Twenty Years Ago

This post is actually about a month late, and probably should be a bit sentimental, but I'm not sure it will be.

Twenty years ago, the week after Memorial Day, was my high school graduation. It was very momentous at the time. My friends and I planned for weeks--senior sluff day, awards and accolades, graduation night, scheming to pray at graduation in spite of 1993 being that year when a line was drawn. I spoke at graduation that night (strictly a try-out job; nothing to do with grades). It had rained for days, finally clearing that afternoon so that we could hold the event outside in our spacious stadium instead of the auditorium. My best friend, Katie, later reported that there was a rainbow behind me as I spoke . . . a good omen for all of us looking forward.

I think I have looked forward. I have tried very hard not to be one of those glory-days people. Not because it wasn't wonderful; in many ways it was, but I think I've always been pretty realistic about how you really can't return to that time. And how, if you really think about it, you wouldn't want to anyway. Near the end of that chilly graduation evening, my old 5-7 grade crowd all caught up with each other in the same place at the same time. We weren't a group that really splintered, more drifted into other interests and still saw each other with fondness. There we were, seven expectant faces in a circle of friendship. One of the girls/women/graduates in the group said with enthusiasm, "It will always be like this!" Katie and I smiled, but also shared a knowing glance across the circle. We didn't have a lot of wisdom then, but we knew enough to know that it would never be like that again.

Katie became Kate and got a beautiful tatoo of an iris on chest before that year was out. College wasn't quite the perfect fit for all of us and many dreams were dashed before our first reunion. A boy that one of us loved was maimed for life in horrible accident before spring again turned to summer. The boys who we loved as friends or otherwise all went on missions; for some of them is was their last hurrah in the Church. Within five years two of us would be married and divorced. Some would still be hoping for marriage in the aftermath of heartache. Drift took us miles, even countries apart. I think most of us gathered in that circle again at our five-year reunion; we've maybe all been together only once since.

There was a second peer group that I was closer to in those last two years of high school that scattered to the wind before the summer even ended. 

I am finding that some of my high school acquaintances have drifted more to the forefront with the passing years. Because I have been away from that community for so many years, those to which I've become close are those who like Facebook as a medium for friendship. I would gladly argue with anybody who says the virtual friendships cannot be real. A few of these re-connections have meant more to me than I can possibly say, and we ask all the time, "Why weren't we better friends in high school?"

The answer might be as simple as circumstances that didn't put us in the way of each other more often, but it might be more complicated too. We are all different people now. Our personalities, always friendly to one another and compatible, have taken on more depth through those dreaded building experiences we have all been through. Time has demonstrated who we really are, pushed-to-the-wall circumstances have revealed our true characters.

The timing for my 20th year reunion is bad. The same week last year would have been perfect, but after three trips to see family (Utah/Colorado) in 12 months, we decided early this year that we would NOT be in Utah this summer. As it turns out, Utah is coming to us, about two weeks before the reunion and we have a great staycation planned with my family. My mother is also coming out the last week in August to watch my kids so that I can go back to work the week before they do.

In March, when reunion dates were bandied about on Facebook and I planned for my own college graduation, it seemed that I would have to make a choice--to go to Utah State to be officially hooded, or enjoy the company of some really fantastic people (in person, not in cyberspace). I chose to walk at graduation, with nobody but my own parents there this time. There were some accolades, but mostly I was just one of a thousand candidates for hooding. It was a victory that was much more personal than public. The rainbow was in my heart instead of in the sky.

I like to think that my choice was about looking forward instead of looking back. But I do have some wisdom and I know that this choice is also about other things. It is about wanting to lose ten pounds. It is about not wanting to go alone; I was always alone then and would desperately like some kind of proof of Plantboy's existence. (He is really so good-looking. How awesome to have that kind of arm candy with me to give me courage.) It is about not having that book published yet. It is about just barely getting the master's degree that part of me feels should have been earned ten years ago. It is about years out of the work force as a wife and mother.

Wanting to forget is warring in my heart with wanting to remember. I want to forget that feeling of never quite belonging to a group. I want to forget the embarrassment I once felt at being the most well-read person in the room with the ridiculous vocabulary. A few awful dates. I want to forget the insecurity I hid with snark and premature bitterness. I want to forget the way every boy would look at the other girls in the crowd first. I want to forget some of those horrible dances. "Friends" who really weren't. The feeling of again falling short of making office or a coveted part in the play. The angst. The drama. The wanting to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I'm just not that girl anymore. And I'm so terrified to be--for even one night. I know I'm way over-thinking this (hey, it is my signature move), and those of you who have done this before will probably say I will regret it if I don't go. Maybe you are right. 

Because there are other things I want to remember. My delightfully smart friends. February in London. A healthy rivalry that made me a better student. The thrill of acing a test or getting a trophy. The teachers--especially Glen Prisk's AP biology class or Nancy Reed's early morning AP English. Decorating a Christmas tree that still had a root ball. Lighting the W. Bungee jumping. All the clubs--especially the fake ones! The pride in a school and a community. Some of those delightful dances. A few lovely dates. Sting at ParkWest with TWO boys and Midnight Oil at Saltair with two DIFFERENT boys. The green room before a show . . . even a show in which your part is almost nil. The feeling of possibility that you might become anything.

I don't know if I'll be there in person in six weeks' time; but it is safe to say that I'll be there in spirit. Whatever else I have become, that place I am from was foundational. You maybe can't go home, but I think we take home with us whether we intend to or not.

My Joy Is Fuller

After my temple experience I was working hard to just go with the flow. To trust ourselves to God's care. These thoughts were very full with me when I went to Church on Sunday. Full thoughts + Fast Sunday = mouth overflowing. I bore my testimony and blubbered a bit and said some stuff about being a missionary (always; I can't seem to help it). Anyway, I was really feeling so happy and it was the easiest fast I've had in months.

I taught a couple of classes Sunday and while I was gathering up my things one of the young women came to find me. She was baptized while I was her leader. I have sometimes worried about her sticking power because her sweet family tends to run a little bit hot and cold with attendance. As with many 14 year-olds that get baptized, there was a cute boy involved and lots of initial fellowship. In the years since, the cute boy and his family have distanced themselves from the Church, and the fellowshipping has given way accepting  her as one of themselves.

