I've decided to follow Tracy's example, and to start a new blog devoted to my unique (and twisted) musings. If you're not afraid of dark places and scary creepy-crawlies, come visit. :)
http://darrylbarksdale.blogspot.com/
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Thoughts on Mortality
I have had a pretty contemplative pair of weeks. I know what you’re thinking: “Oh, no, how long will THIS entry be?” Sorry…hehehehe…
I can honestly say I’m not afraid of dying. The thought that always comes to mind is, “What if I miss something?” I’m a little worried that there will be pain or horrible illness before I get to the finish line, but the thing I really fear is watching someone I love go through pain or horrible illness, while I watch helplessly as they die. And then being left behind.
I’m not one to spend much time thinking about death, but a handful of things happened recently that really had me thinking about it much more than I’d like. First, I read that the mother of my childhood best friend (grades 2, 3, and 4) had passed away. I hadn’t seen my friend’s mom in almost 40 years, but I can still remember her and my impressions of her when I was young. It was almost like learning the friend had died. It seemed too mortal.
A few months back I learned that a high school friend had lost a very long battle with breast cancer. I had had no idea she was sick, but I do very much remember her life, at least the part which I was privileged to observe. A more alive and vibrant person I cannot imagine. I really wished that I could have been her back when we were young, and I was afraid of my own shadow most of the time. Just the other day I was looking at a group dedicated to her on Facebook, and while looking through photos, I saw her casket at her burial, and it brought to mind the shock and concern I felt when I first learned she had died.
The other day my youngest daughter’s best friend lost a great-aunt to cancer and emphysema. What I was hearing about her final days brought to mind the dear 50-year-old lady in our ward who died of lung cancer last year, leaving three beautiful daughters to make their way through life without her.
I went to lunch with some ladies from church (all of whom are my mom’s age or older), and I remarked to one of them that she looks so vibrant and robust. That was the best word I could think of, but it really fit. I had had no idea she had been sick until she replied, “Well, not having to take chemotherapy helps.”
And then the other evening a friend of mine IMed me and told me he had just learned that a friend had passed away suddenly from heart complications due to pneumonia. He said she had been at a depo and hadn’t felt well, so she went to the hospital after work. The bad news is that all of that really did happen. The good news for my friend and all those who love her is that it was a case of mistaken identity, and she was not the victim. I was very glad to hear that. She’s only in her 50s and I’m sure has a tremendous amount of living left to do. But I spent the nearly 24 hours before the misunderstanding was cleared thinking about what the world would be like if my friend were gone.
So, yeah, for some strange reason, my mind has been dwelling on death lately. I remember when my dad died. In the middle of the most painful experience of my life, I had a moment of absolute clarity: I didn’t just *believe in* the resurrection, I *know* it is real and that this is just a temporary, annoying separation. So my testimony remains strong, though I wonder…what is it really like? I turn 49 next month, and I am all too aware that 49 seems to be most common age to die, at least for people I know. And I don’t think ANY of those people thought they would die at 49.
So let’s think about living instead. I am quite certain this is the hardest thing I have ever experienced. I have always told the kids: “Life’s not fair. And then you die.” Sounds pessimistic, I know, but it’s true. How many situations in real life (not the 30-minute sitcom or the made-for-TV movie) turn out with all’s well that ends well? Instead, we face trial after trial, struggle after struggle, trying to get from one end of life to the other.
Here’s a question: Do we want to suffer these awful experiences and gain nothing from them? If we have to go through them anyway, why not make sure we grow a little or become more tolerant and truly look at others with Eternal-colored glasses? For the girl who becomes pregnant as a teen, after going through that life-changing, harrowing trial, will she learn compassion for others and hang back from judging others for their mistakes? The drug addict who makes it to the other side of the addiction to recovery very often sees others where he was and reaches a hand to help.
It’s expected of us that we mourn with those who mourn, comfort those in need of comfort, and lift the hands that hang down. I love that phrase. It is so visual. To quote the words of one of my favorite songs, “If we are the body, why aren’t His arms reaching?” My kids struggle with going to church, not for the lack of testimony but for the lack of interest or even kindness shown to them by their peers. People hurt. We all hurt. And yet we’re so afraid to reach to one another because we fear no one really can understand how we feel.
And that brings up my dirty little secret that I really know isn’t mine alone: Whenever I hear of someone passing away, aside from the sadness and grief, one of my first thoughts is “They don’t have to worry about anything anymore. They are free from the pain and suffering of mortal life.” And I’m a teeny bit jealous. Not enough to DO anything about that, of course, other than to keep trying to fix my life while I’m still in the middle of it.
I can honestly say I’m not afraid of dying. The thought that always comes to mind is, “What if I miss something?” I’m a little worried that there will be pain or horrible illness before I get to the finish line, but the thing I really fear is watching someone I love go through pain or horrible illness, while I watch helplessly as they die. And then being left behind.
I’m not one to spend much time thinking about death, but a handful of things happened recently that really had me thinking about it much more than I’d like. First, I read that the mother of my childhood best friend (grades 2, 3, and 4) had passed away. I hadn’t seen my friend’s mom in almost 40 years, but I can still remember her and my impressions of her when I was young. It was almost like learning the friend had died. It seemed too mortal.
A few months back I learned that a high school friend had lost a very long battle with breast cancer. I had had no idea she was sick, but I do very much remember her life, at least the part which I was privileged to observe. A more alive and vibrant person I cannot imagine. I really wished that I could have been her back when we were young, and I was afraid of my own shadow most of the time. Just the other day I was looking at a group dedicated to her on Facebook, and while looking through photos, I saw her casket at her burial, and it brought to mind the shock and concern I felt when I first learned she had died.
The other day my youngest daughter’s best friend lost a great-aunt to cancer and emphysema. What I was hearing about her final days brought to mind the dear 50-year-old lady in our ward who died of lung cancer last year, leaving three beautiful daughters to make their way through life without her.
I went to lunch with some ladies from church (all of whom are my mom’s age or older), and I remarked to one of them that she looks so vibrant and robust. That was the best word I could think of, but it really fit. I had had no idea she had been sick until she replied, “Well, not having to take chemotherapy helps.”
And then the other evening a friend of mine IMed me and told me he had just learned that a friend had passed away suddenly from heart complications due to pneumonia. He said she had been at a depo and hadn’t felt well, so she went to the hospital after work. The bad news is that all of that really did happen. The good news for my friend and all those who love her is that it was a case of mistaken identity, and she was not the victim. I was very glad to hear that. She’s only in her 50s and I’m sure has a tremendous amount of living left to do. But I spent the nearly 24 hours before the misunderstanding was cleared thinking about what the world would be like if my friend were gone.
So, yeah, for some strange reason, my mind has been dwelling on death lately. I remember when my dad died. In the middle of the most painful experience of my life, I had a moment of absolute clarity: I didn’t just *believe in* the resurrection, I *know* it is real and that this is just a temporary, annoying separation. So my testimony remains strong, though I wonder…what is it really like? I turn 49 next month, and I am all too aware that 49 seems to be most common age to die, at least for people I know. And I don’t think ANY of those people thought they would die at 49.
So let’s think about living instead. I am quite certain this is the hardest thing I have ever experienced. I have always told the kids: “Life’s not fair. And then you die.” Sounds pessimistic, I know, but it’s true. How many situations in real life (not the 30-minute sitcom or the made-for-TV movie) turn out with all’s well that ends well? Instead, we face trial after trial, struggle after struggle, trying to get from one end of life to the other.
Here’s a question: Do we want to suffer these awful experiences and gain nothing from them? If we have to go through them anyway, why not make sure we grow a little or become more tolerant and truly look at others with Eternal-colored glasses? For the girl who becomes pregnant as a teen, after going through that life-changing, harrowing trial, will she learn compassion for others and hang back from judging others for their mistakes? The drug addict who makes it to the other side of the addiction to recovery very often sees others where he was and reaches a hand to help.
It’s expected of us that we mourn with those who mourn, comfort those in need of comfort, and lift the hands that hang down. I love that phrase. It is so visual. To quote the words of one of my favorite songs, “If we are the body, why aren’t His arms reaching?” My kids struggle with going to church, not for the lack of testimony but for the lack of interest or even kindness shown to them by their peers. People hurt. We all hurt. And yet we’re so afraid to reach to one another because we fear no one really can understand how we feel.
And that brings up my dirty little secret that I really know isn’t mine alone: Whenever I hear of someone passing away, aside from the sadness and grief, one of my first thoughts is “They don’t have to worry about anything anymore. They are free from the pain and suffering of mortal life.” And I’m a teeny bit jealous. Not enough to DO anything about that, of course, other than to keep trying to fix my life while I’m still in the middle of it.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I never thought I'd say this, but I kinda like Ohio. Yeah, I know :D Not believing I'd get the chance to have a real vacation this year, I happily tagged along with Darryl for his business trip to a suburb of Columbus. It's only 400 miles away, so we drove. The drive was great...beautiful country. In fact, as we were joking about how "ugly" it was, I mentioned that no matter which direction we travel from our home, the drive is just gorgeous.
We drove northwest from Fredericksburg through Warrenton and Winchester, along the Skyline Drive area of Shenandoah, then into a forest in West Virginia. Yeah, it just never got ugly, the whole time. Now, mind you, I totally miss the Pacific Ocean...and Yosemite, but, really, much of the HUGE state of California really can't compare to the piece of the East in which we now live. Okay, I still miss Home, but I've discovered that it's definitely possible to love where you live and still not be disrespectful to where your genetic background calls home.
We are staying in a little dive of a hotel in Lancaster, Ohio, an adorable little community about 30 miles southeast of Columbus. After Darryl finishes his meetings today, we are probably going to head to Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania, so that he can show me where he lived when he was in junior high. I've heard lots of stories, so I'm looking forward to seeing it.
I spent all day yesterday finishing up the transcripts I had, but today I'm simply going to do...nothing. I may take a drive, just to see what's out there because I CAN. Last night we went to see a movie. So maybe I'm not doing all the traditional vacation things, but the opportunity to NOT be a mom, to NOT be a laundress, to NOT be a court reporter or transcriptionist, to NOT be a housekeeper: Just what I needed!
Lindsay just came home from two weeks of vacation (one week in Florida and another in Washington with family), and Lauren comes home on Thursday after a week and a half in Washington. It's been a fun summer for them, especially Lauren, who needs the "rest" time to get ready for school, I would imagine. It's been a little more quiet at home for the other kids and for me.
This year has been such a year of growth for me. I've had the opportunity to examine my motivations and my real desires, and most of the time I've liked what I've found. There's been much room for improvement, but I like the road I'm on. Frankly, it would seem such a waste to go through the heartache I've suffered without having a positive outcome on the other side. Not that I'm to the other side yet, but I hope that's what I can see off in the distance....not just a mirage.
I am so grateful for my loved ones. I have been blessed to have experiences and opportunities that have opened my eyes. I appreciate things about my kids that I might not have noticed back in the day. Sunday markes 29 years since I first got married, and I am absolutely not the same person I was back on that day in 1981. In fact, if I could travel in time, I would love to go have a long talk with that young girl. She was scared and shy and way too compliant. But if I hadn't been THAT girl, who would I be today? Seriously, how many of us would want to give up our trials if it meant giving up the person we've become as we've grown up?
On a more temporal note, I went to Wal*Mart yesterday because I'd forgotten to pack enough shirts to wear while we're away. Of course, I packed for Darryl too, and HE had everything he needed :D I found a couple of T-shirts and a pair of shorts to wear. The really exciting part is that the shirts AND the shorts are all size 10 - a size I haven't been able to wear in several years. The shorts are a bit tight right around the waist, but not anything I would have noticed but for the fact that my size 12s have been way to BIG for some time now.
I am so glad that we've been making changes in our lifestyle, and I hope it continues because we both feel so great. Darryl has been losing too, and he's pulling clothes from the back of the closet that he'd given up hope of wearing. He really looks good.
I hear the heat and humidity are coming back to Ohio today, though it's been a fairly humidity-free summer for the locals. I guess I kind of feel bad, because we've obviously brought it with us from Virginia! Humidity: The ONE thing I don't miss when I leave home.
We drove northwest from Fredericksburg through Warrenton and Winchester, along the Skyline Drive area of Shenandoah, then into a forest in West Virginia. Yeah, it just never got ugly, the whole time. Now, mind you, I totally miss the Pacific Ocean...and Yosemite, but, really, much of the HUGE state of California really can't compare to the piece of the East in which we now live. Okay, I still miss Home, but I've discovered that it's definitely possible to love where you live and still not be disrespectful to where your genetic background calls home.
We are staying in a little dive of a hotel in Lancaster, Ohio, an adorable little community about 30 miles southeast of Columbus. After Darryl finishes his meetings today, we are probably going to head to Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania, so that he can show me where he lived when he was in junior high. I've heard lots of stories, so I'm looking forward to seeing it.
I spent all day yesterday finishing up the transcripts I had, but today I'm simply going to do...nothing. I may take a drive, just to see what's out there because I CAN. Last night we went to see a movie. So maybe I'm not doing all the traditional vacation things, but the opportunity to NOT be a mom, to NOT be a laundress, to NOT be a court reporter or transcriptionist, to NOT be a housekeeper: Just what I needed!
Lindsay just came home from two weeks of vacation (one week in Florida and another in Washington with family), and Lauren comes home on Thursday after a week and a half in Washington. It's been a fun summer for them, especially Lauren, who needs the "rest" time to get ready for school, I would imagine. It's been a little more quiet at home for the other kids and for me.
This year has been such a year of growth for me. I've had the opportunity to examine my motivations and my real desires, and most of the time I've liked what I've found. There's been much room for improvement, but I like the road I'm on. Frankly, it would seem such a waste to go through the heartache I've suffered without having a positive outcome on the other side. Not that I'm to the other side yet, but I hope that's what I can see off in the distance....not just a mirage.
I am so grateful for my loved ones. I have been blessed to have experiences and opportunities that have opened my eyes. I appreciate things about my kids that I might not have noticed back in the day. Sunday markes 29 years since I first got married, and I am absolutely not the same person I was back on that day in 1981. In fact, if I could travel in time, I would love to go have a long talk with that young girl. She was scared and shy and way too compliant. But if I hadn't been THAT girl, who would I be today? Seriously, how many of us would want to give up our trials if it meant giving up the person we've become as we've grown up?
