On Miracles

Every few years I feel like I re-examine what it means to have faith. I'm not talking about whether or not to be a part of a Faith . . . using the word in a way that it makes it synonymous with religion, or insert the name of a certain church. No, I believe that your relationship to a church, while certainly being an element of faith, is separate from the question of faith as an expression of deep belief that inspires you to action. 

Two events have unfolded in the last few months in my life that have cause this re-examination to take place. The first is that a friend of mine was recently diagnosed with colon cancer. Despite symptoms of major colon issues, she spent several months praying and believing that whatever she had going on would just clear up. I don't see her as a person who believes in faith healing, per se, but she did spend several weeks with whooping cough last summer before her very practical teenage son insisted she go to the doctor. I think she is busy . . . she has seven children and a hundred things she enjoys doing. I think she puts off such visits, as many of us do, thinking we'll eventually get better on our own. 

Anyway, by the time she was diagnosed, she had a malignant tumor the size of a golf ball obstructing her bowel. It obstruction was discovered Friday and they had the surgery scheduled by Monday. While hospitalized, all of her lymph nodes were checked and cleared as cancer free. The tumor was completely excised and she won't even undergo chemo or radiation. 

And yet, despite my very real gratitude for her clean bill of health, I have had a hard time getting my head around the language of miracles she and her husband have so freely spoken of in the last few weeks. You see, many years ago, my family likewise fasted and prayed for a miracle and my aunt died of colon cancer anyway. She had a family of young children and was just 34 years old. Our lives are in God's hand and we are subject to natural processes. We cannot change His mind nor erase the fact that we are born to eventually die. 

I am not the best at prayer, or maybe faith, but as I get older I have come to believe, as CS Lewis once spoke, that we don't pray to change God, we pray to change ourselves. And yet, of the many prayers uttered in my friend's behalf the Sunday before she went to her surgery, I heard very little thy-will-be-done type prayers and very many of those other types. Please Lord, give us exactly what we want.

From my friend's Facebook page,  "My heart is so full of deep gratitude for the results I learned today. . . To deny the reality of a divine creator, a merciful God and a loving Savior would deem me an ignorant fool in not recognizing to whom the power of the prayers of so many has blessed the preservation of my life and the ability to continue to love and serve and raise my children and others upon this earth for some while longer. I'm very grateful for all the love and support our family has been given and received during such a challenging time. Faith precedes the miracle. I love you all."

This is a lovely, public expression of gratitude and her faith, already very strong, is clearly stronger now. 

But what about when faith does NOT come before a miracle? My thoughts of my aunt have been very heavy in the last few weeks. I will not deny that her family has indeed experienced miracles, and I know that her daughters have at times felt their mother very near as they have grown. But it has been a very, very hard road for them in many ways. They dealt with trials as children (related to their mother's death and their father's subsequent, disastrous re-marriage) that I can hardly even begin to comprehend. I don't think I could ever say that any child is better off without their loving, and lovely mother. I know that God is in charge of the universe, but I also know that he wouldn't be God if he intervened every time we were uncomfortable. Part of what makes Him God is that He allows the world to proceed as it will, so that we can learn and grow from this experience. Even when it means we suffer. Especially when it means we suffer.

My friend's faith is lovely. Beautiful. Almost childlike in its simplicity and trust. 

It is not a faith that works for me. And when I read her piece I felt strongly that such simple expression belittles those who have prayed in great faith . . . with the greatest faith they knew and still not received the hoped for blessing. I hope that I would not imply to another that if they just had a little more faith they would see a few more miracles. For nothing is more personal than faith.

The second thing that has happened is the process of selling our home and buying another. It has been a ride. In June, after bidding on two homes, I was practically ready to give up and just chuck it all in for a while, continuing to endure the small house. I had begun praying for patience, humility and most of all, gratitude for all that I'd been given rather than discontent for what I didn't have. 

And then the house we wanted came through. Not luck or even coincidence. It was an empty short sale and we hounded the neighbors until we got the needed information and put the process in to play. That process was much shorter than expected (as noted in an earlier post) and we have spent many hours in the last few weeks making sure our financing was in place--a tricky proposition because we had no contract on the home in which we currently live.

In the past weeks, many have told me to pray that the new house would come through and the old one would sell. You've earned this! You deserve it! You do the right things, God will bless you! I have heard each of these and more from my delightfully sweet friends who have more faith in general, and certainly more faith in me than I have in myself.

But I couldn't do it. Not once have I been able to bring myself to my knees to pray specifically for this particular blessing. I just couldn't. The world is such a hot mess right now. There is actual suffering and pain and . . . well, I'm sure you can watch the news as well as I can. About three weeks ago, I was on my knees, knowing we needed a blessing. We nearly ran to the point of bankruptcy with a house nine years ago; I am deeply fearful to go through that again. 

I found there were things I could pray about. I prayed that if it was a bad idea then our loan wouldn't come through. I prayed that whatever happened we would not be foolish enough to clean out the boys' mission fund. I prayed that we would continue to be generous with our time and talents despite our greater obligations.

And then I had a moment of inspiration during my jumbled prayer of desperation. This scripture came to mind from Luke:

27 Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

 28 If then God so clothe the grass, which is to day in the field, and to morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?

 29 And seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind.

 30 For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.

 31 ¶But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.

And I finally knew what to pray for.