As she approached me I found it odd that she would seek me out, and for a moment wondered if she was going to unburden deep concerns. Instead she shyly thanked me for my testimony, telling me it was an answer to prayers she has had lately about going on a mission. She said, "I just realized today how important it will be for me to have those kinds of experiences to look back on." Wow. Just wow. We cried and hugged. I remembered that years ago our YW secretary, though rather elderly and not in the best health, decided to go on a mission with her husband. Because, she told me, that she had listened to my experiences and was convinced that she wasn't too old to make new memories. Later that day a friend called to tell me that her son (in my Sunday School class) loves hearing my mission stories. 

I feel so humbled and blessed by these admissions; I feel so grateful for the gift God has given me to open my mouth. The gift to remember and tell. The gift to help others feel the influence of the Holy Ghost. My patriarchal blessing tells me to prepare for teaching and service. I am feeling the blessing of this preparation more and more with each passing year. 

After Sunday's high, I prayed for peace and sang hymns to calm my nerves and my stomach. I waited for the phone to ring. . and Tuesday night it did.

I have been offered the ideal job. My prayers have been answered. I will be working at the local high school, whose schedule runs more or less the same as the one my children are on. Students are on an A/B day schedule. I will be teaching all of A day, but only one class on B day. I have the majority of every other day off. My husband can put my kids on the bus each morning, and they will only have to do after school club every other day, and only for an hour on those days. I only have one prep.

For months Plantboy and I have prayed that I would find a job that brought me joy, supplemented our income and allowed me to still be the kind of mother I wanted to be. I don't know why we have been so smiled upon when lots of others are still enduring trials. I am not unaware of the awesome intersection of providence and preparation whenever I have needed a job. Notice that I did not say luck. My regular readers know how I feel about luck, but please don't mistake that to mean that I believe this is all on me either. I see God's hand in our lives so powerfully this week that I feel to rejoice. We will take our season of joy now and store up against future trials.

Temple

I think our Father in Heaven communicates with each of us in somewhat different ways. It makes sense; each person is unique in the way they learn. We are each a combination of our history, natural ability, the way we process information and our willingness to learn. Therefore, it stands to reason, that if loving Heavenly Parents are omniscient and know us the best, then they would seek out ways to give us guidance that best suit us. 

From the very first time I attended the temple, I learned that my Father in Heaven has great capacity to reach me when I am there. It is one of very few places that I'm still and not busy. I realize this is not the case for everyone, and my intention here today is not to tell you that you are duty bound to be there THIS WEEK. I only wish to express gratitude for my experience there last night.

Usually our temple attendance takes some long term organization and planning, because it is about 7 hour round trip when we go, but last might was more thrown together on a whim late Thursday. I had just interviewed for a job (the second in the week) and thought I was in need of some direction and help making a decision. Both interviews went well and I had every confidence that I would make it through to the next round for both.

Within 15 minutes of leaving on Friday, I got a call from one of the principals at an interviewing school. It was a rejection, but it was the strangest rejection ever. She seemed legitimately sad to be not choosing me, saying that she just saw me in a high school position. That comment was strange, considering most of my experience has been in middle school. Her tone and other words were equally strange. I think she is really hopeful that I get the high school job I applied for . . . her own students feed into the other school. Anyway, it was just weird. And yes, rather disappointing. My next thought was then to go to the temple with fervent prayers that the other job would work out.

Fast-forward four hours later to the temple session. I felt really happy there--probably more attentive and reverent than I normally am. And I felt fine about the rejection, but with no need to pray about the other.  I didn't really have a strong impression that it will happen for me, necessarily. Instead I mostly felt very impressed that whatever happens we are in God's hands. There was a gentle reminder that He knows both our needs and wants and that He has never let us down yet. For some shining moments last night I knew that God recognizes our consecrated efforts to His Church and our family, and He will not let us down.

I am not without wonder and some anxiety about what happens next for us; it is my nature to be this way. But I'm not without faith, and I know that we have prepared both spiritually and temporally for whatever the Lord has in store for us next. Things may not unfold in the coming weeks how I want them too, but I believe today that they will transpire how they are meant to.

Control

The other day on Facebook I saw a quote that somebody had posted related to the way we should live our lives. You know, one of those things in a cheezy font with a soothing picture. It went like this, "The reason many people in our society are miserable, sick, and highly stressed is because of an unhealthy attachment to things they have no control over.”

It is an interesting idea, and probably worth looking at a little bit more closely. 

First of all, I don't really think that our life is meant to be some never-ending bliss. I don't think think that God intends for us to be uptight and unhappy all the time, of course, but years ago Elder Maxwell coined the term "divine discontent" that I find very apropos.  To me, divine discontent is like the voice of Mufasa whispering from beyond the veil, "You are more than you have become . . . remember!" It is through our falling down and rising again, our righteous ambitions, our trying just a little bit harder to love a little bit more that we remember who we are. Sometimes this causes a little bit of stress. After all, isn't stress that gap between where we are and where we want to be?

Don't get me wrong. I think we need to be very honest about running-faster-than-we-have-strength. I am very bad at this. But there is a big difference between accepting that we cannot affect the outcome of every situation and ceasing to try affecting any outcome at all. 

I have always been a Type A personality. Here is some insight into that: I told Plantboy the other day that it was going to a huge adjustment for me to begin using my Franklin-Covey planner as an app in my iPad instead of a physical book, because I had been carrying one for 25 years. He looked at me a bit askance . . . 25 years?  Yes, that's right. I started carrying my first planner when I was 13. It is in my nature to attempt to control nearly everything.

I went through a phase in my 20's when I hated this about myself. Everyone seemed more relaxed. More happy. More able to go with the flow. Etc. Etc. I was convinced that it was this thing about me that had broken off my first engagement. I sometimes feared it would prevent me from ever finding happiness in my marriage. Of course, this self-loathing was exacerbating my stress.

One day, after a very long talk with my mother, I had a revelation of sorts. It seemed that the thing to do was embrace my personality as it was instead of forever trying to change it. And something remarkable happened. I saw that it was this part of me that had given me the ability to work very hard as a missionary, to finish college and be so successful in my chosen career. It was this thing that allowed me to juggle so much and help others. It was this part of me that made me reliable and  dependable. I accepted the level of stress that came with who I am fundamentally, and began to understand what it takes for me to manage that stress.