On a more temporal note, I went to Wal*Mart yesterday because I'd forgotten to pack enough shirts to wear while we're away. Of course, I packed for Darryl too, and HE had everything he needed :D I found a couple of T-shirts and a pair of shorts to wear. The really exciting part is that the shirts AND the shorts are all size 10 - a size I haven't been able to wear in several years. The shorts are a bit tight right around the waist, but not anything I would have noticed but for the fact that my size 12s have been way to BIG for some time now.
I am so glad that we've been making changes in our lifestyle, and I hope it continues because we both feel so great. Darryl has been losing too, and he's pulling clothes from the back of the closet that he'd given up hope of wearing. He really looks good.
I hear the heat and humidity are coming back to Ohio today, though it's been a fairly humidity-free summer for the locals. I guess I kind of feel bad, because we've obviously brought it with us from Virginia! Humidity: The ONE thing I don't miss when I leave home.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Sun Also Rises
I woke up this morning at 5:45. I sometimes hate my internal clock. But I’m really a morning person, so once I’m up and dressed, it’s all good. I mean, when you live in a house full of kids, youngest age 11, the morning may be the only quiet time you get!
Unfortunately, this morning I woke with a headache. I REALLY hate that. In the interest of being positive about it, though, I realize that if I start the day with a headache, I’m pretty sure the rest of the day will only get better, right?
I took some Excedrin, then sat in the chair by my side of the bed, looking at Facebook on my teeny-tiny iPhone screen. Since I live on the East Coast, and most of my friends live in the West, there’s usually a lot of FB activity that’s occurred during the time I was sleeping. As I read several entries that made me smile…some even made me laugh out loud….I realized that out of the corners of my mind I was seeing and hearing something. When I focused, I realized I could hear the joyful chorus of the morning’s birds. I would have missed that had I not been awake so early. By the time the heat and humidity kick in, the birds are usually quiet and hiding somewhere. And the sunrise I could see out my window was breathtaking. I thought of taking a picture, but I realized no picture could really capture how beautiful it was. Again, if you sleep too long, you can’t see a real, live sunrise.
Yesterday I learned that my hubby had been officially offered a job working at Kings Dominion. No, he’s not helping people get on and off a roller coaster. He’s going to be working with their “first aid” department, which is really a lowly title for the people who are there to help others who have an emergency while enjoying the park. Now, don’t get excited. It pays little more than a Wal*Mart greeter’s job, but it’s a fun way to serve others who would really rather not be sick/injured that day. I know he’ll be good at the job. He’s amazing when he puts on his “medic” hat. Having been his patient at least twice (delivering both our babies), and having seen him with other people who were unexpectedly caught up in an accident, I get blown away every time I see him work.
So that leads me off on a tangent. Have you ever noticed how obvious it is to see someone doing something he truly loves? Or something that fits him like a glove? That’s how it is when I see my hubby at work in the EMS field. He’s really good. Not only is he fascinated by all things medical, but he’s really able to make a connection with the patients and make that moment in his life all about them. I can tell you that I’d much rather the worst moment of my life be handled by someone who treats me like an individual in pain rather than by someone who is a burnout and just sees me as the latest annoyance. Our baby is so sweet and compassionate, and she has plans to be a surgeon one day. She is fascinated, as well, by all things medical, so I have a feeling that the future Dr. Barksdale will change lives in a good way :D
And that’s one of the reasons I love what I do. Like I mentioned in my most recent post, almost any witness who is seated before me wishes he or she were somewhere else. That doesn’t count the expert witness who’s charging more than I’m making for the day. But the woman who was in the car accident and is there to detail her injuries and how they’ve affected her life…or the guy who was in the car that hit her and is really sorry he was ever there…those people wish they could have changed anything to make that day never happen. There have been divorce and custody cases that broke my heart. I’ve even reported the deposition of a “guest” of the Virginia Department of Corrections who was being accused of setting the fire to his mother’s townhome which caused his disfiguring injuries. Now, having to be with these people isn’t what I like. What I like is being able to look at them and remember that my JOB is their LIFE. I try to be friendly and kind. I treat them all the same…even the VDC guest. For the little bit of time they are with me, they get my respect and as much thoughtfulness as I can muster. Everybody deserves that, don’t you think?
So now I’m sitting in hubby’s office at 7:21. I’ve been awake forever, it seems. I’ve opened the window to enjoy the sound of the birds and the only cool, dry air I’ll feel all day. While hubby’s on his way back to the station from the hospital (long after his shift was actually over), I’m planning later this morning to drive down to A.P. Hill to take my son in for his shift at the Boy Scout Jamboree (he’s working for a vendor). I love the drive down there, and I’m sure we’ll be able to have the windows down because it’ll still be before noon. Then it’s back into Fred to take my other son in for his French horn lesson. Oddly enough, I have found that I really like horn music, and I never even knew that’s what it was! I like being able to share that with my son, “Hey, hear the horns?!” Somewhere in the middle of the morning, my baby’s friend will come over to spend the day, then my baby will go home with her friend to spend the night and go to church with her family, as hubby and I are….wait for it…..leaving early Sunday morning for Ohio :D
Okay. Let’s take inventory. Up freakishly early for a Saturday morning, having a slight headache, anxious about any number of things? A little annoying. Aware that this little piece of my day and my world is beautiful and happy? Priceless.
Unfortunately, this morning I woke with a headache. I REALLY hate that. In the interest of being positive about it, though, I realize that if I start the day with a headache, I’m pretty sure the rest of the day will only get better, right?
I took some Excedrin, then sat in the chair by my side of the bed, looking at Facebook on my teeny-tiny iPhone screen. Since I live on the East Coast, and most of my friends live in the West, there’s usually a lot of FB activity that’s occurred during the time I was sleeping. As I read several entries that made me smile…some even made me laugh out loud….I realized that out of the corners of my mind I was seeing and hearing something. When I focused, I realized I could hear the joyful chorus of the morning’s birds. I would have missed that had I not been awake so early. By the time the heat and humidity kick in, the birds are usually quiet and hiding somewhere. And the sunrise I could see out my window was breathtaking. I thought of taking a picture, but I realized no picture could really capture how beautiful it was. Again, if you sleep too long, you can’t see a real, live sunrise.
Yesterday I learned that my hubby had been officially offered a job working at Kings Dominion. No, he’s not helping people get on and off a roller coaster. He’s going to be working with their “first aid” department, which is really a lowly title for the people who are there to help others who have an emergency while enjoying the park. Now, don’t get excited. It pays little more than a Wal*Mart greeter’s job, but it’s a fun way to serve others who would really rather not be sick/injured that day. I know he’ll be good at the job. He’s amazing when he puts on his “medic” hat. Having been his patient at least twice (delivering both our babies), and having seen him with other people who were unexpectedly caught up in an accident, I get blown away every time I see him work.
So that leads me off on a tangent. Have you ever noticed how obvious it is to see someone doing something he truly loves? Or something that fits him like a glove? That’s how it is when I see my hubby at work in the EMS field. He’s really good. Not only is he fascinated by all things medical, but he’s really able to make a connection with the patients and make that moment in his life all about them. I can tell you that I’d much rather the worst moment of my life be handled by someone who treats me like an individual in pain rather than by someone who is a burnout and just sees me as the latest annoyance. Our baby is so sweet and compassionate, and she has plans to be a surgeon one day. She is fascinated, as well, by all things medical, so I have a feeling that the future Dr. Barksdale will change lives in a good way :D
And that’s one of the reasons I love what I do. Like I mentioned in my most recent post, almost any witness who is seated before me wishes he or she were somewhere else. That doesn’t count the expert witness who’s charging more than I’m making for the day. But the woman who was in the car accident and is there to detail her injuries and how they’ve affected her life…or the guy who was in the car that hit her and is really sorry he was ever there…those people wish they could have changed anything to make that day never happen. There have been divorce and custody cases that broke my heart. I’ve even reported the deposition of a “guest” of the Virginia Department of Corrections who was being accused of setting the fire to his mother’s townhome which caused his disfiguring injuries. Now, having to be with these people isn’t what I like. What I like is being able to look at them and remember that my JOB is their LIFE. I try to be friendly and kind. I treat them all the same…even the VDC guest. For the little bit of time they are with me, they get my respect and as much thoughtfulness as I can muster. Everybody deserves that, don’t you think?
So now I’m sitting in hubby’s office at 7:21. I’ve been awake forever, it seems. I’ve opened the window to enjoy the sound of the birds and the only cool, dry air I’ll feel all day. While hubby’s on his way back to the station from the hospital (long after his shift was actually over), I’m planning later this morning to drive down to A.P. Hill to take my son in for his shift at the Boy Scout Jamboree (he’s working for a vendor). I love the drive down there, and I’m sure we’ll be able to have the windows down because it’ll still be before noon. Then it’s back into Fred to take my other son in for his French horn lesson. Oddly enough, I have found that I really like horn music, and I never even knew that’s what it was! I like being able to share that with my son, “Hey, hear the horns?!” Somewhere in the middle of the morning, my baby’s friend will come over to spend the day, then my baby will go home with her friend to spend the night and go to church with her family, as hubby and I are….wait for it…..leaving early Sunday morning for Ohio :D
Okay. Let’s take inventory. Up freakishly early for a Saturday morning, having a slight headache, anxious about any number of things? A little annoying. Aware that this little piece of my day and my world is beautiful and happy? Priceless.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Stuff that Dreams are Made Of
This is posted on both my Facebook and Darryl's, so for Darryl's friends, you should know this is his wife Tracy :D
I just hate nightmares, don’t you? It seems most people have some sort of recurring dream, and more often than not, it’s some nightmare you hope never comes true. You wake up and breathe a HUGE sigh of relief and run off to tell someone about the bad dream you had that you’re so glad wasn’t real. When dissected more fully, we usually discover that there is some anxiety or heartache at the base of it. I suppose if we were to resolve that anxiety, fear, sorrow, whatever it is, the nightmare would go away. I suppose.
Here’s mine: In my nightmare I have a loved one (let’s just say Dream Spouse) who is pretty much your average guy. Some people like him, some people not so much. In fact, he really reminds me of my dad, who’s been gone for 11 years :D
Anyway, the dream is just plodding along when Dream Spouse suddenly gets accused of something he never did (nor would he). I work in the legal system, so…in my dream(s)…it’s easy enough to prove his innocence, despite the fact that it’s supposed to be “innocent until proven guilty.” But in my nightmare, nothing could be further from the truth! He pleads his case to anyone who happens by, but no one will listen. There is not a single person in the pool of prospective jurors who even considers he might be innocent. After all, if one is accused of some misdeed, he must be guilty. After all, where there's smoke, there’s fire, right? I have reported many a session of jury selection, and some people actually think that way!
Dream Spouse fears for his reputation but mostly hurts because the people he thought would give him the benefit of a doubt, at the very least, have turned their backs on him altogether. And then he gets angry. Do you all remember the famous lines from “The Incredible Hulk”? “Please don’t make me angry. You won’t LIKE me when I’m angry!” Well, yeah, it goes that way. He starts with apologies and remorse. He admits that he probably did or said something that would cause feelings to be hurt. Would it be possible for him to make amends? He’s met with refusal and then stony silence. There is no forgiveness to be had. He goes from pleading to venting, which, as in real life, doesn’t really help much. The people who turned their backs on him are now congratulating themselves because, SEE, he must have done ALL that was suggested because see how defensive and angry he’s become? This ranks right up there with: “You MUST be guilty, since you hired a lawyer.”
Oh, don’t worry. I’m in the nightmare too. I wish I could say I’m just a casual observer, but then, it wouldn’t REALLY be a nightmare, would it? Well, other than hurting to see Dream Spouse hurting.
In the nightmare I become Dream Spouse’s biggest cheerleader. I see all the good he does. He is a strong leader in difficult situations. I can hardly believe how smart he is. He shows tremendous compassion for those suffering. He has taken my box of broken dreams and tenderly cared for it, fixing it little by little. He makes me laugh, he makes me cry (usually in a GOOD way), he makes me grateful. He is a human being with frailties and indiosyncracies that drive others crazy. He can be wicked funny or corny, depending on who's listening. But I am bewildered; the more I plead, the more the very same backs are turned to me. Minds have been made up. It seems that, other than in the court of public opinion, no one really wants to serve on a jury.
And then, to make it more chilling, we are before a judge in a familiar setting. I’ve been in many courtrooms in several areas, and this one is much like all the others. The judge seems kindly enough. But then he tells us that he really isn’t interested in hearing any so-called evidence (his phrase). Instead, it’s time for him to render a verdict and issue a sentence. He tells both of us…because it appears that I am on trial too, even though the accusations were never raised against me….to stand. Then he tells us that since the accusations were made, and NO ONE was willing to listen to our side of the story, he must declare that they have a factual basis and that if we were to go to trial, it is likely the jury would find us guilty.
Wait. What?
And then the sentence. For Dream Spouse it is the realization that NO hours of community service could make up for his heinous crime. The judge mentions that it is his opinion that, had my spouse only beaten and berated ME, all would be well. But since my spouse apparently “offended” others but was good to me, he is to be banished for eternity. Oh, and since I’m married to him and refuse to NOT be married to him, I get to hang out with him in that Outer Darkness place. In addition, for the next several years I am to continue hard labor with no gratitude thrown my way. ANYthing that is asked of me, small or large, I am duty bound to do…with a smile on my face and a thank you to those who thrust the work in my hands.
Dream Spouse offers to throw himself on his sword in order to save me. To no avail. It appears that I have proven myself unworthy by willingly standing by his side and loving him (even on those days I don’t LIKE him very much).
I chew on the inside of my lip, pondering all of the beautiful lessons and talks I’ve heard in church. Love one another. Forgive everyone. Extend the hand of fellowship. No, the judge tells me, reading my thoughts. Apparently I was mistaken. The way that everyone who is important to me interprets those wonderful lessons and talks is that if *they* decide someone doesn’t pass whatever test they’ve devised, they are within their rights to turn their backs on him or her. For. Ever. Forgiving others, he tells me, is really a code for enabling them.
So as I begin to stir, I see an hourglass with a crack in it. As I watch, the crack grow larger until sand begins to slip out. Then I see little pictures floating in the air. They seem to have also escaped from the hourglass. Upon closer inspection, I realize that these “pictures” are actually those who turned their backs on us, embracing the joy that can only come from loving human association. Within seconds, all of the sand has poured out of the glass, leaving it empty and broken, useless. There are no pictures left.
And then I wake up. I smile when I realize it was all just a dream. Wait. It was, wasn’t it?