I spent a happy fortnight praying for experiences that would allow me to serve others. Oh, I still did all the things necessary to work on getting the house, etc. And I still worried. I can't help it; it is my nature to do so. But little by little I was able to let go of really caring if it went one way or the other. I felt the joy of spontaneous chances to serve and was able to sleep. I felt at peace with whatever happened next.

We fasted 9 days ago, but I was in a better place to do so. Our fasting was about gratitude and a desire to serve and give our boys a place to grow and gather with their friends. I was finally able to approach my question with proper humility and in the right frame of mind, but with trust that it would all proceed as it must.

Four days ago, We got a perfect offer on our house the same day our new one was recorded in our name.

Getting the new house feels like a LOT of hard work over the past year. Selling the house we are in? That feels like a miracle. The scriptures tell us that faith precedes the miracle. I don't doubt it. But in my case, I had to learn a lesson in faith first. The miracle isn't selling the house. The miracle is the change in heart. Maybe the miracles are not what others see, but what we come to understand as we learn to exercise faith.

I didn't pray about the house, though I've expressed much gratitude since. I am coming to see more and more that my prayer needs to be a supplication to the Father of the Universe that he will find a way to use me. I don't think it is fair for me to ask anything else. God will bless us as he will, but I am going to try to focus less on the the blessings I think I need and more on how I might be a blessing to others and recognize more miracles as they come, while allowing others to see what miracles they see as well. 

Oh, I'm still the girl that would go get checked out right away, if I was dealing with the symptoms my friend had, but it doesn't mean I have to be a skeptic either. By seeing the world as it is maybe I'm better able to help it. Maybe my leap of faith, my gift, is to feel the doubt about so many different things and still behave as though there is no doubt. To not know of a surety, but to still plead that the Lord will help mine unbelief.

Stars Are People Too. Sort Of.

Last Friday Night, Plantboy and I watched the Hope For Haiti Telethon. The DVR has kept awards shows from being nearly as much fun as they used to be, as now we skip the awful performances instead of watching purely for mock value. Still, now and then we can't resist and we tuned in real-time to see who turned up at George Clooney's request (Oh! Pick me!), and if the iTunes $7.99 album price was really going to be worth another avenue for donating to organizations who are helping in the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake.

Of course you understand that any snark that follows here is not meant in any way to make light of the horrors still being experienced daily in Port Au Prince and surrounding areas. And I actually think that this kind of benefit concert-thing is one of the best uses of star power/influence/world domination/money. Still, it doesn't change the fact that when famous people get together, their self-importance borders on the ridiculous. Scratch that. It doesn't BORDER on ridiculous. It sets up camp right in the middle of Ridiculous. Or maybe permanent settlements.

If you missed the show, even better. You will come with no pre-conceived opinions and only listen to mine. (And so my own plan for world domination gains traction.)


And speaking of world domination, we should perhaps address Taylor Swift first. Nearly everybody wore black or gray or some variation on being appropriately somber. Ms. Swift wore white. I think she was adorable, and white can also be a color of mourning as well as hope. I liked it. She did a cool cover of a song by an alternative band, which is very interesting. Nothing to make fun of here, though Plantboy did say, "Do you think she ever actually eats?"



All right, all right, perhaps I should have saved the best for last, but I just couldn't help it. Kid Rock, Sheryl Crow and Keith Urban's cover of "Lean on Me" was just so amazing. Besides the fact that each of these singers has a fantastic voice, the harmony was sublime. Loved it. Worth the cost of the whole album, this, though each song is available on its own, too. And yet, as wonderful as it was, I wish the men had taken cue from Ms. Crow and buttoned their shirts up (even your snazzy, snappy, leather shirt Keith. That tatoo on your chest should be for Nicole's eyes only, if you know what I mean.) And who else thinks that Kid Rock might be bald?


While some stars are hairless, others are plainly suffering from a surfeit of hair. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Brad showed. I really expected he and the Angester to be down at the epicenter trying to adopt Haitian quintuplets. Maybe they wouldn't let him into the country on account of the creatures that he might be transporting in his face. Is this for a movie? Or is he making kind of a statement? And if it is a movie, I sat through three hours of him as an old man last year, I really don't think I could sit through one where he sports this disgusting mass this year. Maybe he grew the beard to distract the audience from that hat. Isn't he supposed to be cute? Honestly, what good IS Brad Pitt if he isn't cute?


I think this picture isn't actually from the performance as Mr. Timberlake sat at the piano the whole time. The song he sang, "Halleluja" has actually gotten the most downloads off iTunes. I think it is because this song has never before been released singly on iTunes--you can only buy it as part of an album or it is not available (except as an American Idol snippet from a few years ago), and let's face it, the song is awesome. Even if, I'm sorry to say, Justin, your fedora is not.

In an unrelated note, Justin T. looks a lot like my little brother, who I think is becoming a doctor, but maybe he has been tricking us all these years.



Ms. Roberts, you are just so cute, and though your hair is expertly colored, I really miss your red locks. (You too, Nicole. Why exactly DO women want to be blond?) I halfway wanted to call the telethon so that I could talk with Julia, but then I thought, "What are the odds?" When she gave her speech, she gave the horsey smile a rest and buttoned up that innocent looking coat only to reveal that the line of buttons was totally crooked. Not a pea coat, per se, but the coat definitely looked like something that might have come out of my 9th grade sewing class. Her hair was so disheveled it looked like she'd spent the afternoon in a wind tunnel. Plantboy said, "Oooo, boy, I don't think she went to wardrobe OR the wigmaster before getting on camera."

