still acclimating to the concept of meeting girls. In any case, I don't think I was intentionally denied my right to getting-to-know-you goodies. (That's a right, right? “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness [in the form of baked goods from new neighbors]”?) I think it was just a case of social ineptitude. And I salute that, because I have certainly had my share of those moments. My only hope is that I, like Josh, have given those on the receiving end of my blunders a laugh, even when I may have forgotten the other reason I came.