I have known a great void in my life for many years. Since the spring of this year I have been making daily efforts to change my life. I have been reading the scriptures (finished the Book of Mormon…an entire new blog entry!) and remembering to say my prayers. Tithing is no longer a “wish” but a joyful reality. And I have truly been trying to humble myself and love others. That’s right, even those obnoxious attorneys who make my job such a wonder. In the meantime, I’ve been losing everything I ever thought was important in my life.
I remember when my father died, I went to pay a bill for my mom later that day. As I stood in the line, I thought about each of the other people in the line, wondering if they could tell that I had been dealt a mortal blow that very day. I wondered whether I looked any different. It’s been 11 years, and I have changed my thinking to wondering whether any of the people I meet in my life has been dealt a very serious blow that very day. Did the irritable checker in the grocery store have a fight with her husband before she came to work? Did the bank teller just get yelled at by the customer who was in just five minutes ago? It’s very likely that the witness seated before me in a deposition is NOT having the best day ever, and a smile and friendly words from me can only be appreciated. Did the collection agent on the phone just deal with a nasty person before me…wait, I’m still working on being kind to THOSE guys :D
I have a testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand in this life. In fact, I learn something new EVERY time I study it. And THAT is something for which I remain truly grateful. Such a trite phrase. We need better words to describe this type of gratitude. I feel like I’m offering God a macaroni picture and hoping he doesn’t see the glue I spilled in the corner of the frame.
Through the Atonement, each of us….EACH of us has the gift of repentance and forgiveness offered to us. As I partake of the sacrament on Sundays, I remember that and renew my determination to have Christ in my countenance. When my children talk back to me or fight with one another, I don’t turn my back on them and end my association with them. They make my life miserable. And wonderful. At the same time.
I love my family. All of my family. I miss the ones who aren’t around. Every. Single. Day. I want to share corny comics in the funny papers with my dad. At 6:00 in the morning. I….can barely get through this sentence. I want to have my own macaroni pictures on the walls and jelly kisses and Kool-Aid grins like the ones I ensured my parents received from all my babies. I want to know that I can totally screw up. I can hurt someone’s feelings. I can lose my temper. But the next day, when I come to my senses, I can beg forgiveness, and it will be given to me. And I’ll always be ready to return the favor.
I am so very grateful and feel so unworthy to have in my life those who love me and my family, warts and all. You know who you are. And even if you don’t think it could be you, it probably is. Thank you for letting us share this human experience with you. Thank you for teaching us and being happy that we are here too. Can you imagine how wonderful it will be when we get to hang out Later? :D
I just hate nightmares, don’t you? It seems most people have some sort of recurring dream, and more often than not, it’s some nightmare you hope never comes true. You wake up and breathe a HUGE sigh of relief and run off to tell someone about the bad dream you had that you’re so glad wasn’t real. When dissected more fully, we usually discover that there is some anxiety or heartache at the base of it. I suppose if we were to resolve that anxiety, fear, sorrow, whatever it is, the nightmare would go away. I suppose.
Here’s mine: In my nightmare I have a loved one (let’s just say Dream Spouse) who is pretty much your average guy. Some people like him, some people not so much. In fact, he really reminds me of my dad, who’s been gone for 11 years :D
Anyway, the dream is just plodding along when Dream Spouse suddenly gets accused of something he never did (nor would he). I work in the legal system, so…in my dream(s)…it’s easy enough to prove his innocence, despite the fact that it’s supposed to be “innocent until proven guilty.” But in my nightmare, nothing could be further from the truth! He pleads his case to anyone who happens by, but no one will listen. There is not a single person in the pool of prospective jurors who even considers he might be innocent. After all, if one is accused of some misdeed, he must be guilty. After all, where there's smoke, there’s fire, right? I have reported many a session of jury selection, and some people actually think that way!
Dream Spouse fears for his reputation but mostly hurts because the people he thought would give him the benefit of a doubt, at the very least, have turned their backs on him altogether. And then he gets angry. Do you all remember the famous lines from “The Incredible Hulk”? “Please don’t make me angry. You won’t LIKE me when I’m angry!” Well, yeah, it goes that way. He starts with apologies and remorse. He admits that he probably did or said something that would cause feelings to be hurt. Would it be possible for him to make amends? He’s met with refusal and then stony silence. There is no forgiveness to be had. He goes from pleading to venting, which, as in real life, doesn’t really help much. The people who turned their backs on him are now congratulating themselves because, SEE, he must have done ALL that was suggested because see how defensive and angry he’s become? This ranks right up there with: “You MUST be guilty, since you hired a lawyer.”
Oh, don’t worry. I’m in the nightmare too. I wish I could say I’m just a casual observer, but then, it wouldn’t REALLY be a nightmare, would it? Well, other than hurting to see Dream Spouse hurting.
In the nightmare I become Dream Spouse’s biggest cheerleader. I see all the good he does. He is a strong leader in difficult situations. I can hardly believe how smart he is. He shows tremendous compassion for those suffering. He has taken my box of broken dreams and tenderly cared for it, fixing it little by little. He makes me laugh, he makes me cry (usually in a GOOD way), he makes me grateful. He is a human being with frailties and indiosyncracies that drive others crazy. He can be wicked funny or corny, depending on who's listening. But I am bewildered; the more I plead, the more the very same backs are turned to me. Minds have been made up. It seems that, other than in the court of public opinion, no one really wants to serve on a jury.
And then, to make it more chilling, we are before a judge in a familiar setting. I’ve been in many courtrooms in several areas, and this one is much like all the others. The judge seems kindly enough. But then he tells us that he really isn’t interested in hearing any so-called evidence (his phrase). Instead, it’s time for him to render a verdict and issue a sentence. He tells both of us…because it appears that I am on trial too, even though the accusations were never raised against me….to stand. Then he tells us that since the accusations were made, and NO ONE was willing to listen to our side of the story, he must declare that they have a factual basis and that if we were to go to trial, it is likely the jury would find us guilty.
Wait. What?
And then the sentence. For Dream Spouse it is the realization that NO hours of community service could make up for his heinous crime. The judge mentions that it is his opinion that, had my spouse only beaten and berated ME, all would be well. But since my spouse apparently “offended” others but was good to me, he is to be banished for eternity. Oh, and since I’m married to him and refuse to NOT be married to him, I get to hang out with him in that Outer Darkness place. In addition, for the next several years I am to continue hard labor with no gratitude thrown my way. ANYthing that is asked of me, small or large, I am duty bound to do…with a smile on my face and a thank you to those who thrust the work in my hands.
Dream Spouse offers to throw himself on his sword in order to save me. To no avail. It appears that I have proven myself unworthy by willingly standing by his side and loving him (even on those days I don’t LIKE him very much).
I chew on the inside of my lip, pondering all of the beautiful lessons and talks I’ve heard in church. Love one another. Forgive everyone. Extend the hand of fellowship. No, the judge tells me, reading my thoughts. Apparently I was mistaken. The way that everyone who is important to me interprets those wonderful lessons and talks is that if *they* decide someone doesn’t pass whatever test they’ve devised, they are within their rights to turn their backs on him or her. For. Ever. Forgiving others, he tells me, is really a code for enabling them.
So as I begin to stir, I see an hourglass with a crack in it. As I watch, the crack grow larger until sand begins to slip out. Then I see little pictures floating in the air. They seem to have also escaped from the hourglass. Upon closer inspection, I realize that these “pictures” are actually those who turned their backs on us, embracing the joy that can only come from loving human association. Within seconds, all of the sand has poured out of the glass, leaving it empty and broken, useless. There are no pictures left.
And then I wake up. I smile when I realize it was all just a dream. Wait. It was, wasn’t it?
I have known a great void in my life for many years. Since the spring of this year I have been making daily efforts to change my life. I have been reading the scriptures (finished the Book of Mormon…an entire new blog entry!) and remembering to say my prayers. Tithing is no longer a “wish” but a joyful reality. And I have truly been trying to humble myself and love others. That’s right, even those obnoxious attorneys who make my job such a wonder. In the meantime, I’ve been losing everything I ever thought was important in my life.
I remember when my father died, I went to pay a bill for my mom later that day. As I stood in the line, I thought about each of the other people in the line, wondering if they could tell that I had been dealt a mortal blow that very day. I wondered whether I looked any different. It’s been 11 years, and I have changed my thinking to wondering whether any of the people I meet in my life has been dealt a very serious blow that very day. Did the irritable checker in the grocery store have a fight with her husband before she came to work? Did the bank teller just get yelled at by the customer who was in just five minutes ago? It’s very likely that the witness seated before me in a deposition is NOT having the best day ever, and a smile and friendly words from me can only be appreciated. Did the collection agent on the phone just deal with a nasty person before me…wait, I’m still working on being kind to THOSE guys :D
I have a testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand in this life. In fact, I learn something new EVERY time I study it. And THAT is something for which I remain truly grateful. Such a trite phrase. We need better words to describe this type of gratitude. I feel like I’m offering God a macaroni picture and hoping he doesn’t see the glue I spilled in the corner of the frame.
Through the Atonement, each of us….EACH of us has the gift of repentance and forgiveness offered to us. As I partake of the sacrament on Sundays, I remember that and renew my determination to have Christ in my countenance. When my children talk back to me or fight with one another, I don’t turn my back on them and end my association with them. They make my life miserable. And wonderful. At the same time.
I love my family. All of my family. I miss the ones who aren’t around. Every. Single. Day. I want to share corny comics in the funny papers with my dad. At 6:00 in the morning. I….can barely get through this sentence. I want to have my own macaroni pictures on the walls and jelly kisses and Kool-Aid grins like the ones I ensured my parents received from all my babies. I want to know that I can totally screw up. I can hurt someone’s feelings. I can lose my temper. But the next day, when I come to my senses, I can beg forgiveness, and it will be given to me. And I’ll always be ready to return the favor.
I am so very grateful and feel so unworthy to have in my life those who love me and my family, warts and all. You know who you are. And even if you don’t think it could be you, it probably is. Thank you for letting us share this human experience with you. Thank you for teaching us and being happy that we are here too. Can you imagine how wonderful it will be when we get to hang out Later? :D
Thursday, November 19, 2009
If it makes me feel better, isn't that all that matters?
I’ve noticed a trend lately, already prevalent in much of society, but most recently I’ve seen it within my own family and circle of acquaintances. And that’s what brings me here: It really bothers me. :D
My younger son was in the middle of a big verbal argument with my youngest daughter. When they were little, we used to surmise that when they grew older, Kristi would “clean his clock.” Hehehehe…. But anyway, she told him that she didn’t think he could come up with a better insult than she had, so he said something really cruel about her ears. She’s very sensitive about her ears because she hasn’t quite grown into them yet. And he knows that. We call them “Presidential Ears” because they are reminiscent of the president’s ears, though she is MUCH cuter! By the time Darryl and I got on the scene, Kristi was sniffling, Lauren was furious because they had been fighting, and Scott had refused to go to his room. Scott was in full argument mode because, see, he had apologized. He said he had felt bad, so he’d come back and told Kristi he was sorry. But is that really enough?
Another incident involved other people, older and wiser, but no less sensitive than Kristina. One used a public forum (facebook) to vent some feelings she had been carrying for a long time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her facebook page where she chose to do this, and there are a number of people who saw it who know all parties involved and even more who don’t and are left with only that entry on which to judge our family members. When called on that behavior, the offending person exclaimed, “But I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest!” No apology, no acknowledgment of how others might have been affected. Just an assertion that the “feeling better” far outweighed any burden it might have caused to anyone else.
There are countless other examples in my own personal life. I’m sure I have done the same thing. I hate it when I do that. I don’t want to offend anyone. Even if it is because I am getting something off my chest. How can that be of any benefit to me if my “resolution” comes at the price of another?
I see this all the time in the news and in my work. Many people have the idea that they need to let their feelings out, regardless of who is in the way. We seem to have gone from the “me” generation to the “ONLY me” generation. Some recent egregious examples are Kanye West, Serena Williams, Joe Wilson….
I was born of goodly….completely HUMAN parents. They made plenty of mistakes in their time. From the time I can remember, I was afraid of my dad…then he aggravated me completely….then I felt his behavior was simply unreasonable….then I got married to an even MORE unreasonable man (not talking about Darryl, for those who know him LOL), and I began to appreciate my dad more. I have had the misfortune of seeing that many of my loved friends and family went through horrible experiences in their early years. I realize that, while I felt absolutely picked on, I actually had it really good. I never doubted that my parents loved me. They never did anything to me that was really as awful as I imagined. I have the 20/20 hindsight goggles that you get when you have raised (sort of successfully) four kids to adulthood, and you’re in the process of finishing up the remaining three.
So, yeah, it’s amazing how much softer the edges of my memory are about my father. After all, he’s been gone 10 years already, and I mostly just remember the good things about him. He was a good dad but a better Papa. I think my mom would be in a better place if he were still here, but wouldn’t any wife who loved her husband?
While we’ve generally had a good relationship, I’ve had struggles with my mom over the years, but she is, after all is said and done, still my mother. She had to sacrifice a great deal to raise me and my brother and sister. We are all good people who have raised a good group of children ourselves. I hate it when I get frustrated and say anything that would hurt my mom’s feelings. But that brings me back to the very human makeup I share with my parents. My goal is to look at my mother, my sweetheart, my children, my in-laws, and my friends as the glorious beings they truly are. Each of us has a life fraught with emotional danger. Some of us are much better than others at navigating the waters.
Darryl and I had a talk about this the other day, and I mentioned that I feel like when we get into an argument, and I feel I’ve crossed that imaginary line, it diminishes me as a person. Once said, you can’t truly take back the hurtful comments. That’s not who I am, nor does it truly reflect who I think HE is. He’s a good man…also completely human….who has hurt people in his life, including me. Yet he is the sum of ALL his parts, including the kind, intelligent, funny, fascinating, compassionate, talented parts. So when he hurts my feelings, I may lick my wounds for a while, because I’m certainly not immune to hurt feelings, but I know that he loves me and that no one has ever been such a good match for me. I just remind myself that one day each of us will have the partner we deserve…..and long for. Mind you, the wait isn’t all that bad :D
What I really need to do is figure out how to view MYSELF as a glorious being. I need to recognize that the hurtful things that others say and do on occasion are NOT representative of all of me. I know that I am kind, compassionate, funny, smart, and very sincere. Those parts of me as a whole make me a person worth knowing. I need to live my life more as those parts of myself and less the parts that others find unacceptable.
My hope is that I can resolve to be more kind and more compassionate in my dealings with others. I can’t know what is in the heart and mind of another person. I would want the same from them, so I hope that I can set that example.