"Hello, hello. No we don't want your donation. You're Jewish. Isn't this somehow your fault?" Was that over the top? I'm sorry. I used to really like Mel Gibson, but in the last few years I've decided that he is just crazy as a loon. Again, isn't Mel supposed to be good looking? One day you wake up and realize that all of this once-hunky movie stars are older than your parents and it makes you weep.

Do you remember that really annoying shampoo commercial from some years ago wherein the sexy hair model said, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful?" And you were thinking, "I don't hate you because you are beautiful; I hate you because you are stupid." Okay, I have to own it. I hate these women because they are beautiful. *Grrrrr* All women are NOT created equal.

Sing it Coldplay. But give Brad his hat back when you are finished. His beard is lonely.

Yeah, she was awesome doing this song, even if my feeling toward her as a performer has never been anything but lukewarm. We knew a guy in Texas who went to high school with her in Pennsylvania. Every story he told about her contradicted the life story image her publicists have carefully constructed. Oh, and her hair was nearly black. And while nobody should be surprised to learn that shiny white is not an actual hair color, I'm just sayin' that Christina must have her roots done EVERY DAY.



I know that in real life these two are engaged, but it is just so weird to see Jim without Pam, and it is really hard for me to see laid-back midwestern guy with posh British girl. Still they look happy. I bet it lasts . . . . um . . . . four years. Practically an eternity in Hollywood terms.


Sting. Oh, Sting. How I love the Police. Which haven't been around since the 80's. And oh, Sting. How you keep coming back. If You Love Someone Set Them Free was good. Oh! And Fields of Gold takes me back to many spring time afternoons during my senior year of high school. Then there was that song they put on a car commercial a few years ago. Then there was the fiasco that was Friday night. We tried and tried to listen. You are STING after all, and it was a Police song. After about two very confusing and discordant minutes Plantboy said, "You know, his lyrics are really repetitive." Moments pass and then, "REALLY repetitive." We waited and waited while you did your version of wailing on your guitar and then one of us said (it is hard to remember; it may have been simultaneous), "This just really sucks."


When I put in a google image search for "Hope for Haiti Telethon" half of the first ten million hits (roughly) came back with the tortured and brooding vampire boy. Before your heart stops beating, no, Pattycakes refrained from singing. Thank whatever deity pleases you most here. He did, however talk. No, mumble. As if he wasn't hard enough to understand before (even in his native British), he has now grown a beard the size of a small hedgehog, the hair from his back finally winning the war for his face. The jury is still out if the beard is just giving up on shaving every day (this is probably 2-3 days' stubble for Sir Robert), or if his cameo role in New Moon made him realize that most girls prefer werewolves.

And is it ironic that in the books Edward is always referred to as marble smooth and Jacob is the big, hairy werewolf, when in person, these two characters are exactly the opposite? Taylor Lautner couldn't grow hair on his face if Bella's life depended on it.



Though she didn't during her speech on Friday night, apparently Nicole Kidman really CAN smile. But honestly, look who she is sitting with, what's not to smile about? Did I mention that Keith Urban performed? In a black, leather, snappy shirt? I wonder if he and Taylor Lautner see the same pluckist. (That is like a stylist for hair removal.)


And another. How did this one sneak in? I think this is from when he stole the show at last year's Idol finale.

"Want a beer, Keith?"
"No thanks Kid, I'm a recovering alcoholic."
"Cool. I'm just the regular kind of alcoholic."

Madonna only comes out at night. She is terrified of what the sun will do to her face. As Plantboy says, "She DOES take good care of herself."

And as Science Teacher Mommy says, "How much botox can one woman have before permanently paralyzing her face?" Or, "How much plastic surgery do you get before they just automatically enroll you in the witness protection program?"


Is that a stogie? Nice job Leo. What are you like, 60? He looks less like a Hollywood actor and more like someone on Saturday Night Live playing a Hollywood actor.

There is that tatoo. Okay, maybe it isn't so bad.

Another one? It is like somebody took over my computer and just started clipping and posting pictures of Keith Urban. Darn it.




Bono, dude, I love you man, but could you please offer some sort of explanation for why you suddenly cropped up ten years ago with sunglasses glued to your face? Everywhere?


I like me some bangs. So much, in fact, that I cut some into my own hair about a year ago. It was a great move and I have no regrets. I'm really liking Beyonce's bangs. But I wonder if she is? She kept her eyes closed during her entire song and I think it was because her bangs were in her eyes. She also sang one of those songs that clearly had the word Haiti inserted into older lyrics in order to create a last minute, "unique" song, that she wouldn't have to learn. It sounded like it was written in the limo on the way to the studio. Still, she sounded great and I'm really glad she didn't opt for the red lingerie in public look. Which she has been known to do.

Help! They are attacking me!

What is the deal with Anderson Cooper? Is he cute or just creepy looking? Is he old or young? Is he buff or geeky? Is he human or a robot? Liberal or factual?


This signature performance of the night was pretty good. I thought they didn't have Bono's mic turned up nearly high enough, though the sound of this song, with The Edge on guitar, was clearly very U2. Rihanna sang very well, considering how embarrassed she must have been to have forgotten her pants. I don't think she understood that just because you wear black doesn't mean you have actually toned down your look. When Bono held her hand at the end of their song, he started getting really into it and raised her arm slightly. I was convinced there was going to be a major wardrobe malfunction.