Back to the control issue. After a YW program I was a part of some time ago, a woman in our group (decidedly not Type A) spoke with a great deal of enthusiasm after the project was over about how God always steps up and makes these things good. Her comment gave me great pause as I thought about all the hours I (and others) had put in to make the program successful. While I agreed with her that the Lord had sanctified our performance and had blessed us with the Holy Ghost that night, I didn't agree that God would have done so had our preparation been faulty, or less than all we had to give. 

So over the years I've learned that I can control the level of service I give to a thing . . . and that the more I'm willing to give the better it often turns out. Particularly if I have served prayerfully. I have learned that great and loving volunteers can make a whole school, and by extension a community, a better place. I've learned that I have a large deal of control (or at least influence) in my own home regarding a whole host of things--from my children's nutrition to their spiritual insights to their attitudes. I have a lot of control over my husband's happiness. Their behavior out "there" reflects pretty well what we are doing in here. And yet, keeping a clean home, making sure homework is done, driving them places, attending all our church meetings, fixing healthy meals (you know the drill) causes stress and wears me down. Perhaps this is my basic personality. Perhaps it is just life.

The idea that I could somehow have less stress by giving up on a lot of this because I cannot control how my children turn out is ludicrous to me. When it comes to it, I cannot make their choices for them, but I can help them to come from a place where they understand fully the paths in front of them and understand about revelation that will lead them to the right path. On paper it looks like such a simple thing. In practice, creating the childhood and community you want for your children is a daily battle between what is easy and what is right. Where you are, and where you want to be. It is stressful. I wonder if it is supposed to be.

If you haven't yet read "Letter to a Doubter" by Terryl Givens, you really should. This excerpt occurs near the end, 

"The option to believe must appear on one’s personal horizon like the fruit of paradise, perched precariously between sets of demands held in dynamic tension. Fortunately, in this world, one is always provided with sufficient materials out of which to fashion a life of credible conviction or dismissive denial. We are acted upon, in other words, by appeals to our personal values, our yearnings, our fears, our appetites, and our egos. What we choose to embrace, to be responsive to, is the purest reflection of who we are and what we love. That is why faith, the choice to believe, is, in the final analysis, an action that is positively laden with moral significance.

"The call to faith, in this light, is not some test of a coy god, waiting to see if we “get it right.” It is the only summons, issued under the only conditions, which can allow us fully to reveal who we are, what we most love, and what we most devoutly desire. Without constraint, without any form of mental compulsion, the act of belief becomes the freest possible projection of what resides in our hearts. Like the poet’s image of a church bell that only reveals its latent music when struck, or a dragonfly that only flames forth its beauty in flight, so does the content of a human heart lie buried until action calls it forth. The greatest act of self-revelation occurs when we choose what we will believe, in that space of freedom that exists between knowing that a thing is, and knowing that a thing is not."

More than any other thing I've ever read that helps me to understand what God meant when he told Abraham that we would be "proved herewith." It isn't a test just to mess with us because God is powerful enough to do it. It is our chance to demonstrate our deepest desires and yearnings. Our choices are a chance to reveal our innermost self. Our choice to faith, to action, to attempt to exert some influence on the world around us when all the logic and darkness and natural-man-ness says it is just easier to give up control and be stress-free.

I choose action. And for me that means an acceptance of stress. For me to be otherwise is to shut that voice from the other side of the veil that is constantly calling me to look up and remember.

The Power to Tax is the Power to Take Freedom

Today's title is based on a quote from Rand Paul that I read in a CNN editorial earlier today. Those of you reading regularly know me well enough to know that this is the sort of sentiment I don't really agree with. I find the logic hard to follow. . . and have even when I have read this type of sentiment from a host of other thinkers who have tried to spell it out more clearly.

As I've stated in varying ways here before, I think the art of government is balancing the needs of civil society with individual liberty. Civil societies need educated children not forced into hard labor at a young age. They need clean air and water and safe spaces. I believe civil societies ultimately need to provide access to health care for most of their citizens. I believe the role of good government is create conditions where the majority of its citizenry can pursue life, liberty and happiness, even those born in abject poverty . . . maybe especially for those born into abject poverty. But I also believe that individual rights are important too. The rights of one should not be taken over the tyranny of many. Democracy tells us that the majority gets their way; our Constitution tells us that we are free to pursue happiness in the ways we wish regardless of what the majority wants.

I say that politics is an art, because there are lots of times when the needs of the many and the needs of the few, or the one (thanks Spock) are in conflict. So while some people might see any form of taxation as equal to bondage . . . for others those tax dollars are the path to freedom. They pay for education. Jobs. Military. Welfare programs. Etc. Etc.

To the point.

Is the IRS wrong to target specifically conservative groups in their audits of non-profits? Absolutely. No party may use its political power to oppress the another faction of society. If audits and/or censure were necessary for Tea Party-associated organizations, then they were also necessary for organizations like Moveon.org. If organizations that claim to be 501(c)(3)s are engaged in political activity that crosses the (terribly vague) boundary then it is necessary for the government to uphold the law. And while the outrage, this week, is that conservative groups were unfairly targeted because of overt political activities, to me the outrage should be over something bigger than this.

Our local education foundation here operates as a 501(c)(3), as well as being staffed entirely by volunteers, and as such is able to return nearly 100% of collected money into our community, targeting schools where need is the greatest. This status also helps people feel more generous in donating because they get a tax break too. The 501(c)(3) was designed to help organizations (including churches) put money back into their communities, ultimately bolstering federal money that occasionally trickles down to the local level. This status was not intended to be one more arm for political parties to raise money without impunity.

Obama's firing the head of the IRS is probably a necessary first step (Politics 101: Every Scandal Needs a Scapegoat), but ordering next an investigation of 501(c)(3)s that supported his own campaign would be a good move. Both politically and morally. When problems are found, as they will be--everybody plays dirty in this game, equal sanctions must be in place. But then the third order of business needs to be a tightening of the 501(c)(3) rules. Senator Rand will rant and scream in his high-pitched hillbilly that political money is free speech. But I will know that for all his talk of freedom and justice and liberty . . . at its heart he is really talking about unfettered money into politics. Money that buys politicians. Politicians who favorably legislate for issues that make sure the people with the money keep all the money.

A New Holiday!