My younger son was in the middle of a big verbal argument with my youngest daughter. When they were little, we used to surmise that when they grew older, Kristi would “clean his clock.” Hehehehe…. But anyway, she told him that she didn’t think he could come up with a better insult than she had, so he said something really cruel about her ears. She’s very sensitive about her ears because she hasn’t quite grown into them yet. And he knows that. We call them “Presidential Ears” because they are reminiscent of the president’s ears, though she is MUCH cuter! By the time Darryl and I got on the scene, Kristi was sniffling, Lauren was furious because they had been fighting, and Scott had refused to go to his room. Scott was in full argument mode because, see, he had apologized. He said he had felt bad, so he’d come back and told Kristi he was sorry. But is that really enough?
Another incident involved other people, older and wiser, but no less sensitive than Kristina. One used a public forum (facebook) to vent some feelings she had been carrying for a long time. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her facebook page where she chose to do this, and there are a number of people who saw it who know all parties involved and even more who don’t and are left with only that entry on which to judge our family members. When called on that behavior, the offending person exclaimed, “But I feel so much better now that I got that off my chest!” No apology, no acknowledgment of how others might have been affected. Just an assertion that the “feeling better” far outweighed any burden it might have caused to anyone else.
There are countless other examples in my own personal life. I’m sure I have done the same thing. I hate it when I do that. I don’t want to offend anyone. Even if it is because I am getting something off my chest. How can that be of any benefit to me if my “resolution” comes at the price of another?
I see this all the time in the news and in my work. Many people have the idea that they need to let their feelings out, regardless of who is in the way. We seem to have gone from the “me” generation to the “ONLY me” generation. Some recent egregious examples are Kanye West, Serena Williams, Joe Wilson….
I was born of goodly….completely HUMAN parents. They made plenty of mistakes in their time. From the time I can remember, I was afraid of my dad…then he aggravated me completely….then I felt his behavior was simply unreasonable….then I got married to an even MORE unreasonable man (not talking about Darryl, for those who know him LOL), and I began to appreciate my dad more. I have had the misfortune of seeing that many of my loved friends and family went through horrible experiences in their early years. I realize that, while I felt absolutely picked on, I actually had it really good. I never doubted that my parents loved me. They never did anything to me that was really as awful as I imagined. I have the 20/20 hindsight goggles that you get when you have raised (sort of successfully) four kids to adulthood, and you’re in the process of finishing up the remaining three.
So, yeah, it’s amazing how much softer the edges of my memory are about my father. After all, he’s been gone 10 years already, and I mostly just remember the good things about him. He was a good dad but a better Papa. I think my mom would be in a better place if he were still here, but wouldn’t any wife who loved her husband?
While we’ve generally had a good relationship, I’ve had struggles with my mom over the years, but she is, after all is said and done, still my mother. She had to sacrifice a great deal to raise me and my brother and sister. We are all good people who have raised a good group of children ourselves. I hate it when I get frustrated and say anything that would hurt my mom’s feelings. But that brings me back to the very human makeup I share with my parents. My goal is to look at my mother, my sweetheart, my children, my in-laws, and my friends as the glorious beings they truly are. Each of us has a life fraught with emotional danger. Some of us are much better than others at navigating the waters.
Darryl and I had a talk about this the other day, and I mentioned that I feel like when we get into an argument, and I feel I’ve crossed that imaginary line, it diminishes me as a person. Once said, you can’t truly take back the hurtful comments. That’s not who I am, nor does it truly reflect who I think HE is. He’s a good man…also completely human….who has hurt people in his life, including me. Yet he is the sum of ALL his parts, including the kind, intelligent, funny, fascinating, compassionate, talented parts. So when he hurts my feelings, I may lick my wounds for a while, because I’m certainly not immune to hurt feelings, but I know that he loves me and that no one has ever been such a good match for me. I just remind myself that one day each of us will have the partner we deserve…..and long for. Mind you, the wait isn’t all that bad :D
What I really need to do is figure out how to view MYSELF as a glorious being. I need to recognize that the hurtful things that others say and do on occasion are NOT representative of all of me. I know that I am kind, compassionate, funny, smart, and very sincere. Those parts of me as a whole make me a person worth knowing. I need to live my life more as those parts of myself and less the parts that others find unacceptable.
My hope is that I can resolve to be more kind and more compassionate in my dealings with others. I can’t know what is in the heart and mind of another person. I would want the same from them, so I hope that I can set that example.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Dodging the Bullet
About 2 weeks ago now, I was playing "daddy-daughter softball" with my 9-year-old daughter. This is, of course, turns out to be less about 9 year olds having fun than it is about a bunch of fat, middle-aged dads pretending to play for the Mets while their daughters wander obliviously around the field smelling the dandelions.
I trotted out on field like the pro I just KNEW I had been in some previous life, and took my place playing second base, girding my loins and slapping my fist in my glove, hungry for the "big play." :)
One cute little girl dribbled a grounder past the pitcher, and I ran up on it like the final game of the World Series depended on my speed and overall athletic prowess. As I picked up the ball, I stood up to throw, and realized a tad too late that I had been running on wet grass... with sneakers. As this thought made its' way... slowly... across the synapses of my brain, my feet... both of them... continued straight out in front of me, in one of those slow-motion "Oh-Crap" moments when you realize that your body is not doing what your mind thinks it is. I got great hang time while I hung there... mid-air... kind of like the coyote before he disappears in a cloud down to the canyon floor below.
OK, so I didn't fall to the canyon 200 stories below... OK, so it was only a little over 2 feet... but I landed flat on my back, which complete broke ribs 7 & 8 on my right side. I writhed around in pain for a minute, wondering if I would EVER be able to draw breath again, when several of the dads helped me up. My wife judiciously waited to see if I was OK before she began giggling.
Not only was that embarrassing in the extreme, but it seriously bruised my machismo-laced self image. I got back up, brushed myself off, and determined to "play through the pain." I think now I had transitioned from professional baseball in my mind to professional football, but I digress.
My next chance to redeem myself came when I came up to bat... now, this was SLOW-pitch softball, mind you. I was going to hit it CLEAR outta the park. Redeem myself. Prove that I'm a manly man. Three GLORIOUSLY unsuccessful swings and misses later, I checked my aluminum bat with the utmost scrutiny to see if there somehow had been a hole strategically placed in it as a practical joke. No such luck. Of course, a number of little girls... including my own daughter, who had never played softball before that day in her LIFE... got solid hits.
When I got up to bat again, I decided to throttle back my enthusiasm a bit, and connected enough with the ball to dribble a grounder past the pitcher... and ran like my life depended on it. Picture a Sumu wrestler trying to do the 50-yard dash. It took 15 seconds for the waves in my blubber to stop rolling when I reached 2nd base.
When the next little girl dribbled another base hit, I sprinted for 3rd... only to find that our ex-Bishop's little 9 year old had wandered obliviously into the baseline... and stopped. Not wanting to put his little flower into the ICU by running her over, I nimbly stepped out to the left to kind of "dance" around her. Again, the realization that I was running on wet grass with sneakers darted across the few remaining synapses of my brain as my left foot shot out from under me, forcing me into the splits. OK, THAT one was excruciating. Again, my wife and all the other dads ran out to see what kind of damage I had done to myself, and 2 dads had to practically carry me to the sidelines. One of them helpfully advised that I might want to "sit a few innings out." My leg wouldn't straighten.. at all... and wouldn't bend. Several of the parents there mused out loud as to whether someone had captured all this for later upload to YouTube. I was NOT amused.
So, the result of my foray into the world of athletics after a 30+ year absence was... 1 pulled hamstring, 2 completely broken ribs, and 1 seriously bruised ego.
I lived on Percocets for the next week and a half, and the pain kept getting worse and worse. At first it was mainly my leg. Then my leg started healing, and the ribs started becoming more and more painful until it was difficult to breathe...it just hurt too much. So, on Tuesday of this week, I broke down and went into the ER (where I usually transport patients, so I know them all by name), and had an X-ray taken. The ER, by the way, is $439 just to walk through the door, I found out.
The cute little PA that came in to see me asked what was wrong, and I said, "I think Ribs 7 & 8 are cracked." She gave me that condescending "you're-so-cute" look, and asked me why I thought that. I rattled off the medical signs and symptoms, and told her that I had had broken ribs before. After a Percocet had mellowed me a bit, I had the X-ray taken... which cost me $657. No, I don't have insurance, so I carefully track these things.
After a couple of hours of waiting, the PA came in, and said, "You're scary accurate. It was ribs 7 & 8, and they're complete breaks." I smiled with vindication. And then she shattered my world. A very serious look crossed her face.
"Your X-ray came back abnormal. The radiologist found a shadow on your right lower lobe."
She showed me on the computer monitor where the shadow was... and kept trying to reassure me that it "could be nothing." But she also had to admit that it could be bad. Very bad. She told me that the radiologist suggested that I have a follow-up in "3-6 months." I remember the whole thing being rather surreal... almost as if it weren't happening to me, but to someone else.
I don't remember much of what happened after that... I do remember telling Tracy... again it was surreal... like it was someone else... how could this be happening to ME? I remember going through the motions of going home, trying to get some work done but not being able to concentrate, and then going online and doing research. I didn't come up with anything encouraging.
I called and made an appointment with my doctor, since it didn't make ANY sense to wait 3-6 months for something as potentially lethal as lung cancer. I also called the hospital and asked them to prepare a copy of the x-rays and the final report from the radiologist. I picked the films and the report up bright and early the next day... and read the report out loud;
"Impressions: Density in the right lower lung. Advise PA and Lateral chest radiographs with nipple markers in place to evaluate this region and exclude lung abnormality. Lung abnormality could be due to numerous etiologies to include neoplasm."
The last part stopped me cold in my tracks: "to include neoplasm." Neoplasm is med-speak for cancer.
I went through the rest of the day in a fog... not being able to think clearly about much of anything... but about what the end would be like. Will I suffer? What about my children? How will Tracy make it without me? Am I ready to die? I have so much to do... how long will I be able to function? Where will I be buried? HOW will I be buried? We have no insurance. Tracy had the good sense not to get too rattled until she had more definitive information... I wasn't so rational. I was scared spitless. All of a sudden, my ribs didn't hurt so much anymore.
I wept. I worried. I paced. And I researched. I pretended to work. I pretended to function. I pretended to not want anyone to know, but quickly realized that I didn't have the emotional strength to go through this alone.
I went to my appointment with the doctor, hoping for good news. She didn't offer any. What she did do was to write me a script for another confirmation x-ray at another imaging center. We went straight from the doctor's office to the imaging center, and they took me right in. The x-ray, BTW, cost us a whopping $78... after the hospital had charged us $657 for the same thing. But I digress.
The X-rays and the radiologist's Final Report were due the next morning. Due to rampant miscommunications, however, I didn't reach my doctor until the next afternoon, when they cheerfully reported to my everlasting relief that... the X-rays were normal.
The experience left me changed... at least for now... until the stresses of life shove it to the back of my mind again. I'll never forget that feeling of knowing that I could be dying... and the hopelessness and terror that accompanied that news. It has made me appreciate life that much more.
Now... in a couple of hours, when my heart actually resumes beating, I'll probably go celebrate dodging the biggest bullet of my life so far... hopefully by having a healthy salad somewhere.
I trotted out on field like the pro I just KNEW I had been in some previous life, and took my place playing second base, girding my loins and slapping my fist in my glove, hungry for the "big play." :)
One cute little girl dribbled a grounder past the pitcher, and I ran up on it like the final game of the World Series depended on my speed and overall athletic prowess. As I picked up the ball, I stood up to throw, and realized a tad too late that I had been running on wet grass... with sneakers. As this thought made its' way... slowly... across the synapses of my brain, my feet... both of them... continued straight out in front of me, in one of those slow-motion "Oh-Crap" moments when you realize that your body is not doing what your mind thinks it is. I got great hang time while I hung there... mid-air... kind of like the coyote before he disappears in a cloud down to the canyon floor below.
OK, so I didn't fall to the canyon 200 stories below... OK, so it was only a little over 2 feet... but I landed flat on my back, which complete broke ribs 7 & 8 on my right side. I writhed around in pain for a minute, wondering if I would EVER be able to draw breath again, when several of the dads helped me up. My wife judiciously waited to see if I was OK before she began giggling.
Not only was that embarrassing in the extreme, but it seriously bruised my machismo-laced self image. I got back up, brushed myself off, and determined to "play through the pain." I think now I had transitioned from professional baseball in my mind to professional football, but I digress.
My next chance to redeem myself came when I came up to bat... now, this was SLOW-pitch softball, mind you. I was going to hit it CLEAR outta the park. Redeem myself. Prove that I'm a manly man. Three GLORIOUSLY unsuccessful swings and misses later, I checked my aluminum bat with the utmost scrutiny to see if there somehow had been a hole strategically placed in it as a practical joke. No such luck. Of course, a number of little girls... including my own daughter, who had never played softball before that day in her LIFE... got solid hits.
When I got up to bat again, I decided to throttle back my enthusiasm a bit, and connected enough with the ball to dribble a grounder past the pitcher... and ran like my life depended on it. Picture a Sumu wrestler trying to do the 50-yard dash. It took 15 seconds for the waves in my blubber to stop rolling when I reached 2nd base.
When the next little girl dribbled another base hit, I sprinted for 3rd... only to find that our ex-Bishop's little 9 year old had wandered obliviously into the baseline... and stopped. Not wanting to put his little flower into the ICU by running her over, I nimbly stepped out to the left to kind of "dance" around her. Again, the realization that I was running on wet grass with sneakers darted across the few remaining synapses of my brain as my left foot shot out from under me, forcing me into the splits. OK, THAT one was excruciating. Again, my wife and all the other dads ran out to see what kind of damage I had done to myself, and 2 dads had to practically carry me to the sidelines. One of them helpfully advised that I might want to "sit a few innings out." My leg wouldn't straighten.. at all... and wouldn't bend. Several of the parents there mused out loud as to whether someone had captured all this for later upload to YouTube. I was NOT amused.
So, the result of my foray into the world of athletics after a 30+ year absence was... 1 pulled hamstring, 2 completely broken ribs, and 1 seriously bruised ego.
I lived on Percocets for the next week and a half, and the pain kept getting worse and worse. At first it was mainly my leg. Then my leg started healing, and the ribs started becoming more and more painful until it was difficult to breathe...it just hurt too much. So, on Tuesday of this week, I broke down and went into the ER (where I usually transport patients, so I know them all by name), and had an X-ray taken. The ER, by the way, is $439 just to walk through the door, I found out.