Now onto how I spent the rest of the weekend.

Saturday night I put together a meal that will knock your socks off and into the dryer. The preparation is relatively easy, but the result surpasses anything you could buy in a restaurant, if you could even find a meal like this anywhere. Bookmark this page and when you grocery shop before Valentine's Day, just keep in mind this sweet spread. No honey for Valentine's Day? No problem. Just gather your girlfriends close and indulge in this goodness together. You'll be too happy to care. But if the last scenario is the case, I highly recommend the chocolate dessert.

I may have posted one or two of these recipes before. My apologies.

Your preparation for the Meal of the Month needs to start the night before. Yes, I know it sound ludicrous, but it will be worth it, trust me. The preparations here are for four people.

Lemon-Rosemary Artisan Bread

Before going to bed the night before you will do the actual cooking for this dinner, combine three cups of all purpose flour, 1/2 tsp. of active, dry yeast, tsp of sugar, 1 3/4 tsp salt, 2 tsp chopped fresh rosemary and 2 tsp chopped lemon zest in a bowl. Stir in 1 3/4 cup warm water until the dough is shaggy and sticky. Let it raise in a lightly greased bowl, covered with plastic wrap for 18 hours. That is NOT a typo. We'll get back to the bread later.


Rosemary Chicken

Also before going to bed, place 4 raw chicken breasts in a pan that can be covered. Drizzle with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, juice from two lemons, garlic powder, chopped fresh rosemary and black pepper. Do you want specific amounts? Sorry. I also can't tell you to do it "to taste" because I am certainly not going to advocate eating raw chicken. Trust me, this is hard to mess up. If you balsamic vinegar is young, don't use as much because it tastes vinegar-y. If it is older, it will be sweeter and had more tangy richness and you can be a little bit more generous. (Note: Marinades with acid in them, like lime, lemon or vinegar can do a great job of tenderizing your meat if they are given ample time to sit on them.)

With about two hours to go before you are going to eat, turn your bread dough out on to a surface that is lightly floured and dusted with cornmeal. Do NOT knead, just shape it. I like to cook mine on a baking stone, though many similar recipes tell you to use a Dutch oven of some kind. I also like to divide my loaf in half and shape them long and skinny--somewhere between a baguette and a loaf. This makes them cook faster and easier to limit ourselves to just eating half the recipe in a single sitting. Place loaves (or loaf) on the the cooking surface, Cover with the plastic for another 90 minutes

Now you are going to make your first side dish--Cindy's Perfect Pasta Salad. This a shout out to my friend who gave me the recipe. She said this serves eight, but who is she kidding?

Boil 2 cups small pasta until tender. Drain and run with cold water. Combine 2 chopped large ripe tomatoes (or a pint of grape tomatoes), 1 diced red pepper, 1 small, slivered purple onion (or 4 green onions), 3/4 cup fresh cilantro (the ingredient that makes this dish unusual and wonderful), 1 large cucumber chunked up, and 1 can of black olives in a large bowl. In a small bowl combine 4 ounces of feta with 2 cloves crushed garlic, 1 1/2 Tbsp dried oregano and 2 Tbs fresh lemon juice. Whisk in a tbsp of olive oil until just blended. You still want much of the feta to be chunky. Pour over the salad and stir in the cooked pasta. Refrigerate.

This picture isn't exactly right, but it is close. We ate ours too fast for me to remember to photograph it. Imagine pasta where the tofu is.


Still with me? Heat up your oven to 400 degrees and turn on the grill. Bake two loaves for about 27 minutes--I like mine a little less dark and crusty than the picture below. A large loaf will take closer to 40 minutes.


While your bread is cooking, throw the chicken on the grill and steam some asparagus. (Stir-fried green beans and carrots would work too if your man resists asparagus the way mine does.) Pull the chicken off the grill and tent some foil over it if you don't quite have your table set yet.


Just before serving the asparagus, saute a couple of tablespoons of butter with a handful of pinenuts until golden brown. Pour them over your artfully arranged asparagus spears and squeeze the juice of a lemon over the top. Serve immediately.


For dessert, you should serve chocolate lava cake--which I gave the recipe for last year around Valentine's Day,



or you could make trifle. Kanaboke emailed me for my thoughts on trifle earlier this week and it got me thinking what a lovely contribution such a dessert would be to this meal. So here is Trifle: Science Teacher Mommy Style. (Yes, I know I lived in Australia for a year and a half, but don't kid yourself, this is the all-American version as they used Jell-O in Oz. I avoid Jell-O every chance I get.)

You need four ingredients for my trifle:

Pound Cake
Family Sized Vanilla Pudding Mix
Quart of heavy whipping cream
Mixed berries (Fresh if you have them. Frozen in you must.)

Cut your pound cake into cubes and set aside. Make your vanilla pudding with a mixer, using half milk and half cream. Put the milk in first until the pudding is all blended in and then add the cream slowly while you continue whipping. It will be super rich and fluffy. It doesn't soak into the cake as much this way and has more of a mousse-like texture. Actually, you should probably make two boxes worth, you want some left over for the trifle when you are done licking the spoons. Whip up a cup and a half of cream with just enough powdered sugar to barely sweeten. The pudding makes this plenty sweet, you want the cream to make it rich.