The last week and a half has been wonderful. Between a trip home to visit my parents and walk at graduation, mother's day and my birthday, it has kind of been the Science Teacher Mommy Show. Some awesome presents, time to myself (better than presents), and some much-needed breaks from the routine have permeated the last ten days. I have written, read books, exercised, slept in and been to lunch with friends. I even bought a maxi dress, thanks very much, and it is super cute.

Today will, no doubt, be a hard return to reality. I've already done laundry this morning and prepped curriculum I'm volunteer teaching for the next few weeks. The rest of the day will be spent teaching (yeah, again, not paid teaching) and running kids around as well as prepping for a very busy week. 

I should also know today if our school district will be hiring this year. . . or more specifically, exactly what they will be hiring for. There are actually some promising leads. However, I have also come to terms with not being in the classroom regularly next year if that is what happens. I'm in a better place now than I was two months ago, and more at peace with my role as principal care-giver to the Jedi. I found out yesterday that there are changes in the wind regarding my calling as well; changes that will be a welcome sigh of relief after four years as a first counselor. 

Whatever else goes down, the next few weeks will likely be a very challenging and exciting time of change for me, and for our family. I'm waiting and watching and trying very hard to listen so that I might know what path to take next.

To quote "Kid President" quoting Robert Frost:

A Poem:

Two roads diverged in the woods
And I took the road less traveled
And it hurt man!
Rocks!
Thorns!
Glass!
Not cool, Robert Frost!
If there really are two roads, I want to take the one that leads to awesome.

I guess it isn't quite the original, but I like it. The road less traveled can hurt. But I also think that all those trials can lead to awesome. 

Elizabeth Smart is Super Smart

Ms. Smart has been getting a lot of press this week for some remarks she made at Johns Hopkins regarding human trafficking. I read many comments and summaries in various places about her remarks which left me feeling a little bit confused about what her actual message was. I was grateful to finally listen to the bulk of her speech this morning and get some clarification.

Before listening I was under the impression that Ms. Smart was fiercely advocating against abstinence education, and that she had cited a particular and terrible incident at church (the gum chewing chastity analogy) as her reason for not running from her captors when she had the chance. She felt worthless and dirty and to blame and therefore did not want to go home. This left me sad and confused.

However, just as the Internet will give you a thousand opinions on even seemingly mundane events, it will also allow you to go to the source. In her speech, Ms. Smart was blunt about what had happened to her. These are facts I have heard before, but coming from her in measured, soft-spoken and perfect diction, her story became very real. She speaks without emotion about her experience, but it is clear that what happened to her for those terrible nine months has given her vast stores of strength.

Here are my take-aways, for what it is worth. Again, my opinion here, though I'm hoping I'm more fairly representing what she was really trying to say rather than cherry-pick what I wanted her to say.

1.  She is advocating for a more balanced approach to sex education. She thinks that we should be more blunt with people at an earlier age about the very real dangers in life. She also indicates that at least some of this training should take place in school. At age 14 she had some skewed idea that sex only happened between people who loved one another; she didn't really understand the ugly side. She is advocating that children should be appropriately educated about dangers that exist.

2.  I don't have any impression that she has rejected the importance of chastity as a law of God. She spoke respectfully of the beliefs she was raised with, and has made the choice to stay active in the Church and even marry in the temple. Rejecting abstinence-only sex education is not the same as rejecting your belief system.

3. The chewing gum analogy was given to her as young teenager; however, she indicated that this teaching came from a teacher at school during abstinence-only sex education. It was Salt Lake City so the odds of that teacher being LDS were probably pretty good, but she did not say the incident happened at church. Yes, you might have had this taught to you at church (I'm sorry), but Ms. Smart seems more critical of the push to water-down school curriculum than values teaching at church. Because of this type of teaching, she did feel like garbage when she was raped; she wondered at times if she would ever be worthy of being loved again. However, even to girls who have not heard the chewing gum analogy, these feelings are often prevalent after being raped, or even being manipulated into having sex. The rapist's whole point is to degrade and assume power; rape is only marginally about sex.

4. Ms. Smart said firmly that her primary reason for not running was fear. After all, her captors had managed to do all this stuff to her, it seemed perfectly logical that they could make good on their threats to further harm her family. She loved her family. She made a decision from the very beginning that she would do whatever they told her if it meant she might one day get away and return to the family she so dearly missed. Fighting them continually or trying to escape might have just gotten her killed, and the world would have lost a very, very bright light. Elizabeth's decision took courage; perhaps even inspiration to make. It was only when a police officer had the idea to interview her alone that she would admit to who she was; she never openly defied her captors in front of them for fear of further harm to those she loved.

5.  My final impression from her remarks is that people should be made to feel valuable regardless of their sexuality or virginity or however you want to term this. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she had felt more confidence in people's willingness to look beyond what had happened to her, she might have had more courage to speak up when she first had a chance.

JoAnna Brooks wrote a piece for Religion Dispatch in which she indicated that the primary reason for Elizabeth not running is that she felt like trash because of what she'd been taught at Church about the importance of chastity. That somehow all LDS people (women) collectively held their breath when others asked why Elizabeth didn't run because we really understood that is was all the fault of our culture. I think this is a rather gross misrepresentation of Ms. Smart's actual remarks, and Brooks opened the forum for plenty of angry people to dismiss God's laws as ridiculous, as if such feeling would somehow have prevented Ms. Smart from ending up in the situation she did. One Internet comment-er indicated that Elizabeth's religious training had forced her to feel like she had sinned and needed to repent. This person trashed religion (and specifically the atonement) for turning victims into sinners. This frustrated me deeply. LDS doctrine on the atonement is clear--it is for everyone. While Ms. Smart was clearly not in need of repentance related to her time in captivity, she was then and now in need of the strengthening and enabling power of Christ to move forward with her life. She is a perfect example of how the atonement heals even the most innocent.

I like Ms. Smart's actual comments very much, and I hope they give many teachers of youth (in and out of the Church) something to think about. I think our children need to be smart; they don't really live in world anymore where we can extol naivete. Innocence is lovely and good; ignorance is not. We should teach our values, but also teach children about their own inherent value. Nemesis, Desmama and I had a conversation not long ago about the problematic use of a scripture found in Mormon. It is used because it indicates "virtue" (one of only a few places that particular word is even found in relation to chastity) is the most precious thing; however, it does so in the context of talking about male warriors raping the women of the opposing side. The wording of the scripture clearly states that the rapists took the virtue of their victims.