The cute little PA that came in to see me asked what was wrong, and I said, "I think Ribs 7 & 8 are cracked." She gave me that condescending "you're-so-cute" look, and asked me why I thought that. I rattled off the medical signs and symptoms, and told her that I had had broken ribs before. After a Percocet had mellowed me a bit, I had the X-ray taken... which cost me $657. No, I don't have insurance, so I carefully track these things.
After a couple of hours of waiting, the PA came in, and said, "You're scary accurate. It was ribs 7 & 8, and they're complete breaks." I smiled with vindication. And then she shattered my world. A very serious look crossed her face.
"Your X-ray came back abnormal. The radiologist found a shadow on your right lower lobe."
She showed me on the computer monitor where the shadow was... and kept trying to reassure me that it "could be nothing." But she also had to admit that it could be bad. Very bad. She told me that the radiologist suggested that I have a follow-up in "3-6 months." I remember the whole thing being rather surreal... almost as if it weren't happening to me, but to someone else.
I don't remember much of what happened after that... I do remember telling Tracy... again it was surreal... like it was someone else... how could this be happening to ME? I remember going through the motions of going home, trying to get some work done but not being able to concentrate, and then going online and doing research. I didn't come up with anything encouraging.
I called and made an appointment with my doctor, since it didn't make ANY sense to wait 3-6 months for something as potentially lethal as lung cancer. I also called the hospital and asked them to prepare a copy of the x-rays and the final report from the radiologist. I picked the films and the report up bright and early the next day... and read the report out loud;
"Impressions: Density in the right lower lung. Advise PA and Lateral chest radiographs with nipple markers in place to evaluate this region and exclude lung abnormality. Lung abnormality could be due to numerous etiologies to include neoplasm."
The last part stopped me cold in my tracks: "to include neoplasm." Neoplasm is med-speak for cancer.
I went through the rest of the day in a fog... not being able to think clearly about much of anything... but about what the end would be like. Will I suffer? What about my children? How will Tracy make it without me? Am I ready to die? I have so much to do... how long will I be able to function? Where will I be buried? HOW will I be buried? We have no insurance. Tracy had the good sense not to get too rattled until she had more definitive information... I wasn't so rational. I was scared spitless. All of a sudden, my ribs didn't hurt so much anymore.
I wept. I worried. I paced. And I researched. I pretended to work. I pretended to function. I pretended to not want anyone to know, but quickly realized that I didn't have the emotional strength to go through this alone.
I went to my appointment with the doctor, hoping for good news. She didn't offer any. What she did do was to write me a script for another confirmation x-ray at another imaging center. We went straight from the doctor's office to the imaging center, and they took me right in. The x-ray, BTW, cost us a whopping $78... after the hospital had charged us $657 for the same thing. But I digress.
The X-rays and the radiologist's Final Report were due the next morning. Due to rampant miscommunications, however, I didn't reach my doctor until the next afternoon, when they cheerfully reported to my everlasting relief that... the X-rays were normal.
The experience left me changed... at least for now... until the stresses of life shove it to the back of my mind again. I'll never forget that feeling of knowing that I could be dying... and the hopelessness and terror that accompanied that news. It has made me appreciate life that much more.
Now... in a couple of hours, when my heart actually resumes beating, I'll probably go celebrate dodging the biggest bullet of my life so far... hopefully by having a healthy salad somewhere.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
When Pigs Fly (Or Swine Flu)
I've been watching the hype on the Swine Flu for some time now, and am more then mildly amused at the near-hysteria it caused, and the utter non-issue it has since become. And, to be honest, I've had to raise an eyebrow at some of the circumstances behind the flurry of hand-wringing that has accompanied it as it has spread.
Let's take a look under the hospital gown of this panic-infested disease, keeping in mind that the venerable WHO shrieked hysterically when the first cases were reported, and gave Hamthrax it's next-to-highest "warning level"... Level 5... which means that a pandemic is "imminent." That doesn't mean that it COULD happen... it means that it WILL. What, exactly, *IS* a "pandemic"? With no small amount of irony, the word "pandemic" comes from the Greek "pan," which literally means "all," and "demos," which means "people." Pandemic means, literally, "all people."
Now... weeks after this shrieking warning blared its way through the airwaves, where are we? How bad is it? Do we have areas roped off with barbed wire, guard dogs, and tanks a la "Outbreak"? Not so much.
As of today's date, there have been 4,694 cases of swine flu reported... WORLD-WIDE. To give you some perspective, that's ONE in every 1.3 MILLION people. And deaths? So far there have been... wait for it... 48. World-wide. That's one in every 125 MILLION people.
Now... according to the Royal Aeronautical Society, there are approx. 24,000 deaths each year from LIGHTNING strikes. That means you have a 500 times GREATER chance of getting killed by lightning than you do of dying from Hamthrax. Or, to put a finer point on it, you are 36,125 TIMES more likely to die of... say... "runaway diarrhea" than Swine Flu. In fact, you are 20 TIMES more likely to get eaten by a tiger than you are to die of the Swine Flu. And no, I'm not making this up. And yet, curiously, I have yet to see the WHO raise The Trots to a Level 5 Pandemic Panic.
Now... if you REALLY wanna talk "pandemic," let's review the numbers of the Influenza Pandemic in 1918-1919. Estimates on that one range from 13 to 20 MILLION deaths world-wide. And here we are, reduced to a quivering, panic-stricken puddle over... 48 deaths.
So, to Enquiring Minds everywhere, the question is dutifully begged, "Why, then, all the hysteria over Hamthrax"?
There are many reasons, of course. We have become far more reactionary as a people than our stronger, more hearty predecessors. And then one must consider the old standby villain... the Almighty Buck.
Not to point fingers carelessly (and lord knows Big Pharmaceuticals would NEVER pull anything remotely shady), but consider our benevolent "friend," Hoffman-La Roche Pharmaceuticals... maker of Tamiflu, the only effective flu vaccine on the market. In March of 2009, the Swine Flu was discovered in Mexico, and was ultimately traced back to a 4-year-old boy on a pig farm there. Shares of Hoffman-La Roche were the lowest they had been in the last 5 years... $26.50/share. Fast-forward one month to April 10, when the WHO inexplicably raised Hamthrax to a "Level 5" outbreak... and La Roche shares shot up to $35.05/share for a one month share increase of over 25%. Not bad, considering that the lion's share of the profit on this drug had already been realized when La Roche raked in billions over the last 5 years by fear-mongering governments world-wide to stockpile millions of doses of the vaccine, which the helpful La Roche people strongly warned would "not be nearly enough" to handle the swine flu "pandemic." How magnanimous of them. Imagine the dismay in the boardroom when the numbers weren't nearly as dire as they must've hoped. If you want to see just how dismayed they are, look at where their stock went AFTER the "pandemic" didn't even reach "getting-eaten-by-a-tiger" levels.
Oh, well. Maybe I'm just becoming cynical in my old age. Or maybe there's something I'm missing here. I don't know. You decide. I'm not feeling too well.
Let's take a look under the hospital gown of this panic-infested disease, keeping in mind that the venerable WHO shrieked hysterically when the first cases were reported, and gave Hamthrax it's next-to-highest "warning level"... Level 5... which means that a pandemic is "imminent." That doesn't mean that it COULD happen... it means that it WILL. What, exactly, *IS* a "pandemic"? With no small amount of irony, the word "pandemic" comes from the Greek "pan," which literally means "all," and "demos," which means "people." Pandemic means, literally, "all people."
Now... weeks after this shrieking warning blared its way through the airwaves, where are we? How bad is it? Do we have areas roped off with barbed wire, guard dogs, and tanks a la "Outbreak"? Not so much.
As of today's date, there have been 4,694 cases of swine flu reported... WORLD-WIDE. To give you some perspective, that's ONE in every 1.3 MILLION people. And deaths? So far there have been... wait for it... 48. World-wide. That's one in every 125 MILLION people.
Now... according to the Royal Aeronautical Society, there are approx. 24,000 deaths each year from LIGHTNING strikes. That means you have a 500 times GREATER chance of getting killed by lightning than you do of dying from Hamthrax. Or, to put a finer point on it, you are 36,125 TIMES more likely to die of... say... "runaway diarrhea" than Swine Flu. In fact, you are 20 TIMES more likely to get eaten by a tiger than you are to die of the Swine Flu. And no, I'm not making this up. And yet, curiously, I have yet to see the WHO raise The Trots to a Level 5 Pandemic Panic.
Now... if you REALLY wanna talk "pandemic," let's review the numbers of the Influenza Pandemic in 1918-1919. Estimates on that one range from 13 to 20 MILLION deaths world-wide. And here we are, reduced to a quivering, panic-stricken puddle over... 48 deaths.
So, to Enquiring Minds everywhere, the question is dutifully begged, "Why, then, all the hysteria over Hamthrax"?
There are many reasons, of course. We have become far more reactionary as a people than our stronger, more hearty predecessors. And then one must consider the old standby villain... the Almighty Buck.
Not to point fingers carelessly (and lord knows Big Pharmaceuticals would NEVER pull anything remotely shady), but consider our benevolent "friend," Hoffman-La Roche Pharmaceuticals... maker of Tamiflu, the only effective flu vaccine on the market. In March of 2009, the Swine Flu was discovered in Mexico, and was ultimately traced back to a 4-year-old boy on a pig farm there. Shares of Hoffman-La Roche were the lowest they had been in the last 5 years... $26.50/share. Fast-forward one month to April 10, when the WHO inexplicably raised Hamthrax to a "Level 5" outbreak... and La Roche shares shot up to $35.05/share for a one month share increase of over 25%. Not bad, considering that the lion's share of the profit on this drug had already been realized when La Roche raked in billions over the last 5 years by fear-mongering governments world-wide to stockpile millions of doses of the vaccine, which the helpful La Roche people strongly warned would "not be nearly enough" to handle the swine flu "pandemic." How magnanimous of them. Imagine the dismay in the boardroom when the numbers weren't nearly as dire as they must've hoped. If you want to see just how dismayed they are, look at where their stock went AFTER the "pandemic" didn't even reach "getting-eaten-by-a-tiger" levels.
Oh, well. Maybe I'm just becoming cynical in my old age. Or maybe there's something I'm missing here. I don't know. You decide. I'm not feeling too well.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The REAL Miss USA
Just when you think you've passed the last pothole on the road of sound judgment and logic, out pops flamboyant gay "celebrity" blogger Perez Hilton and trashes the suspension on your SUV. I know I've sounded off on this before, but the events of the last week have just taken my breath away. So here I go again.
You may have seen what I'm talking about. The Miss USA pageant. Or maybe you missed it. Doesn't matter. I don't follow beauty pageants generally by virtue of the fact that they smack of meat-market sexism that rivals such deeply intellectual fare as "the Batchelor" and "Wife Swap" on the substance-o-meter. What piqued my interested in this one was the set-up question that Hilton intentionally dropped in the lap of Miss California, Carrie Prejean.
Hilton, aka Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr. (his real name), openly stated that he set up the unwitting beauty contestant to have a national forum to bring this issue to the forefront. In other words, he hijacked this contest... which has NOTHING whatsoever to do with gay rights or gay marriage, to advance his own selfish agenda, and bring it before a "national audience." And Hilton personally has no moral or ethical problem doing so. You see, for gay rights activists, there is nothing that could be possibly unethical in advancing their "cause." There is no act too brazen, no lie too bold, no fraud too despicable, no sleaze too slimy. There are simply no holds barred in their quest to advance their agenda. Apparently, boundaries, ethics, constraint, diplomacy, etc. are for the OTHER side. Not them. After all, the end justifies the means, right? Those who oppose gay marriage dare not step out of line... or else. But PROPONENTS? Anything goes. The hypocrisy here is stunning and unbelievable. And completely unacceptable to us as a nation.
And as far as this loaded question goes, there was obviously no acceptable answer but one. In a stunningly brazen move, this inappropriate question was asked, with the prior approval of pageant organizer Lewis (who is also gay), deliberately to throw the contest the way Hilton and his conspirators wanted it to go, knowing that Prejean was a Christian, as well as to steal the spotlight from those who rightfully earned it... to HIM... and the cause he embraces so passionately. For Hilton, the entire pageant was simply a convenient vehicle to roughly shove aside the relevant purpose of the pageant to openly advance gay marriage... with some annoying girls thrown in for looks... pun intended. What was really revealing were the CHEERS from the audience that accompanied Prejean's statement... which Hilton then LIED about on Larry King and tried lamely to pretend that they were actually "boos."
Hilton sunk to an all-time head-scratching low when asked why he asked such a loaded question in such in inappropriate forum... his answer? "I thought it was relevant." Huh? At a beauty pageant? Hilton went on to explain that in HIS view, Miss USA should "represent ALL of us." Apparently, there is no room for conviction in Hilton's world, if it disagrees with his. One must honestly ask why Hilton himself isn't willing to take his own advice, reel in his invective, and be content to respect the "ALL of us" who disagree with HIM and his precious "cause"?
Prejean noted, quite correctly it seems, that the honest belief she shared (which is what Hilton asked, after all), cost her the Miss USA crown. And you'd have to be inhabiting the basement apartment under the closest rock not to agree. What was even more jaw-dropping was the fact that the pageant organizer agreed with Hilton that Prejean should not have been crowned Miss USA, based solely on her beliefs on gay marriage. WHAT???!!! So much for objectivity and fairness. Apparently, the Miss USA Pageant has jettisoned the "beauty" part for the sake of only naming someone who was supportive of the organizer's gay agenda. What's wrong with this picture? We have arrived at the ultimate precipice of absurdity... where a beauty pageant's beauty, grace, poise, and intelligence are disregarded, honest well-thought-out, well-expressed opinion is discouraged, and shallow, politically-correct pandoring pablum is exalted as the ultimate goal for the optimal "Miss USA."
The comically ridiculous part of all this came in an interview that Hilton gave on Larry King, wherein he stated that by honestly stating her beliefs (which statistically a vast majority of the population share, by the way), that she was being "divisive," and that she somehow wasn't "MY Miss USA," representing "the rest of America," such as "gays and lesbians and their families." That's funny. I somehow didn't realize that gays and lesbians represented "America." Apparently Hilton has never read a poll before, nor did he pay much attention to the statistics behind the decisive victory of Prop 8 in California... one of the most gay-friendly states in the nation. Nor has he paid attention to the myriad of national polls that have been conducted that have clearly outlined just exactly who the majority is on this issue. Poor dear. He probably doesn't realize that gays comprise a tiny minority in this country... and a minority whose public image is deteriorating at warp speed for just such antics as Hilton has displayed here.