In a pretty glass bowl--a trifle bowl if you are awesome like that--layer cubed cake pieces on the bottom with pudding on top. Add a layer of berries then whipped cream. Repeat at least once (depending on the size of your dish and the number of people you are serving) and finish with the whipped cream layer. I like to smooth my creamy layers so that the end result is flat instead of lumpy and holds together a little bit better when you dish it out. Garnish with berries.

Die happy.

Just Throw a Casserole At It

The tale I'm going to tell tonight is bizarre and unsettling in the extreme. Early last week, in a nice neighborhood just a mile or so from here, a ten year-old girl, whom I'll call Red, was riding her bike to a friends' house. She and the friend had both auditioned to sing in the school talent show. Since they had both, big surprise to anyone who knows a tweenie girl, sung Taylor Swift's "Our Song" for the audition, the committee decided to have them sing it together. (This is not the bizarre part, though I will admit the thought of said performance is a bit unsettling.) Red was going to the friend's house for practice.

A golden colored sedan was cruising around the neighborhood at the same time--later it would be discovered that the car was stolen and being driven by a 25 year-old homeless man--likely looking for a hapless victim. Seeing Red on her bike, he RAN HER DOWN. Red is a bit of a spitfire and had the presence of mind to jump up and begin running away, despite having just been hit by a car. Before she got far, Psycho was out of the car and dragging her by the hair into the passenger side. Red screamed. And screamed. And the neighbors came.

Before anyone had time to react, Red was pulled into the car and Psycho took off. At this point, three things happened simultaneously: the mother of Red's friend called Red's mother, a second neighbor called 911, and a third neighbor jumped in her car and took off after Psycho.

Red's mother was at the scene just as the police pulled up, feeling her heart ripped out at the sight of a single shoe left behind and Red's bike twisted and wrecked on the side of the road. While a plan was formed and an APB with the car's description was sent to every police officer in the city and the surrounding communities, the chasing neighbor returned. She reported the direction the car had gone, but admitted that Psycho had just been going too fast and she couldn't keep up. She also had forgotten her cell phone and the only way she could relay what she had learned of the route Psycho and Red had taken was to come back.

At some point, Psycho pulled over and had Red alone for a few minutes. That is where it gets a little bit murky, but it seems that Red wasn't going down without a fight and Psycho was concerned about being caught so he took off again. He hadn't gone more than few miles when he ran straight into a strip of tire rippers laid down by the officers on duty in the nearest community in the direction he was headed.

The sedan wrecked in a ditch; Red was rushed to the hospital and treated for a broken arm and given a thorough exam while the prosecutor paced outside, adding up the charges that would be laid at Psycho's feet. Meanwhile, Psycho was treated for some minor injuries at the local jail where Red's mother, quite honestly, hope he rots for eternity. And Red's father? Well, at one point he set out in his truck with a loaded shotgun to bring Red home, so Red's mother is grateful that she doesn't have a husband in jail on top of all of this.

Many of these details were in the newspaper. But not all of them. I'm privy to this incredible story because I visit teach Red's mother, and I've tutored Red on several occasions. (It was Red's mother who made the Jedi Master's adorable black and white starry fondant cake for his birthday.) This kind of thing never happens to people you know. Except when it does.

As the Relief Society President and I made our way over to Red's house the morning after this had all happened, I said to her, "I bet the handbook doesn't have any guidelines for THIS situation." I smiled slightly, trying to somehow help the mood of gloom we carried with us.

Very gravely, she replied, "You know, most of what the sisters go through has no easy answer. I never know what to do, really."

"When in doubt bake?" I smiled again.

She smiled this time too, and said that she had been talking about that very thing with her husband two nights previously because she often felt helpless against an onslaught of problems and that the best she could usually was throw a casserole at every difficulty. She perhaps expected her husband, not a member, to agree. Instead, he said, "But at least they know that you are thinking about them, that you care about them, and you are there if they need anything."

I took my turn throwing a casserole at this terrible situation--chicken enchiladas (which seemed a little chintzy so I also threw a big bag of greasy Frito's and a quart of strawberry vanilla ice cream)--as well as volunteering to do some tutoring for Red while she gets caught up in classes she was already struggling in. I spent some time talking with Red's mom when I took the food: we hugged and cried and talked with relief about how much worse it could have been and expressed gratitude for a community that works together. Today at church our Relief Society lesson was about service and the teacher talked about trying to get creative with our own talents and find ways to serve that only we could do. I knew I hadn't done much, but the lesson made me feel good about the service I'd rendered Red's family this week.

Then I spoke to Red's mom who told me she had dishes for me in the car. "How did you like it?" I said, with no real trepidation. I don't think I've ever taken anything that people weren't really complimentary about and my own family gobbled up the enchiladas, no problem. She replied, "Um, they were really spicy; the kids wouldn't really eat them. They gave me a stomach ache because I finally ate three of them when I could get enough sour cream on them." I smiled. I apologized. I felt helpless.

So it is okay to throw a casserole at a problem. Just not THAT casserole. And maybe not THAT problem.

Secret Santa

Somebody just left a giant box of gifts and an huge, adorable stuffed dog on our porch. There is a card with the box that says, "Love Your Secret Santa."

What fun! We've never been the recipient of anything more dramatic than "Boo" treats on Halloween.

But then the guilt set in. We don't need anything. AT ALL. I know there are probably families in our ward (let alone our community) that could use the help far more than we can. I'm grateful; so grateful, but I hope I haven't some how put across the idea that we weren't going to have a Christmas. There is just so much under the tree . . .