We have concluded that we sort of hate this scripture. What the rapists take is their victim's innocence and their virginity. They don't take their virtue. Virtue is a less tangible quality than, in Nem's words, "an intact hymen." Virtue is something that is your own to give away through deliberate acts . . . only one of which might be sex. I am not sorry that the 8th value has been added; but I do wish that it was more clearly defined. This difficult scripture, again as one of very few places "virtue" is used in relation to sexuality, comes up time and time again in talks and in the study YW are meant to do for a virtue value experience. By this scripture's direct reading, it does indicate that Ms. Smart was less than virtuous when she was stripped and thrown down on the floor of a dirty tent, less than five miles from her girlhood bed and treated like garbage. That is a load of hooey. We need to be very careful what we teach our kids.

Her real take home message is that while schools need to work harder to educate, it is familial love and proper teaching about a person's true worth that can save.

Can Short Girls Wear Maxi Skirts?

I can't even think about maxi dresses. The tops of them are usually not friendly to busty gals like myself, and I'm not all about wearing a sweater and a scarf and safety pins just to keep myself from having a wardrobe malfunction. But the maxi skirts can be bunched at the top to help get the right length. And yes, before you ask, even the petite ones are usually too long. I know that it will probably come as a shock to you, but I'm just not that tall.

Because here is thing, yesterday on Facebook somebody had posted a chevron-print maxi skirt in an awesome coral color that I can't seem to get out of my head. Here are two in navy and they just look so stinking cute. A summer look and a winter look. But this girl is probably at least 5'7". Why else would they let her pose for a camera? And she just might be a size 2. So I might have more than one thing not in favor of the maxi skirt.

 

I'm not quite short enough to rock the look as well as these little ladies do. Look at that black-and-white girl's hair. And the roses on her tee-shirt. Honestly, it is a good thing I have boys because my daughters would look like total rag-a-muffs. The boys do too . . . but they can get away with it. Snips and snails and puppydog tails and all. 

 I also really love this next one. The color is divine and it flows so prettily. And who doesn't need an excuse to buy Tiffany Blue wedges? Again . . . even without the shoes this model is super tall. I think her waist would come up to about my elbows.

 

Somebody put this little darling up in her Etsy store. The chevron print is super cute in a short skirt too. And truthfully, this is a skirt cut that is pretty good for me. I might just have to settle for something a little shorter. Still the maxi skirt looks so cool and fresh and hip for summer. Isn't it funny? I used the word "maxi" in the same sentence as "fresh." Ewww. . . .

 

And speaking of Etsy. If you want to see some Chevron Maxi fails, that is the place to gather also. In case you were wondering, when I talked about really wanting a pair of Tiffany Blue Wedges, they were not these. Not only are they hideous with that "outfit," they also may have been made in the same factory they make Crocs. Why is she eating an apple. Like that? What is happening with the wall? Why did they put Christmas tree flocking over the stone? I can't even begin to expound on all that is wrong with this.

 

And while the chevron print might look fabulous shortened and turned into a straight skirt, it does NOT look good turned into tights.  I don't even think being 5'10" could make these all right:

So share your opinion. How should I spend my birthday money? Maxi skirt? I would get a shirt too, of course. This picture is another Etsy find. I have no explanation for the bamboo forest.

What Next?

I can't decide if the whole future seems open at the moment or if it is all too terrifying to think about.

I need to get a job because of the small matter of the student loan. There are other, pressing needs too, that my bit of part time work isn't really cutting it with. Cars that are aging and in need of attention. Children that seem to grow out of shoes every 17 minutes. Food and fuel prices that are going up WAY faster than wages. You know the drill.

But I also want to get a job. This is what I've worked toward. . . this blissful nirvana where you work the same hours your kids are in school. But those of you who know and love teachers, or who have been teachers, understand that realities are seldom what we idealize. There are basically three local school districts here, two of which are conveniently close. Only one of which my children are in and the two don't have very compatible schedules. The one my children are in is by far the smallest of the three and may not hire ANYone this year despite myriad retirements and huge classes.

Working regular hours would bring me enormous personal satisfaction. And, I've got to face it. I want to go on a big vacation that can never happen on one income. I want to go to the GAP and not have to hope something wonderful got relegated to the clearance rack so it could find its way to my closet. I want a house with room to walk and make messes and put stuff away and towel racks and a laundry room.

But none of these things are more important to us than the boys. We have sacrificed much for me to be home with them for the past 11 years. They are happy and well-adjusted and delightful. How do I look these sweet little souls in the eyes and say, "Sorry! Mom is gone until five next year. Here's your key and good luck growing up!" Please, working mommas who read this, don't take offense. I truly believe that we all just do our best, and some day care or babysitting situations are wonderful; I don't have that luxury.

On the positive side, another year of under-employment and kids in school all day probably means almost daily exercise which will help so much with my stress and energy levels. It might also mean that I get to finish the novel finally. So many wonderful ideas there. I have also just been asked to join a blog called "Aspiring Mormon Women" that starts in June. Hopefully they will want to hang on to me even if I don't find a job!

Oh, sweet Moses, I'm probably going to end up substitute teaching. I'll need your prayers then for sure.

When Faith Fails

Something happened this week. And man . . . it was just such an awful thing. This church apologetics bug strikes both ways. For people who ask questions slowly with one eye on faith all the time seeking to understand and enhance, it is a godsend. At least it has been for me. When I found FAIR a few years ago it was like coming home to my people. Over the years I found many answers to periphery things and much to stimulate my mind and grow my testimony.

Now imagine that you stumble across LDS apologetics all at once. . . and in a way that simply creates questions for you that you had never had in 40 years. Suddenly it just looks like a gateway to what-else-have-they-been-keeping-from-me and an invitation to visit other venues as well. Venues where people share their poignant and sometimes angry exits with such logic that you doubt every spiritual impression you've ever had. Well, if you can imagine that, then you can imagine the conflict that has played out over the last two months in two very dear, once-faithful friends. Maybe this broad statement reminds you of some people that you love too.

I can't help thinking if they had just hung on long enough to hear Elder Holland's wonderful April Conference talk things might be different. But I don't know. Maybe there is nothing that will help. At least not today.