The end result of this mess is that Hilton obtained far more exposure than he (or his cause) deserves, and a qualified, beautiful, courageous young woman was denied a crown that she most assuredly deserved... all because she had the strength, courage, and moral conviction to answer a set-up question honestly and with conviction. God bless her.
Fortunately, the majority in this country can see this ham-fisted, openly biased morality-bashing for what it was, and quietly acknowledge Carrie Prejean as the REAL Miss USA this year.
And the only real LOSER here.. is Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr., and the other morally and ethically bankrupt screeching, whining coalition of homosexuals and lesbians who insist that lying, fraud, dishonestly, and deception are justifiable strategies for forcing their views on a majority who have clearly rejected them. We can only hope that NAMBLA isn't waiting in the wings, studying the gay rights playbook, and planning their own campaign.
You may have seen what I'm talking about. The Miss USA pageant. Or maybe you missed it. Doesn't matter. I don't follow beauty pageants generally by virtue of the fact that they smack of meat-market sexism that rivals such deeply intellectual fare as "the Batchelor" and "Wife Swap" on the substance-o-meter. What piqued my interested in this one was the set-up question that Hilton intentionally dropped in the lap of Miss California, Carrie Prejean.
Hilton, aka Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr. (his real name), openly stated that he set up the unwitting beauty contestant to have a national forum to bring this issue to the forefront. In other words, he hijacked this contest... which has NOTHING whatsoever to do with gay rights or gay marriage, to advance his own selfish agenda, and bring it before a "national audience." And Hilton personally has no moral or ethical problem doing so. You see, for gay rights activists, there is nothing that could be possibly unethical in advancing their "cause." There is no act too brazen, no lie too bold, no fraud too despicable, no sleaze too slimy. There are simply no holds barred in their quest to advance their agenda. Apparently, boundaries, ethics, constraint, diplomacy, etc. are for the OTHER side. Not them. After all, the end justifies the means, right? Those who oppose gay marriage dare not step out of line... or else. But PROPONENTS? Anything goes. The hypocrisy here is stunning and unbelievable. And completely unacceptable to us as a nation.
And as far as this loaded question goes, there was obviously no acceptable answer but one. In a stunningly brazen move, this inappropriate question was asked, with the prior approval of pageant organizer Lewis (who is also gay), deliberately to throw the contest the way Hilton and his conspirators wanted it to go, knowing that Prejean was a Christian, as well as to steal the spotlight from those who rightfully earned it... to HIM... and the cause he embraces so passionately. For Hilton, the entire pageant was simply a convenient vehicle to roughly shove aside the relevant purpose of the pageant to openly advance gay marriage... with some annoying girls thrown in for looks... pun intended. What was really revealing were the CHEERS from the audience that accompanied Prejean's statement... which Hilton then LIED about on Larry King and tried lamely to pretend that they were actually "boos."
Hilton sunk to an all-time head-scratching low when asked why he asked such a loaded question in such in inappropriate forum... his answer? "I thought it was relevant." Huh? At a beauty pageant? Hilton went on to explain that in HIS view, Miss USA should "represent ALL of us." Apparently, there is no room for conviction in Hilton's world, if it disagrees with his. One must honestly ask why Hilton himself isn't willing to take his own advice, reel in his invective, and be content to respect the "ALL of us" who disagree with HIM and his precious "cause"?
Prejean noted, quite correctly it seems, that the honest belief she shared (which is what Hilton asked, after all), cost her the Miss USA crown. And you'd have to be inhabiting the basement apartment under the closest rock not to agree. What was even more jaw-dropping was the fact that the pageant organizer agreed with Hilton that Prejean should not have been crowned Miss USA, based solely on her beliefs on gay marriage. WHAT???!!! So much for objectivity and fairness. Apparently, the Miss USA Pageant has jettisoned the "beauty" part for the sake of only naming someone who was supportive of the organizer's gay agenda. What's wrong with this picture? We have arrived at the ultimate precipice of absurdity... where a beauty pageant's beauty, grace, poise, and intelligence are disregarded, honest well-thought-out, well-expressed opinion is discouraged, and shallow, politically-correct pandoring pablum is exalted as the ultimate goal for the optimal "Miss USA."
The comically ridiculous part of all this came in an interview that Hilton gave on Larry King, wherein he stated that by honestly stating her beliefs (which statistically a vast majority of the population share, by the way), that she was being "divisive," and that she somehow wasn't "MY Miss USA," representing "the rest of America," such as "gays and lesbians and their families." That's funny. I somehow didn't realize that gays and lesbians represented "America." Apparently Hilton has never read a poll before, nor did he pay much attention to the statistics behind the decisive victory of Prop 8 in California... one of the most gay-friendly states in the nation. Nor has he paid attention to the myriad of national polls that have been conducted that have clearly outlined just exactly who the majority is on this issue. Poor dear. He probably doesn't realize that gays comprise a tiny minority in this country... and a minority whose public image is deteriorating at warp speed for just such antics as Hilton has displayed here.
The end result of this mess is that Hilton obtained far more exposure than he (or his cause) deserves, and a qualified, beautiful, courageous young woman was denied a crown that she most assuredly deserved... all because she had the strength, courage, and moral conviction to answer a set-up question honestly and with conviction. God bless her.
Fortunately, the majority in this country can see this ham-fisted, openly biased morality-bashing for what it was, and quietly acknowledge Carrie Prejean as the REAL Miss USA this year.
And the only real LOSER here.. is Mario Armando Lavandeira, Jr., and the other morally and ethically bankrupt screeching, whining coalition of homosexuals and lesbians who insist that lying, fraud, dishonestly, and deception are justifiable strategies for forcing their views on a majority who have clearly rejected them. We can only hope that NAMBLA isn't waiting in the wings, studying the gay rights playbook, and planning their own campaign.
Monday, March 2, 2009
"And They Shall Hear My Voice"
The following is the text of a talk that I gave in Sacrament Meeting two Sundays ago.
**********************************************************************************
As you may or may not have picked up from the wonderful talks given so far, our topic this morning is 3 Nephi 11, 12, and 13, which centers on the Savior’s visit to the Americas after His crucifixion and resurrection in the Old World.
Since we were given such broad latitude on this assignment, I decided to read through 3 Nephi 11, 12, and 13 and stop whenever I arrived at a passage that spoke to me. I started reading in Chapter 11, and made it all the way to the 1st verse before I stopped… so let me take a few minutes and just share some random musings on the next couple of verses.
Here’s the setting as we begin Chapter 11… months had passed since the three days of darkness had dispersed and the people were gathered at the temple in Bountiful. The Savior had just spent 40 days teaching his Eastern Apostles the mysteries of the Kingdom. There were 2,500 men, women, and children present, (3 Ne 17:25) and they were gathered together as families, (3 Ne 19:1) which indicates that this was probably a conference of the Church called by Nephi III.
“And now it came to pass that there were a great multitude gathered together, of the people of Nephi, round about the temple which was in the land Bountiful; and they were marveling and wondering one with another, and were showing one to another the great and marvelous change which had taken place.” (3 Ne 11:1)
The fact that they were marveling and showing each other the changes that had taken place suggests that many of them had come from a considerable distance… to get an idea of why they might be “marveling,” imagine that the entire Eastern seaboard had suddenly changed, literally, overnight. Mountains now stood over in the general direction of Orange. All the familiar landmarks that you are familiar with… gone. Hills that you remembered playing on as kids… are now hollows… and vice versa.
In the middle of these hushed conversations, they all heard a voice… but it was different than anything they had ever experienced before.
“And it came to pass that while they were thus conversing one with another, they heard a voice as if it came out of heaven;”
It’s interesting that in both this and another account of Nephites hearing a voice from heaven, the writers draw attention to this… that the voice was “as if it came out of heaven,” and from Helaman, “from above the darkness.” You can imagine how this might have been odd to them… loudspeakers hadn’t quite been invented yet... they really had no concept of voices being heard from anywhere but someone on the ground… so the direction from whence the voice came was significant them… so significant that they felt compelled to take note of it.
“And they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard;”
Growing older has helped me understand this to a degree that I don’t think I could have in my younger days… I’ve noticed that my hearing is starting to go… I have difficulty hearing normal conversations now, and a lot of the time I’m aware that someone is talking… I can hear the sound… but sometimes I can’t make out the words. The only way I can understand them is to focus my attention, listen more intently, and really concentrate to make out what is being said… even in quiet conversations. This is what the Nephites seemed to be experiencing.
Nephi describes the unique characteristics of this voice…
“And it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn.” (3 Ne 11:3)
Elijah described the voice of the Lord in a very similar way;
“And [the Lord] said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, ‘What doest thou here, Elijah?’” (1 Kings 19:11-13)
Nephi’s experience with the voice of God in the land Bountiful had happened before in the Book of Mormon as well. Earlier in the Book of Mormon, in Helaman, Helaman’s son Nephi and Lehi had been thrown into prison by the Lamanites, and starved “many days,” until the Lamanites actually showed up to kill them. Do you remember what happened? Talk about the ultimate in Special Effects. Industrial Light and Magic has nothing on the Lord.
Nephi and Lehi stood up, probably resigned to their pending execution, but instead were “encircled about by fire.” THEY didn’t know this was going to happen… they were as surprised and freaked out about it as the Lamanites were… until they realized that even though they were encircled about by fire, they weren’t being burned;
“And when they saw that they were encircled about with a pillar of fire, and that it burned them not, their hearts did take courage.” (Hel 5:20)
I love how understated the scriptures are. If that had been me, it would have said, “and the terror-stricken apoplectic seizure that he was experiencing diminished slightly.”
When it dawned on them that this was the work of God on their behalf, Lehi and Nephi then stood tall and told the Lamanites that what they had witnessed was of God… Now… not to be too irreverent, but can you imagine someone on the other side of these manifestations, in some “divine control booth,” chuckling and saying “you think THAT’S awesome.. watch THIS. Cue the earthquake.”
Sure enough… as soon as they uttered those words, as if to add a divine exclamation point, the walls shook… without falling down. Cue the darkness.
Darkness then descends upon them, and they are overcome with an “awful, solemn fear.” I would imagine most of us who have lived very long have had instances in our lives where that “awful, solemn fear” has rested on us. The Lord certainly knows how to get your attention when He really wants to, doesn’t he?
Then comes the part that I wanted to touch on…
“And it came to pass that there came a voice as if it were above the cloud of darkness…” (Hel 5:29)
Now… pay close attention to how Nephi and Lehi describe this voice, and see if it is anything similar to what the latter Nephi wrote:
“And it came to pass when they heard this voice, and beheld that it was not a voice of thunder, neither was it a voice of a great tumultuous noise, but behold, it was a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper, and it did pierce even to the very soul—
And notwithstanding the mildness of the voice, behold the earth shook exceedingly, and the walls of the prison trembled again, as if it were about to tumble to the earth; and behold the cloud of darkness, which had overshadowed them, did not disperse— “ (Hel 5:30,31)
In both of these accounts… the writer is fascinated by how “still” and “mild” the voice was… “as if it had been a whisper”… while at the same time marveling how it caused them to quake and tremble to the very core, and that it “pierced them to their very soul.”
Why was this so significant to them? In the day these incidents occurred, the only method available to communicate to more than a few people was to shout… to be loud. The only way to hear a whisper was to be standing next to someone… surround sound and PA systems had not quite been invented yet… therefore it is no small surprise that the stillness of the voice would astound them.
Even in our day, the movies and media have largely portrayed God has having a LOUD, booming voice… like the Ten Commandments, or even Bill Cosby’s routine on Noah… yet the real voice of God is “as if it had been a whisper.”
Three times the unintelligible voice was heard by those at the Bountiful Temple… and listen to what it took to understand the voice…
“And again the third time they did hear the voice, and did open their ears to hear it; and their eyes were towards the sound thereof; and they did look steadfastly towards heaven, from whence the sound came. And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them: Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne 11:5-8)
This was the voice of Elohim, of which all of those gathered were a witness.
This account contains some powerful lessons for us. The Lord is profoundly skilled at bringing us to our knees when He needs to… and places us in situations where we can only flounder and fail without His help. But He is always there to help us… We are surrounded by revelation waiting for an “open ear” and for us to turn “look steadfastly unto heaven.” The Holy Ghost attempts to speak to us constantly through a multitude of means… direct revelation, the scriptures, the counsel of the prophet and the Brethren, the tender guidance of our local leaders… but many times, we don’t hear the answers that we ache for… because our spiritual ears “are not open.” And our lives, our behavior, our actions are oftentimes not “looking steadfastly towards heaven.” We need to turn up our “spiritual hearing aid”… humility.
When we do… when we open our ears… really focus, and concentrate our spiritual ears… become more humble and teachable… when we “look steadfastly unto heaven, from whence the sound comes,” by bringing our lives into alignment with the Gospel through obedience, we finally “hear” the message the Lord has for us.
And what an amazing message it is. And how many messages have we cheated ourselves out of by not “opening our ears,” and “looking steadfastly unto heaven”? And how many can we afford to miss out on? All we have to do is to turn up our spiritual hearing aid… and be where we should be, when we should be. If we really want to hear the voice of God, we need to be where He has commanded, and not be doing “something else.”
Some of us from time to time may be tempted to be somewhat lax on that last part, especially when it comes to attending, say, Stake Conference. But imagine that THIS particular conference is one that you chose to blow off. After all, you’ve been through a lot during the last couple of months. Lost your job. The farm you were working is now… a mountain. Destruction. Mayhem. Fires. Earthquakes. And then there’s the brand new lake in your front yard that wasn’t there a couple of months ago, which, now that smoke and darkness has cleared and things have calmed down a bit, looks like it desperately needs to be explored. So you take a weekend off. After all, you made it through the destruction intact, right? You must be OK in the Lord’s sight. And after all, it’s “just conference.”
Unfortunately, unbeknownst to you, this is the Conference of All Conferences… you know… the one where the Prophet stands up and calls us all to go to Missouri, or that all those in attendance have had their calling and election made sure, etc. THAT conference. And you were doing… “something else.”
Apparently, this is not only a latter-day malady, but is precisely what happened in the land of Bountiful. “An exceedingly great number” of the Saints traded the opportunity to hear the voice of Elohim… to see the Savior of the world descend out of Heaven before their eyes… and to actually meet Him face to face… touch the prints of the nails in His hands and feet… thrust their hands into His side… look into His eyes, see His face, and hear His voice… for “something else.”