Advice?

The Wealth Gap

A couple of weeks back I posted about an radio broadcast I heard by Dr. Stephen Bezruschka. I haven't been able to get some of his ideas out of my head, but the last comment on the post, by Christie, really got me thinking. Then, today, I read this story about Warren Buffet, whom I have enormous respect for. I think that he and Bill and Melinda Gates have done as much for Africa as the rest of our country combined. Anyway, my recent thoughts and the article I read today have prompted this post.

Years ago President Benson gave a very (now) famous quote about howChrist takes the slums out of the people and then the people take themselves out of the slums. This quote was given in a First Presidency message in the 1989 Ensign. I have always really loved this idea. I think this is why Bezrushka's essays/broadcasts are so appealling to me. For all of his policy arguments, underneath it all he emphasized that, as Americans in particular, we have gotten so good at trying to accumulate wealth that we have completely forgotten one another. As I listened/read to more of Dr. Bezruchka's work, what he is saying at the heart of it is that many social ills are effectively a product of our poor treatment of others and the breakdown of the family. He says that we need to strive more to love others and desire true equality. He follows up by saying that true equality can only happen if young children are given all the love and the support they need by a caregiver who is consistent and is available to them later in life.

So, in a philisophical sense, his ideas are not too far from President Benson's. They are both supporting the idea that true social change needs to take place in the heart and the mind before it can be affected on a grand scale.

The difference, of course, is that President Benson is right when he says that only Christ can affect this change in our hearts for good. Dr. Bezruchka advocates government intervention. I don't think the good doctor is suggesting any kind of an anarchist overthrow, but I think he wants people to change their mindset about the way they vote. Now he isn't necessarily saying we have to give all we have to the government (though he cites historically much higher taxes as a time in our country when healthcare wasn't so complicated and the division of assets was more equitable), but he is saying that if the government reallocated resources to be good for children--as much as a year paid time off for one or both parents of new babies, schools, pre-natal care and education for single mothers, etc. . . then we wouldn't spend so much on the other end--health care (especially mental health), prisons, welfare, etc. Because, he maintains, the foundation for our lives is so fundamentally laid in those years before we ever attend school, that there are very few who break the cycle of poverty and violence and lack of nurturing. These things lead to all kinds of health issues . . . and so on.

I'm not suggesting expensive government programs to take care of all of its citizens. Really. Our government shows, generation after generation, that few government programs are succesful at accomplishing what they were designed to do. But there are scriputral lessons from history that are illustrative here. Let's look at the hallmarks of a Zion Society. All things in common. No poor among them. And while I'm not anxious for the government to be big brother (too many countries have shown the ineffectiveness of THATsocial policy), we do need to remember that one day the Lord will expect us to cheerfully consecrate all we have to the church and then use our talents to bless others. Isn't the best government really a socialist theocracy? This is so the opposite of capitalist democracy that it isn't even funny.

I read an article once put out by FARMS written by Hugh Nibley some years back. He was talking about lessons learned from the Book of Mormon, even after forty years of the initial Book of Mormon class he taught at BYU. I'm going to quote it liberally here,

"Less than a month ago I gave students in the Book of Mormon class the choice of writing a term paper on either a religious or economic theme. Ninety-four percent of the class chose the theme, "Discuss the problem of riches in the Book of Mormon. " Almost every scholar began by evoking the sacred cliche; there is nothing wrong with wealth itself; wealth as such is good. It is only how you use it that may be bad. They insisted that a free market was the perfect and flawless order of things, the ordained sanction of free agency. It is only when the system is abused that things go wrong and that in itself proves that it is good in itself.

"How do we escape abuses . . . In the Book of Mormon, the destructive power of wealth is pervasive and inespacable, since, as Helaman discovered, we can always count on humanity to do foolish things. The question is, what economic system would suit such people? The Book of Mormon answer is clear; None that they could devise. . . have we any assurance that we, whom the book is designed to warn against that very folly, are doing any better? Christ gave them the economic system by which they lived happily for a far longer peroid than any of the brief boom-cycles enjoyed by the Nephites. And we know what he taught; should that not suffice? Should not 4th Nephi put an end to all argument and sophistry? If we want answers, here they are. Yet, strangely, for Momons this is off limits and out of bounds--so long ago and far away. But the purpose of the Book of Mormon is to make all things present to us; it has been edited to delete anything not relevant to our condition. It makes no difference where or in which dispensation we live, all are tested equally. And now the Book of Mormon is holding up the mirror up to our ugliness--no wonder we look the other way as it pleads with us, "O be wise! What more can [we]say?'

"The two pasages which the student choose to score their point are anything but a brief for riches if we read them with care. They were highly favored by the class because out of more than sixty statments on the seeking of wealth in the Book of Mormon, there are virtually the only ones that can be interpreted as giving countenance to the profit motive. The first of these is in Jacob 2:18-19: 'But before yeseek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God. And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ, ye shall obtain riches if ye seek them. 'That is great favorite.
"It is standard practice to stop there and leave it at that, but even if we go no further, the plain lesson of this injunction is to seek the kingom of God first of all. And how do we build up the kingdom of God and establish Zion? By obeserving and keeping the law of consecration. What does that mean? The preceding verse, routinely overlooked, explains: 'Think of your brethren like unto yourselves,and be familar with all and free with our substance that they may be rich like unto you.' That looks suspiciously like equalizing thewealth--this is with reference to 'substance'; you cannot get out of it by saying you will make them 'spiritually rich.' We give to the poor enough to make us feel virtuous and keep them on the the leash, but the order here is for a basic redistrubition of wealth . . . ."