Plantboy sent me a Q & A that was done with President Hinckley by the Ensign back in 1985. There is one quote in particular from his remarks that I love. When asked about seeming discrepancies in Church history and if was all right to seek answers, he affirmed that it was all right. However, he did leave a caution,

"When we are called before the bar of God to give an accounting of our performance, I think it unlikely that any of us will be commended for wearing out our lives in an effort to find some morsel of history, incomplete in its context, to cast doubt on the integrity of this work. Rather, I believe we will be examined on what we did to build the kingdom, to bring light and understanding of the eternal truths of the gospel to the eyes and minds of all who are willing to listen, to care for the poor and the needy, and to make of the world a better place as a result of our presence."

Well, said, President Hinckley. Very well said.

This Is Really Happening

Ladies and gentleman, the degree is so close I can taste it. Two major things left to turn in, but they are already very thoroughly drafted. I'm starting to look in terms of hours left instead of projects instead of weeks instead of months instead of years.

I can't believe I did this.

I'm proud to bursting and so relieved. I'm a woman a new generation--now as educated as my brothers and husband and more educated than my father. No, it wasn't just about that, but I have to admit that it was a little bit.

Now if someone would just hire me for about 20 hours a week . . .

Works Without Faith Is Dead

No, you didn't read the post title incorrectly. This was actually said to me many years ago, and a  discussion over at Times and Seasons this morning has brought if forcefully back to me today.

Some context.

I had been a missionary for six months, but I had not seen anyone get baptized yet. Nor had anyone been baptized that I had taught. I had met lots of remarkable people, been in lots of powerful teaching situations and even extended invitations to be baptized. I felt like I was growing personally and that my experience was valuable, but in a culture that (sometimes unfortunately) favors counting converts, I was beginning to feel like a bit of a failure. Even as my reputation for hard work and gifted teaching grew, I questioned my purpose. 

Overlaid with these feelings were other things. I was training a remarkably faithful companion and worried that I was failing her. It was hot and our area was very hilly. We rode bikes daily and I never stopped sweating. My lovely companion's English was not proficient enough to converse easily (and I never learned more than "Called to Serve" in Japanese), and I would some times go hours on end without speaking to anyone. We tracted up to 8 hours a day. I was so stressed on every level that hadn't menstruated in seven months. I felt deep, depressing sorrow for the unwillingness of people to change or even acknowledge the existence of God.

In the midst of all this we held yet another Zone Development Meeting. My feelings about these types of meetings were mixed. Occasionally I would feel the Spirit in a really great discourse, but too often they were merely pep talks for unmotivated missionaries and usually carried an unhealthy obsession with numbers. Elder Wilson, our boyish and smirky ZL spoke from James about how faith without works was dead.

I felt . . . 

Angry.

I was working. I was working so hard that my feet and back ached all the time. I was working so hard that college seemed like a distant vacation. I was desperate and depressed and didn't know how to do anything but work. My homesickness came back in spades as my mind often wandered to the budding romance I'd been involved in the year previously.

I had been told so many times that hard work was the key to success in missionary work, and yet there I was, working as hard as I knew how to work and having no outward sign of what counted for success in missionary work. I tuned out the talk, not listening for any message it, of the ZL might have to teach. No doubt my mind drifted to new places we might still have to tract, or streets we could re-tract or members we might bother about their friends.

At the close of the meeting, the ZL asked if he and his companion could come work in our area the following day. This is kind of a weird mission practice that will probably fade away as more sisters have opportunity for leadership positions. The way this worked in our mission is that leaders would come and visit for the day. They studied with us in the morning and then we would tract together, but nobody was ever quite sure how this was meant to work. This particular leader had us all walk together on one side of the street but three of us would go to the door at a time, to be less intimidating than four of us, I suppose. I really hated it; it made me feel like a Jehovah's Witness or something. Anyway, Elder Wilson and his companion came the next day, a thing I never looked forward to. (Probably because the first time he came he asked why we didn't make them pancakes like the other sisters always used to. I told him that we were too busy doing missionary work to worry about whether or not he'd had breakfast.)

While we were at one of our weird polygamy (one elder, two sisters) door knocks, Elder Wilson told me that he knew the ZDM the day before had been worthless to me. He said that he felt stupid standing up there telling me to work harder when I knew how to work harder than any elder he'd ever met. Then he said this, "But Sister, works without faith is also dead. So I have to ask you. How is your faith?"

I burst into tears.

After I had reinforced to him every stereotype he held about sister missionaries I calmed down enough to tell him that I wasn't even sure what the question meant. That I didn't really even know what faith was. To me, faith meant working and working and working. 

He told me that I had done enough.

I told him that we must not have, because why weren't we seeing more blessings?

He then explained something to me that I have never forgotten. Or at least the essence of it; no doubt the lesson he taught me that day has been colored by my own experience over the years. He told me that by always believing I needed to do more and more, I was putting all the responsibility for conversion squarely on my own shoulders. I needed instead to get on my knees and tell the Lord that we had done all He had asked and now we expected the blessings.

His phrase "expect the blessings," sort of terrified me. I was raised with a deep hatred of any form of entitlement and to my 21 year old self, this "expecting the blessings' is exactly what that looked like. But something about his earnestness, and his insight into my problem, deeply impressed me, and so I tried it.

I got on my knees that night and with many more tears told the Lord I had done all I could and that we expected Him to bless us. 

In the following weeks, everything changed. It wasn't just that there were some baptisms, though there were, by I changed too. I felt more deep and genuine love for the people. I felt excited to get out of bed each morning. I worked as hard as ever, but that weighing weariness wasn't ever-present. I turned more of my sorrow for the sins of the world over to Christ. That spring I sang The Spirit of God with the Saints as we gathered one Sunday. The third verse where it says, "That we through our faith may begin to inherit/the visions and blessings and glories of God" was impossible for me to sing through the deep emotions that filled very part of me. I had caught the barest vision of what faith was. 

You see, I had begun to understand that when my works were performed with the wrong motivation, I didn't allow the Lord to bless me. I had been motivated by some very good things--a heavy sense of responsibility to the Lord for my blessings, a desire to keep my covenants and do my duty, a genuine desire to bring the gospel to others, cultural obligations, etc. etc. But I somehow had it all wrong. The Lord wants to bless us and to give us that peace that passeth all understanding, but He wants us to love Him and to stop trying so hard to do everything ourselves. I still believe that faith VERSUS works is a false dichotomy; and I said as much at Times and Seasons today, but what motivates our work is very important.