Imagine the feeling after conference when you’re standing in your driveway washing off your truck, when your neighbors, who (let’s face it) you always thought were a little too “goody-two-shoes” for you, come running up to you with the news of the incredible miracles that happened at Conference; so excited that they can hardly get the words out amidst a flood of tears and joy… Oops. Wrong weekend for a Mental Health Sunday.
For those who skipped out on conference in Bountiful, the bad news was pretty obvious… they forever lost the opportunity to witness, see, and hear what those who were faithful did on that sacred day. The good news was that they had another chance, if they repented, to stand the presence of the Savior.
“And now it came to pass that when Jesus had ascended into heaven, the multitude did disperse, and every man did take his wife and his children and did return to his own home. And it was noised abroad among the people immediately, before it was yet dark, that the multitude had seen Jesus, and that he had ministered unto them, and that he would also show himself on the morrow unto the multitude. Yea, and even all the night it was noised abroad concerning Jesus; and insomuch did they send forth unto the people that there were many, yea, an exceedingly great number, did labor exceedingly all that night, that they might be on the morrow in the place where Jesus should show himself unto the multitude.” (3 Ne 19:1-3)
You know the rest of the story… they came, they witnessed unspeakable miracles, saw their little ones encircled about by fire and blessed by the Savior Himself… and heard the same gospel taught that the Apostles in the Old World had heard in the streets and synagogues of Jerusalem and in the hills of Galilee. Talk about the ultimate General Authority visit to your Conference.
The lessons embedded in this experience are many. If we want to hear the voice of God in our lives… we need to be where we should be… when we should be there… doing the things He has commanded. We need to focus our spiritual attention and “open” our spiritual ears… and “look steadfastly unto heaven”… to understand the “unspeakable things” that God is ready to share with us.
Let us not be caught being deaf, blind, and doing “something else” when the Lord is ready to reveal Himself to us, answer our prayers, give us direction, or heal our broken hearts. And if we have been, let us change now so that we may yet experience the miracles the Lord has in store for us. We can never recover the opportunities for spiritual miracles or revelation that might have been ours in the past, but we can ensure that we don’t miss out on any in the future by likening this wonderful passage to ourselves.
That is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen.
**********************************************************************************
As you may or may not have picked up from the wonderful talks given so far, our topic this morning is 3 Nephi 11, 12, and 13, which centers on the Savior’s visit to the Americas after His crucifixion and resurrection in the Old World.
Since we were given such broad latitude on this assignment, I decided to read through 3 Nephi 11, 12, and 13 and stop whenever I arrived at a passage that spoke to me. I started reading in Chapter 11, and made it all the way to the 1st verse before I stopped… so let me take a few minutes and just share some random musings on the next couple of verses.
Here’s the setting as we begin Chapter 11… months had passed since the three days of darkness had dispersed and the people were gathered at the temple in Bountiful. The Savior had just spent 40 days teaching his Eastern Apostles the mysteries of the Kingdom. There were 2,500 men, women, and children present, (3 Ne 17:25) and they were gathered together as families, (3 Ne 19:1) which indicates that this was probably a conference of the Church called by Nephi III.
“And now it came to pass that there were a great multitude gathered together, of the people of Nephi, round about the temple which was in the land Bountiful; and they were marveling and wondering one with another, and were showing one to another the great and marvelous change which had taken place.” (3 Ne 11:1)
The fact that they were marveling and showing each other the changes that had taken place suggests that many of them had come from a considerable distance… to get an idea of why they might be “marveling,” imagine that the entire Eastern seaboard had suddenly changed, literally, overnight. Mountains now stood over in the general direction of Orange. All the familiar landmarks that you are familiar with… gone. Hills that you remembered playing on as kids… are now hollows… and vice versa.
In the middle of these hushed conversations, they all heard a voice… but it was different than anything they had ever experienced before.
“And it came to pass that while they were thus conversing one with another, they heard a voice as if it came out of heaven;”
It’s interesting that in both this and another account of Nephites hearing a voice from heaven, the writers draw attention to this… that the voice was “as if it came out of heaven,” and from Helaman, “from above the darkness.” You can imagine how this might have been odd to them… loudspeakers hadn’t quite been invented yet... they really had no concept of voices being heard from anywhere but someone on the ground… so the direction from whence the voice came was significant them… so significant that they felt compelled to take note of it.
“And they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard;”
Growing older has helped me understand this to a degree that I don’t think I could have in my younger days… I’ve noticed that my hearing is starting to go… I have difficulty hearing normal conversations now, and a lot of the time I’m aware that someone is talking… I can hear the sound… but sometimes I can’t make out the words. The only way I can understand them is to focus my attention, listen more intently, and really concentrate to make out what is being said… even in quiet conversations. This is what the Nephites seemed to be experiencing.
Nephi describes the unique characteristics of this voice…
“And it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn.” (3 Ne 11:3)
Elijah described the voice of the Lord in a very similar way;
“And [the Lord] said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And, behold, there came a voice unto him, and said, ‘What doest thou here, Elijah?’” (1 Kings 19:11-13)
Nephi’s experience with the voice of God in the land Bountiful had happened before in the Book of Mormon as well. Earlier in the Book of Mormon, in Helaman, Helaman’s son Nephi and Lehi had been thrown into prison by the Lamanites, and starved “many days,” until the Lamanites actually showed up to kill them. Do you remember what happened? Talk about the ultimate in Special Effects. Industrial Light and Magic has nothing on the Lord.
Nephi and Lehi stood up, probably resigned to their pending execution, but instead were “encircled about by fire.” THEY didn’t know this was going to happen… they were as surprised and freaked out about it as the Lamanites were… until they realized that even though they were encircled about by fire, they weren’t being burned;
“And when they saw that they were encircled about with a pillar of fire, and that it burned them not, their hearts did take courage.” (Hel 5:20)
I love how understated the scriptures are. If that had been me, it would have said, “and the terror-stricken apoplectic seizure that he was experiencing diminished slightly.”
When it dawned on them that this was the work of God on their behalf, Lehi and Nephi then stood tall and told the Lamanites that what they had witnessed was of God… Now… not to be too irreverent, but can you imagine someone on the other side of these manifestations, in some “divine control booth,” chuckling and saying “you think THAT’S awesome.. watch THIS. Cue the earthquake.”
Sure enough… as soon as they uttered those words, as if to add a divine exclamation point, the walls shook… without falling down. Cue the darkness.
Darkness then descends upon them, and they are overcome with an “awful, solemn fear.” I would imagine most of us who have lived very long have had instances in our lives where that “awful, solemn fear” has rested on us. The Lord certainly knows how to get your attention when He really wants to, doesn’t he?
Then comes the part that I wanted to touch on…
“And it came to pass that there came a voice as if it were above the cloud of darkness…” (Hel 5:29)
Now… pay close attention to how Nephi and Lehi describe this voice, and see if it is anything similar to what the latter Nephi wrote:
“And it came to pass when they heard this voice, and beheld that it was not a voice of thunder, neither was it a voice of a great tumultuous noise, but behold, it was a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper, and it did pierce even to the very soul—
And notwithstanding the mildness of the voice, behold the earth shook exceedingly, and the walls of the prison trembled again, as if it were about to tumble to the earth; and behold the cloud of darkness, which had overshadowed them, did not disperse— “ (Hel 5:30,31)
In both of these accounts… the writer is fascinated by how “still” and “mild” the voice was… “as if it had been a whisper”… while at the same time marveling how it caused them to quake and tremble to the very core, and that it “pierced them to their very soul.”
Why was this so significant to them? In the day these incidents occurred, the only method available to communicate to more than a few people was to shout… to be loud. The only way to hear a whisper was to be standing next to someone… surround sound and PA systems had not quite been invented yet… therefore it is no small surprise that the stillness of the voice would astound them.
Even in our day, the movies and media have largely portrayed God has having a LOUD, booming voice… like the Ten Commandments, or even Bill Cosby’s routine on Noah… yet the real voice of God is “as if it had been a whisper.”
Three times the unintelligible voice was heard by those at the Bountiful Temple… and listen to what it took to understand the voice…
“And again the third time they did hear the voice, and did open their ears to hear it; and their eyes were towards the sound thereof; and they did look steadfastly towards heaven, from whence the sound came. And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them: Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne 11:5-8)
This was the voice of Elohim, of which all of those gathered were a witness.
This account contains some powerful lessons for us. The Lord is profoundly skilled at bringing us to our knees when He needs to… and places us in situations where we can only flounder and fail without His help. But He is always there to help us… We are surrounded by revelation waiting for an “open ear” and for us to turn “look steadfastly unto heaven.” The Holy Ghost attempts to speak to us constantly through a multitude of means… direct revelation, the scriptures, the counsel of the prophet and the Brethren, the tender guidance of our local leaders… but many times, we don’t hear the answers that we ache for… because our spiritual ears “are not open.” And our lives, our behavior, our actions are oftentimes not “looking steadfastly towards heaven.” We need to turn up our “spiritual hearing aid”… humility.
When we do… when we open our ears… really focus, and concentrate our spiritual ears… become more humble and teachable… when we “look steadfastly unto heaven, from whence the sound comes,” by bringing our lives into alignment with the Gospel through obedience, we finally “hear” the message the Lord has for us.
And what an amazing message it is. And how many messages have we cheated ourselves out of by not “opening our ears,” and “looking steadfastly unto heaven”? And how many can we afford to miss out on? All we have to do is to turn up our spiritual hearing aid… and be where we should be, when we should be. If we really want to hear the voice of God, we need to be where He has commanded, and not be doing “something else.”
Some of us from time to time may be tempted to be somewhat lax on that last part, especially when it comes to attending, say, Stake Conference. But imagine that THIS particular conference is one that you chose to blow off. After all, you’ve been through a lot during the last couple of months. Lost your job. The farm you were working is now… a mountain. Destruction. Mayhem. Fires. Earthquakes. And then there’s the brand new lake in your front yard that wasn’t there a couple of months ago, which, now that smoke and darkness has cleared and things have calmed down a bit, looks like it desperately needs to be explored. So you take a weekend off. After all, you made it through the destruction intact, right? You must be OK in the Lord’s sight. And after all, it’s “just conference.”
Unfortunately, unbeknownst to you, this is the Conference of All Conferences… you know… the one where the Prophet stands up and calls us all to go to Missouri, or that all those in attendance have had their calling and election made sure, etc. THAT conference. And you were doing… “something else.”
Apparently, this is not only a latter-day malady, but is precisely what happened in the land of Bountiful. “An exceedingly great number” of the Saints traded the opportunity to hear the voice of Elohim… to see the Savior of the world descend out of Heaven before their eyes… and to actually meet Him face to face… touch the prints of the nails in His hands and feet… thrust their hands into His side… look into His eyes, see His face, and hear His voice… for “something else.”
Imagine the feeling after conference when you’re standing in your driveway washing off your truck, when your neighbors, who (let’s face it) you always thought were a little too “goody-two-shoes” for you, come running up to you with the news of the incredible miracles that happened at Conference; so excited that they can hardly get the words out amidst a flood of tears and joy… Oops. Wrong weekend for a Mental Health Sunday.
For those who skipped out on conference in Bountiful, the bad news was pretty obvious… they forever lost the opportunity to witness, see, and hear what those who were faithful did on that sacred day. The good news was that they had another chance, if they repented, to stand the presence of the Savior.
“And now it came to pass that when Jesus had ascended into heaven, the multitude did disperse, and every man did take his wife and his children and did return to his own home. And it was noised abroad among the people immediately, before it was yet dark, that the multitude had seen Jesus, and that he had ministered unto them, and that he would also show himself on the morrow unto the multitude. Yea, and even all the night it was noised abroad concerning Jesus; and insomuch did they send forth unto the people that there were many, yea, an exceedingly great number, did labor exceedingly all that night, that they might be on the morrow in the place where Jesus should show himself unto the multitude.” (3 Ne 19:1-3)
You know the rest of the story… they came, they witnessed unspeakable miracles, saw their little ones encircled about by fire and blessed by the Savior Himself… and heard the same gospel taught that the Apostles in the Old World had heard in the streets and synagogues of Jerusalem and in the hills of Galilee. Talk about the ultimate General Authority visit to your Conference.
The lessons embedded in this experience are many. If we want to hear the voice of God in our lives… we need to be where we should be… when we should be there… doing the things He has commanded. We need to focus our spiritual attention and “open” our spiritual ears… and “look steadfastly unto heaven”… to understand the “unspeakable things” that God is ready to share with us.
Let us not be caught being deaf, blind, and doing “something else” when the Lord is ready to reveal Himself to us, answer our prayers, give us direction, or heal our broken hearts. And if we have been, let us change now so that we may yet experience the miracles the Lord has in store for us. We can never recover the opportunities for spiritual miracles or revelation that might have been ours in the past, but we can ensure that we don’t miss out on any in the future by likening this wonderful passage to ourselves.
That is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen.
Monday, February 23, 2009
"Be ye therefore perfect...."
The following is the talk I gave in sacrament meeting on February 22, 2009:
As you’ve learned by now, our family was asked to speak about 3 Nephi 11-13. I had the great joy of teaching the Sunday School Book of Mormon course this past year, and my testimony of the Book of Mormon was increased beyond measure. I love the Book of Mormon and how rich it is in teachings about and of the Savior. I have a feeling that the entire theme of General Conference, both April and October, could be 3 Nephi 11-13, and the sessions might just go beyond their usual time frames. Fortunately for all of you, each of us is taking only a portion of the riches to share with you today.
3 Nephi 12:48 reads as follows: “Therefore I would that ye should be perfect even as I, or your Father who is in heaven is perfect.” Okay. Piece of cake. I should probably tell you that Bro. Christopherson asked us to speak about this because he knows I *am* perfect. If you don’t believe me, ask my sweet husband or our wonderful children. Okay, I confess, I’m not REALLY perfect. Not even a little.
So why would Jesus direct us to be perfect? He didn’t say, “Try to be perfect.” He didn’t say, “Be good.” He said, “I would that ye should be perfect.” We all know that none of us will attain perfection in this life. At least not the way we usually understand the word. We commonly think the word means “unimprovable.” But that is rarely what is meant in the scriptures. As Latter-day Saints, we believe in eternal progression. My Sunday School kids will tell you that I love the use of “action” words in the Book of Mormon. We’re instructed to feast on the scriptures, to hearken to the words of Christ, to pour out our souls in mighty prayer. In my mind, the word “perfect” in the scriptures is also an action word; not a passive one. So what did Jesus mean?