Okay, that is enough, and Nibley was certainly no prophet or even general authority, but his scholarship raises some interesting questions. He goes on at length about equality and the scriptural ideas espoused in the Lord's prayer ('thy kingdom come . . .') and cancellation of debt, one man not 'possessing' above another, not opressing the hireling in his wages, etc. He is critical of the students' citing of wealthy Mormons who have made large donations. Why? Because don't they have their reward when their giving is public? And have they given away so much that they are equal? Again, I'm not saying that Dr. Bezrushka necessarily has it all figured out, but I don't know if the modern manifestation of the "American Dream" necessarily fits in perfectly with God's plan either. It is easy to feel poor and desirous to have more and more when we live in such a consumer driven society. Maybe what Nibley and Benson and Bezrushka are saying is impossible, at least before the Savior comes, a Utopia out of step with the level our society has fallen to, but how can we give up? Maybe it isn't just enough to be good to our own families or neighborhoods . . . I don't know anymore.

I had a friend once whose political ideas differed widely from mine. (Okay, I've had MANY friends like this, but I'm thinking of a particular incident.) She said that if the government would give more money back the people, then she would be able to be freer with her substance in giving to the poor. While that may have been true for her, she had a very good heart, what about the rest of us? I don't know if I would. Like most families out there, I feel like we are working really hard to make ends meet, and not always succeeding. As two income families ravenously try to accumulate more of the world's goods, home prices skyrocket and it becomes harder and harder to stay at home and afford a home in a neighborhood where your kids are safe. To me, more money in my pocket would mean less debt. It wouldn't mean an extra handout to the homeless shelter or more fast offering or checks to the humanitarian fund or United Way.

And so, if citizens have failed one another, perhaps government does have a role here? Just this week a very telling thing happened in our nation. President Bush vetoed the first bill of his administration, though it passed Congress with more than just Democratic support. It was a Health and Human Services funding bill aimed primarily at healthcare for poor Americans, particularly children. He called the bill, with is 4.5 billion dollar pricetag, "wasteful." The same day, his part was pushing a 40 billion plus spending bill for the Pentagon for 2008.

When we cease to care for the poorest and most downtrodden among us, no amount of money or weapons or homage to gods of stone and steel can save us.

More than Fireworks and Barbecues

It was with no little amount of trepidation that I attended Sacrament meeting today. The first Sunday of July is very often the America-amony meeting. (Like the Fast Sunday near July 24th is the Utah-amony meeting.) If you have ever attended church in another country for any period of time, you may feel that this American Indepence slapped into a church setting is slightly unsettling. While it is true that the United States had to be founded the way it was in order for Mormonism to have a fighting chance, there are good people and countries everywhere. So I was very pleased when today's testimony meeting actually served its actual purpose by staying church-centered, and I came away very uplifted.

I know this blog may inspire some controversy, or hopefully at least provoke a few thoughts beyond breast feeding and diarrhea and tears. Maybe that is why I'm writing it. Maybe I need to think on something outside the realm of mothering. I found a quote last week that has been much in my thoughts as I look at the current political climate and controversy in our country.

Last week I was cleaning out several file drawers of papers and getting rid of a bunch of old stuff. I came across a quote that I had copied from a Canadian Sunday School teacher. It was from a lesson in the Old Testament that was based around a war fought by the Israelites. In June of 1976, the following was written in an address about idolatry given by Spencer W. Kimball. (Bear in mind this is just 14 months after the end of Vietnam.)

"We are a warlike people, easily distracted from our assignment of preparing for the coming of the Lord. When enemies rise up, we commit vast resources to the fabrication of gods of stone and steel--ships, planes, missiles, and fortifications--and depend on them for protection and deliverance. When threatened, we become anti-enemy instead of pro-kingdom of god; we train a man in the art of war and call him a patrtiot; thus, in the manner of Satan's counterfeit of true patriotism, perverting the Savior's teaching. . . "

He then goes on to quote Matthew 5:44-45 from the sermon on the Mount about loving your enemies.

He concludes with, "We forget that if we are righteous the Lord will either not suffer our enemies to come upon us . . . or he will fight our battles for us."

Very interesting. Before I finish my thoughts tonight, I think it is important to say that I am not a pacifist. I think there are wars that need to be fought. I think that when our country has agreed to send our troops into battle we should support them with every resource at our disposal. I think the congressmen who vote to send men and women into battle are the worst kind of cowards and hypocrites if they then turn around and cut taxes, forcing the next generation to pay for their war.

I suppose these thoughts have been with me because mid-summer days and the promise of fireworks always causes me to consider my patriotism. Lately, I have begun to feel much like Bono, when he says that he is in love with this IDEA of America more so than the place.

America is the greatest experiment in civil harmony every attempted in the world's history. And more than 200 years after its inception, by some of the most brilliant (though flawed) men to ever walk the planet, it is still working. The greatest evidence I have seen in recent years of the success of this venture called America is when President Clinton handed his office over to President Bush. Although Al Gore had won the popular vote and there was a lot of bad feeling floating in the air, everything about the change in presidency was done according to LAW. There was no coup, no military uprising. And every citizen in this country was entitled to have their opinion about the outcome and to tell others their opinion by any means necessary.