Plantboy has been reminding me of this again lately. I am fearful as Jedi Knight prepares for middle school in a few months. I am afraid that we live in the wrong ward . . . or the wrong neighborhood. That we are going to the wrong schools. Etc. Etc. But Plantboy talks instead about having faith and says that we are doing everything we can to keep our covenants, to follow our callings, to show the compassion for others the Lords wants so much, and to truly love the Lord. He looked me in the eye the other night and was blunt, "The Lord doesn't want the boys to fail any more than we do. We must expect Him to bless us."  He is right. I must keep my covenants because I love the Lord and then I must count on Him to take care of the details.

Of Good Report of Praiseworthy

General Conference was this weekend. It was mostly filled with wonderful moments, though there were also a couple of times that my teeth were set on edge. No doubt you had the same kind of experience . . . or you are a much better person than I am and you didn't have any of those teeth-on-edge moments. 
The bad news first. 

Conservative language creeping into doctrinal talks: I am getting increasingly annoyed that though ALL political extremism is decried, it is really only specifically liberal ideas that get pointed out as “evil.” For example, Elder Ellis talked about the dole being evil. This is nearly a direct quote from a talk given many years ago by President Benson. But my question is, what does he even mean by that? In the United States, the “dole” is a rather outdated term. And while still used in other places (and with plenty of problems) what does he mean by that to a largely American, English-speaking audience? WIC? Unemployment benefits? Medicaid? Elder Ellis’ talk was very good, and I understand and believe in the doctrine he was trying to express—personal responsibility is important and we must do all we can to take care of ourselves and our families and others. But people hear what they want, and to many people a “dole” means different things. I am concerned that when an elder of the Church says something like this over the pulpit, then many people think less about the doctrine behind the statement and instead use it to bolster political opinions that are outside the realm of doctrine. The term “secularism” took a beating again. Elder Oaks used “political correctness” as his example. Again, I understand and agree with the underlying point—that we must be very careful about using language that waters down truth to the place where it ceases to have meaning. But he can’t really mean that he would prefer people to say “faggot” to “homosexuality” when it is necessary to use this kind of descriptive term. I am sorry to be so blunt, but political correctness is sometimes about using more precise, not to mention kinder, language. I don’t see how this is a bad thing.

I was grateful for the ending on a high note with President Monson. He is a very positive, and optimistic person. I didn’t have this impression from all the talks. In fact, I didn’t want to leave my house this morning. There is always so much talk about the evil OUT THERE. When examples of this evil are given they are nearly always related to chastity. I don’t argue about this being a problem, but I think there are other deeply disturbing trends in LDS culture that don’t get enough traction—greed, money and success equating to the same thing, covetousness, forms of idol worship. While sexual sins can be egregiously damaging, particularly to self, these other sins destroy our ability to be kind to others, the hallmark of any person trying to follow the Savior.

This second is less about conference and more about rhetoric observed outside conference. I was really discouraged to hear so much negative language from members of the Church toward other members of the Church regarding women’s issues. I think this rhetoric has gone both ways. The Mormon Feminists need to be careful about deliberately sowing discontent where none currently exists, and those less inclined toward the feminists need to be careful about ostracizing them and speaking in harsh judgement. I have been shocked to read some incredibly uncharitable comments from people within in the Church insisting that such sexist cultural practices don’t happen; these types of comments serve more to reinforce grievances than to address them.

But lots of good news.

Elder Holland’s talk was, again, amazing. The poor man has really put a lot of pressure on himself, but he keeps delivering. His talk is one that I will think back on in months to come. I loved that he validated the asking of questions, but from his talk, I felt so strongly that I need to be asking questions because I’m genuinely seeking answers and not just being contentious. This is something I want to diligently seek to work on in the coming weeks.

President Monson’s talk about the fire he and his buddy set was delightful. It has probably taken him more than 70 years to find the humor in it! And he had to be certain that all the frustrated adults who put the fire out that day are dead! Anyway, my thought was that his talk was a really wonderful way to describe what prophets do. Little Tommy Monson and his buddies didn’t mean to burn down the meadow, and certainly not houses or forests; they didn’t mean to hurt anybody. What they wanted was a shortcut way to achieve what they saw as a desirable outcome—a circle of weeds gone. We are a bit like children, aren’t we? We think we have a lot of knowledge and great ideas, and sometimes, without meaning to hurt anybody or anything, our ideas and knowledge cause great destruction. Prophets essentially warn us about fire. I know, I know that chastity and fire are often mixed up in metaphors together but I’m not necessarily talking about that specifically. My point is (all this made sense last night at midnight when I was trying to sleep) that compared to our Father in Heaven, we are no more wise than children playing in the woods. Prophets attempt to teach us and guide us to help us navigate our way. Many times even they cannot see the outcomes that God can, but they still attempt to warn us.

As mentioned before I also really liked his closing talk. After he spoke it helped to reaffirm to me that this can also be a time of hope and opportunity. Like bad cop, good cop. I’m glad that he spoke last.

I love Elder Christoffel Golden’s voice. But what I love most is that I called his accent; I don’t remember hearing him speak before yesterday. I told Plantboy that he sounded South African, but there was something European (Dutch) going on in there too, like perhaps he hadn’t spoken English first. When he mentioned his nationality near the beginning of his remarks I told Plantboy that I bet he was South African, but not British South African. I thought he might be Afrikaner. We looked him up and I was right! His background is fascinating, and he does speak both Afrikaans and English fluently. Very cool.

All the African references and connections in general were wonderful. It is like after a decade or more of linear growth, the church is set to take that exponential leap that it did in South America a generation ago. It is very exciting. A few years ago one of the general authorities spoke about some of the problems in Africa but then declared that the true gospel could save the continent. His words may very well be prophetic . . . in turn, I think the faith and humility infused into the Church from the African members will have the power to save the Church as well. With numbers of missionaries swelling by the thousands it is a cinch that hundreds and hundreds of them will go to Africa. Lessons learned there will be valuable leavening in a Church whose membership sometimes sees the Lord’s “blessings” too much manifested in personal wealth.

It was fun to make several Texas connections during conference. The above referenced Elder Ellis was officially in my ward when we moved to Texas, though he was actually serving as a mission president. A couple the same age as Plantboy and I were living in their house while they were gone and we became quite good friends. She threw me a baby shower for Jedi Knight in the Ellis’ house! We only lived in that ward a few months after the Ellises returned and I became friends with the wife, though Elder Ellis was almost immediately called to be an area authority Seventy and I only met him once or twice. When we moved from our apartment into our house, we were part of the Cypress Stake. The Cypress Stake later split. President Oscarson was our stake president in the newly formed Klein Stake; he was a remarkable man who had served as a mission president in Sweden when he wasn’t very old. His lovely wife happens to be a woman name Bonnie Oscarson. Yes, that’s right: THAT Bonnie Oscarson. She moved to Salt Lake City a couple of years ago. The Young Women of the Church are so lucky to have her. Sister Dalton has been in the presidency for over 10 years and has had enormous influence over the direction of the YW program in that time. I’m grateful for her hard work, and for her lovely, heartfelt talk on Sunday. She is strong and faithful.

Now to read it and really get the meat of it all! I hope it was just as great on your end.

This last is another one of those Mormon cultural moments from conference weekend than anything related to conference. If you aren’t following Sistas in Zion on FB or their blog, you really should repent. Their status updates during Conference were really just so funny.

Sprint to the Finish

One month of school left. Laying on the beach on Saturday made me realize just how bad my senioritis is. I'm close enough to taste it, and far enough out to feel pretty discouraged at all there is yet to do. Still, I didn't get this far in life by giving up before I was done. I have no doubt that I will finish and finish well. I suppose that might sound prideful, but I think it also comes from long experience in knowing my limitations. 

Still, Plantboy seems to have timing that saves my sanity, and our mini yurt vacation was just what I needed to make it through the home stretch. Despite the horrible head cold I've come down with and the Mount Washmore that I'm still working on, I'm still so glad we went. Here is the run down:

Reading Peter and the Starcatchers while sitting around the smoke. I mean fire. It was smoky because we were working on coals for foil dinners. Add sweet potatoes and a bit of rosemary to your foil dinners next time; you will not be disappointed. I forbade the boys from bringing technology on trip and look what we ended up with: quality family time with a book. Wow. Novel. Yes, of course, the pun was intended. In the background is our yurt. Isn't it cute? Plantboy wants to put one in the backyard. We figure that we'd never see the children again.

 The yurts and the campground were on a lake surrounded by a one mile trail. Just up the hill was the lighthouse and the Pacific ocean. If we cut off and took another "secret" trail we ended up in the sand dunes. And as long as we stayed to our side of the line . . . the ATV's didn't smash my children. They spent about three hours rolling, skiing and somersaulting down the dunes. The sunshine was exhilarating. We didn't get down to the ocean that day, but we weren't far from it.

Coolest kids ever. Okay, not really. But they sure THINK they are. 

It is crazy how much I love these monkeys. Mom missed this picture. I went to the two little nearby towns looking for someone, anyone who was renting a canoe for our lovely little lake. No luck. It was all ATV rentals. Raspberries. Next time, we will find a way to bring a canoe. It would have made this mini trip 100% perfect. The little sticker on The Youngling's shirt celebrates him seeing his first blue whale. We lucked out and this week is near the beginning of the whale migration. Before hitting the dunes we went to the whale watching station up by the lighthouse and saw several "blows." Yeah, it was way cool. 

We eat good even on campout. I made a really delicious (homemade, of course) chicken pot pie filling that we brought with us. When the coals were hot, we threw the mixture in the bottom of the dutch oven and added some tube biscuits to the top (those will be home made next time too). It was really so delicious, especially with a shmear of jam on that top flaky biscuit layer.

Skillet apple crumble. We chopped the apples fresh that night, but I made the topping ahead and brought it in a bag. It needed a bit more topping and fewer coals on the top, but it was still quite delicious.

Though we've lived in Oregon nearly six years, this is only my second sunset over the Pacific. Usually our weather is too cloudy or we leave too early. It was glorious.

Umpqua lighthouse. If you ever get a chance, you have GOT to see this thing at night. It is so bright and alternates red and white beams of light. It was like looking at a carousel with 4 bazillion stars shining through the other side. So lovely.

Enjoying a little nature hike around the lake on our last morning. The Youngling informed Plantboy that he would like to a be tree scientist. Plantboy nearly wept for joy and the proceeded to teach Youngling how to identify various coniferous trees. Guess who has a pine cone collection at her house (and in her dryer) now? That's right! This girl.

We put the bandana on to keep his precious Padawan forehead from sunburning the second day. And he was just so stinking cute. He kept stopping and doing this little hip jiggling thing that kept me in stitches all day. 

The lake. Pristine above. Spoiled by man (boy) below. 

 The beach was a wonderful, if windy choice. Plantboy and I each got to take a long, solitary and much-needed walk. Padawan and the Youngling spent about two hours pretending to be puppies rolling in the sand, and then at least an hour throwing handfuls of mud into the oncoming tide. 

 After the camp clean up and trip to the beach, we convinced the boys to do one more hike. We took the short arm of a loop that can be backpacked down to the ocean. (Plantboy and I are trying to figure out how we can do it on our own in June). They were up for it; truthfully the three of them are getting more fun all the time. We don't have nearly the vacation melt-downs that we used to. The five year old still gets pretty cranky when he is hungry, but even that is getting better. Vacation is still a lot of work, but now it is starting to get FUN again!

 The kids take pictures of the parents. They all turned out blurry or had soembody's head cut off. This was actually the best. Good job camera boys.

 Chillin' with my peeps somewhere between Highway 101 and the Pacific Ocean. In another month, this forest will be ablaze with rhododendrons. I think another day trip will be in order then.

Yurt camping is excellent. We did get rain the first night, but there was no worry that it would hold. And on those cold mornings when you aren't too keen on building a fire because it will warm up soon, the yurt had a small electric heater that was just the thing for a quick warm up. Our yurt was a pretty basic variety, but we are thinking of heading back in the summer with some extended family and renting a couple of the fancier ones. But whether it is this year or not, this will be a vacation we definitely repeat.