This is why, in recent years, it has been very difficult for me to see the current administration say over and over that if you don't support the WAY the government is choosing to fight terrorism, then you are no better than the terrorists. It is one thing to say to Iran or North Korea or the Taliban or Al Quaida, "If you're not with us, you're against us." It is quite another for the reds to look across the aisle to the blues and say the same thing.

The beauty of America is that there is dialogue. The challenge of America is to be a part of it.

Thomas Jefferson said that America was great because the people were good. He further said that when the people ceased to be good, they would not be able to sustain their society. Indeed, this is the greatest challenge of any semi-democratic society. I would further add that when its people slip into indifference, America will falter.

That is why I say that these days I'm more in love with the IDEA of America than place of America these days. America is still the place where people can come and make something remarkable of their lives. A man can become President of the United States even if he is raised in backwater Arkansas by a single mother. America is a place where a woman and a black man and a Mormon can each step forward with ideas that make them fit to lead our country. America is a place where a man with an idea can make a million dollars if he is determined enough. But too many of us have lost the wonder of the ideal.

The American culture marketed abroad this days is rife with immorality, substance abuse, disrespect and money. Lots of money. America has graduated from being the wide-eyed can-do anything optimist to the global peddler of excess and vice. We have somehow distorted the American dream to mean that we can have whatever we want and as much of it as we want regardless of how that affects others.

Nine months ago I stood on the steps of the Lincoln memorial and imagined Martin Luther King in that very spot so many years ago. His words echoed through my head. I've since learned that the second half of his speech was unscripted. As he begins to plead, "Let Freedom Ring!" his speech sounds like a mighty prayer and not just an admonition to politicians.

And maybe this is where the heart of the gospel collides with the heart of America--AGENCY. If any of us would truly be free then we must surrender to the will of God. We must be righteous and plead with the Lord to fight our battles and guide our leaders. We must pray for our enemies. We must love those who hate us. We must commit our vast resources, not to things that would destroy, maim and kill, but to causes that would create, restore and bring life.

As mothers, we are the ones who will decide how the next generation views the world. So take that into consideration as we celebrate the holiday with our little ones. How will we make them patriots and Christians at the same time? What formula will we use to teach them to appreciate their country but love all of humanity? What can we do daily to raise a generation who will make peace with their neighbors?

Happy Fourth of July.

Visiting Teaching--The Good, the Bad and the Indifferent

I need to share two experiences--one good and one bad. The bad first; it will shed light on why I have such fond memories of the other.

Here we are in the middle of a job hunt, a few weeks from baby, potentially needing to move and school ending. It is a little stressful right now. My VT calls me and apologizes for missing last month (I've seen her twice in the last year) and asks if I'm available Thursday. Well, no, thank you, I'm actually not. I have to go to the doctor, my husband is working in the evenings, and on days when I don't see my kids before 5 pm it is really hard to commit to anything else. She says, "Well, I guess (insert partner's name here) will try to follow up then later in the month."

"I'm free all next week," I'm nothing if not accomodating.

"We're moving next week."

"Oh, great; husband is done with school then?"

"No, he has a while to go."

"Are you changing schools?"

"No, just moving to a different apartment."

"Where at?" I'm still very friendly at this point, trying to get to know this woman who has made no effort to know me.

She then gives an address about six blocks from here. I hate to complain, but she has no children, until recently didn't work, her husband works evenings and she has been a student. Is she really so busy that she cannot come to visit? And, despite Sunday being their last official Sunday, is it so hard to stop by for 20 minutes next Wednesday afternoon to say, "You must be having a really difficult time right now. How can we help transition you to your new visiting teachers so that you have some help?"

I'd like to walk a mile in her shoes, but I'm swelling out of my own so badly I'm afraid I would just ruin hers and she'd have one more reason to dislike me.

Good experience:

Champions Ward split just two weeks before the Poopy Pirate was born. I remember this time vividly for some other events that happened. I also remember sitting through nearly two hours of "Sacrament meeting" in the heat of the gymnasium while my feet swelled through my shoes to find out which ward we'd be in. Because the ward was new, everyone was officially released. Yet, Jenny Scharman, my visiting teacher in shining armor who didn't miss a month in over two (or was it three?) years despite nearly alwasy coming by herself was there every step of the way. She stayed overnight with ManCub when it was hospital time despite the last minute notice. She made sure we had meals arranged for over a week when I came home, just days before Christmas. And were these officially "Parkway" women? NO! They were women who loved me and had supported me. In addition to Jenny's love, Sarah Berry was there to help with my delivery and take the most beautiful newborn pictures anyone ever saw. She called every day for a week to make sure I was okay.

Did any of them do any of this because they had been assigned? Again, a resounding NO! They did it because these special women understood in a remarkable way that Relief Society is not something you attend; it is something you belong to. It is not about ward boundaries and callings, it is about Christ entering your heart and changing who you are down so deep that you desire above all else to love and serve. In those few short days after my second son's birth, I learned about true sisterhood.

Granted, my less than stellar VT here in this ward is very young, and I doubt she has ever lived outside of Utah. She has probably never had a need for such service. Having not experienced such a time she is unable to understand the importance of lending that support to others. Perhaps one day she will, and she will never blow off a sister in need just because she moved two blocks too far to the south.