In the New Testament the Greek word translated “perfect” is teleios, and I apologize to anyone here who speaks Greek and finds my pronunciation to be painful. Teleios means ripe, mature, ready, complete, whole, etc. As Stephen Robinson described, “An apple on the tree might be called teleios when it was ripe and ready to be picked, but that doesn’t mean it was an unimprovable apple. It might still have a worm in it.”
Brigham Young explained:
“We all occupy diversified stations in the world, and in the kingdom of God. Those who do right and seek the glory of the Father in heaven, whether their knowledge be little or much, or whether they can do little, or much, if they do the very best they know how, they are perfect….‘Be ye as perfect as ye can,’ for that is all we can do, though it is written, ‘Be ye perfect as your Father who is in heaven is perfect.’ To be as perfect as we possibly can, according to our knowledge, is to be just as perfect as our Father in heaven is. He cannot be any more perfect than He knows how, any more than we. When we are doing as well as we know how in the sphere and station which we occupy here, we are justified.”
Some of you may know that I am a court reporter by profession. It is my job to capture verbatim deposition testimony as well as court proceedings. I have two certifications to my name. The first I received in 1993. I had to take a test; four-voice dictation at 200 wpm, transcribed with 98-percent accuracy. The other certification came after I took a three-part test, the last of which was a two-voice dictation at 225 wpm. My family will tell you that I have told them that they are to keep those certifications active until I draw my last breath. I am not interested in taking those tests again!
In the spring of 2005, I took a job in Fresno Superior Court. I had to sign a contract stating that I would write “realtime” for any judge for whom I worked. There were about 36 judges at that time, none of whom I knew. The day before I took that job, I actually had a dream that I was giving birth. I was very anxious about having my imperfections there for all to see. Well, okay, so just some judges. But have you seen how mean judges are on TV? They call this “writing naked” for good reason. Have any of you read closed captioning on television or the movies? This is done by court reporters or captioners who are capturing extremely difficult, rapidly spoken words. I confess that I often get a chuckle at some of the mistakes that are made by the captioners. But I have great respect for these professionals, and I know that their job is really hard and many people benefit from their effort to get it as accurately as possible.
Anyway, I had that court job nearly a year and a half and loved it. Some days my writing was really good; other days it was embarrassingly bad. We had at least one judge who spoke like that guy in the old FedEx commercial years ago. I received compliments from several of the judges. They loved having the ability to read the proceedings as they were occurring. Whenever an attorney would object, the judge just had to look at his or her computer screen to review what had transpired before the objection and then make a ruling. It saved a lot of time. They had good things to say about my skill. And did I puff up with pride and accept that as my due? Of course not! Being a true LDS woman, I had a running monologue in my head that said things like, “Oh, no way. Doesn’t the judge know I’m really bad? I’m a fraud! I hope they never get to see a REAL realtime reporter’s work,” etc.
Darryl has been after me for a long time since I returned to the deposition arena, even conspiring with some of the agencies who hire me, to start accepting realtime jobs. That means I would hook up my laptop, which is already hooked up to my steno machine, to the computers of others in the proceedings. It is very daunting. But what really holds me back is that my brain has convinced me that I must be perfect in every way BEFORE I can write realtime. Will that day ever happen? Of course not. But what I learned when I was a realtime reporter in court is that my writing was better when I knew that I was not the only one seeing it before it was edited. The judge was “watching.” I can promise you that my writing was the best it has ever been. And I know that will happen again. I am in the process of preparing to be a realtime reporter again, and it scares the daylights out of me. Not because I can’t do it; intellectually, I know that I can, but because it’s going to be hard. It will require all my concentration, my willingness to accept the mistakes I will make and find better ways to write. I will have to practice. Even after 16 years as a reporter, I need to practice. Because what is the saying? “Practice makes perfect.” Now, what I really wish I had was a “sacrament” to take after each week’s work, to renew my promises to be a better reporter next week…
When I joined the Church at age 15, I was barely familiar with the Book of Mormon. I had a tender testimony that required study and learning and prayer and mighty doses of the Holy Ghost. I was blessed with phenomenal teachers and leaders who helped me to nurture my testimony. When I was 16, I received my patriarchal blessing, where I was told that I had a testimony at an early age that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and that that testimony would carry me through the temptations and trials I would face. Boy, if I had been given a glimpse of what I would face over the next 30 years, I think I might have run the other way! But a regular reading of my patriarchal blessing has reminded me that the Lord DID have more than a glimpse, and He was encouraging me to hang on for the ride.
I have learned over the years that I need to continue to “practice” being a Latter-day Saint. I struggle with reading my scriptures and praying…why? Not because I don’t believe in the power of scriptures and in prayer, but because that awful monologue comes back and tries to tell me that I’m not worthy enough, I’m not good enough, the Lord doesn’t want to hear me whine again. But when I DO read the scriptures, my mind is overwhelmed with absolute certainty that these are the word of God. My heart swells with love for Heavenly Father and with a desire to be a better daughter. I realize how much I miss Him and want to be with Him forever. And sometimes when I pray in private, I feel overcome with emotion. I remember that God loves me. That He WANTS to hear from me and that He misses me too. So I realize that practice makes perfect, well, it is a divinely inspired quote. If I practice living the Gospel, I will become more perfect every day. I will never BE perfect in this life, but thankfully, the Atonement of Jesus Christ is there to help me complete the process of perfection. I just need to keep practicing. And practicing. And practicing…..
Bruce R. McConkie said:
“We begin to keep the commandments today, and we keep more of them tomorrow, and we go from grace to grace, up the steps of the ladder, and we thus improve and perfect our souls. We can become perfect in some minor things….and so degree by degree and step by step we start out on the course to perfection with the objective of becoming perfect as God our Heavenly Father is perfect, in which eventuality we become inheritors of eternal life in his kingdom.”
He also said:
“I think we ought to have hope; I think we ought to have rejoicing. We can talk about the principles of salvation and say how many there are and how people have to meet these standards. And it may thereby seem hard and difficult and beyond the capacity of mortals so to obtain. But we need not take that approach. We ought to realize that we have the same appetites and passions that all of the saints and righteous people had in the dispensations that have gone before. They were no different than we are. They overcame the flesh.”
So, no, I am not perfect. But I want to obey the Lord’s command to BE perfect, and I remembered that this morning as I partook of the sacrament; my opportunity to renew my covenants made at baptism to take upon myself the name of Christ. And I hope that this week I will be just a little better than last week. And so on.
I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
As you’ve learned by now, our family was asked to speak about 3 Nephi 11-13. I had the great joy of teaching the Sunday School Book of Mormon course this past year, and my testimony of the Book of Mormon was increased beyond measure. I love the Book of Mormon and how rich it is in teachings about and of the Savior. I have a feeling that the entire theme of General Conference, both April and October, could be 3 Nephi 11-13, and the sessions might just go beyond their usual time frames. Fortunately for all of you, each of us is taking only a portion of the riches to share with you today.
3 Nephi 12:48 reads as follows: “Therefore I would that ye should be perfect even as I, or your Father who is in heaven is perfect.” Okay. Piece of cake. I should probably tell you that Bro. Christopherson asked us to speak about this because he knows I *am* perfect. If you don’t believe me, ask my sweet husband or our wonderful children. Okay, I confess, I’m not REALLY perfect. Not even a little.
So why would Jesus direct us to be perfect? He didn’t say, “Try to be perfect.” He didn’t say, “Be good.” He said, “I would that ye should be perfect.” We all know that none of us will attain perfection in this life. At least not the way we usually understand the word. We commonly think the word means “unimprovable.” But that is rarely what is meant in the scriptures. As Latter-day Saints, we believe in eternal progression. My Sunday School kids will tell you that I love the use of “action” words in the Book of Mormon. We’re instructed to feast on the scriptures, to hearken to the words of Christ, to pour out our souls in mighty prayer. In my mind, the word “perfect” in the scriptures is also an action word; not a passive one. So what did Jesus mean?
In the New Testament the Greek word translated “perfect” is teleios, and I apologize to anyone here who speaks Greek and finds my pronunciation to be painful. Teleios means ripe, mature, ready, complete, whole, etc. As Stephen Robinson described, “An apple on the tree might be called teleios when it was ripe and ready to be picked, but that doesn’t mean it was an unimprovable apple. It might still have a worm in it.”
Brigham Young explained:
“We all occupy diversified stations in the world, and in the kingdom of God. Those who do right and seek the glory of the Father in heaven, whether their knowledge be little or much, or whether they can do little, or much, if they do the very best they know how, they are perfect….‘Be ye as perfect as ye can,’ for that is all we can do, though it is written, ‘Be ye perfect as your Father who is in heaven is perfect.’ To be as perfect as we possibly can, according to our knowledge, is to be just as perfect as our Father in heaven is. He cannot be any more perfect than He knows how, any more than we. When we are doing as well as we know how in the sphere and station which we occupy here, we are justified.”
Some of you may know that I am a court reporter by profession. It is my job to capture verbatim deposition testimony as well as court proceedings. I have two certifications to my name. The first I received in 1993. I had to take a test; four-voice dictation at 200 wpm, transcribed with 98-percent accuracy. The other certification came after I took a three-part test, the last of which was a two-voice dictation at 225 wpm. My family will tell you that I have told them that they are to keep those certifications active until I draw my last breath. I am not interested in taking those tests again!
In the spring of 2005, I took a job in Fresno Superior Court. I had to sign a contract stating that I would write “realtime” for any judge for whom I worked. There were about 36 judges at that time, none of whom I knew. The day before I took that job, I actually had a dream that I was giving birth. I was very anxious about having my imperfections there for all to see. Well, okay, so just some judges. But have you seen how mean judges are on TV? They call this “writing naked” for good reason. Have any of you read closed captioning on television or the movies? This is done by court reporters or captioners who are capturing extremely difficult, rapidly spoken words. I confess that I often get a chuckle at some of the mistakes that are made by the captioners. But I have great respect for these professionals, and I know that their job is really hard and many people benefit from their effort to get it as accurately as possible.
Anyway, I had that court job nearly a year and a half and loved it. Some days my writing was really good; other days it was embarrassingly bad. We had at least one judge who spoke like that guy in the old FedEx commercial years ago. I received compliments from several of the judges. They loved having the ability to read the proceedings as they were occurring. Whenever an attorney would object, the judge just had to look at his or her computer screen to review what had transpired before the objection and then make a ruling. It saved a lot of time. They had good things to say about my skill. And did I puff up with pride and accept that as my due? Of course not! Being a true LDS woman, I had a running monologue in my head that said things like, “Oh, no way. Doesn’t the judge know I’m really bad? I’m a fraud! I hope they never get to see a REAL realtime reporter’s work,” etc.
Darryl has been after me for a long time since I returned to the deposition arena, even conspiring with some of the agencies who hire me, to start accepting realtime jobs. That means I would hook up my laptop, which is already hooked up to my steno machine, to the computers of others in the proceedings. It is very daunting. But what really holds me back is that my brain has convinced me that I must be perfect in every way BEFORE I can write realtime. Will that day ever happen? Of course not. But what I learned when I was a realtime reporter in court is that my writing was better when I knew that I was not the only one seeing it before it was edited. The judge was “watching.” I can promise you that my writing was the best it has ever been. And I know that will happen again. I am in the process of preparing to be a realtime reporter again, and it scares the daylights out of me. Not because I can’t do it; intellectually, I know that I can, but because it’s going to be hard. It will require all my concentration, my willingness to accept the mistakes I will make and find better ways to write. I will have to practice. Even after 16 years as a reporter, I need to practice. Because what is the saying? “Practice makes perfect.” Now, what I really wish I had was a “sacrament” to take after each week’s work, to renew my promises to be a better reporter next week…
When I joined the Church at age 15, I was barely familiar with the Book of Mormon. I had a tender testimony that required study and learning and prayer and mighty doses of the Holy Ghost. I was blessed with phenomenal teachers and leaders who helped me to nurture my testimony. When I was 16, I received my patriarchal blessing, where I was told that I had a testimony at an early age that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and that that testimony would carry me through the temptations and trials I would face. Boy, if I had been given a glimpse of what I would face over the next 30 years, I think I might have run the other way! But a regular reading of my patriarchal blessing has reminded me that the Lord DID have more than a glimpse, and He was encouraging me to hang on for the ride.
I have learned over the years that I need to continue to “practice” being a Latter-day Saint. I struggle with reading my scriptures and praying…why? Not because I don’t believe in the power of scriptures and in prayer, but because that awful monologue comes back and tries to tell me that I’m not worthy enough, I’m not good enough, the Lord doesn’t want to hear me whine again. But when I DO read the scriptures, my mind is overwhelmed with absolute certainty that these are the word of God. My heart swells with love for Heavenly Father and with a desire to be a better daughter. I realize how much I miss Him and want to be with Him forever. And sometimes when I pray in private, I feel overcome with emotion. I remember that God loves me. That He WANTS to hear from me and that He misses me too. So I realize that practice makes perfect, well, it is a divinely inspired quote. If I practice living the Gospel, I will become more perfect every day. I will never BE perfect in this life, but thankfully, the Atonement of Jesus Christ is there to help me complete the process of perfection. I just need to keep practicing. And practicing. And practicing…..
Bruce R. McConkie said:
“We begin to keep the commandments today, and we keep more of them tomorrow, and we go from grace to grace, up the steps of the ladder, and we thus improve and perfect our souls. We can become perfect in some minor things….and so degree by degree and step by step we start out on the course to perfection with the objective of becoming perfect as God our Heavenly Father is perfect, in which eventuality we become inheritors of eternal life in his kingdom.”
He also said:
“I think we ought to have hope; I think we ought to have rejoicing. We can talk about the principles of salvation and say how many there are and how people have to meet these standards. And it may thereby seem hard and difficult and beyond the capacity of mortals so to obtain. But we need not take that approach. We ought to realize that we have the same appetites and passions that all of the saints and righteous people had in the dispensations that have gone before. They were no different than we are. They overcame the flesh.”
So, no, I am not perfect. But I want to obey the Lord’s command to BE perfect, and I remembered that this morning as I partook of the sacrament; my opportunity to renew my covenants made at baptism to take upon myself the name of Christ. And I hope that this week I will be just a little better than last week. And so on.
I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Friday, February 20, 2009
My Miserable Mid-Life Crisis
WARNING: This blog uses a naughty word. Read at your own peril.
I spent a sleepless night some time back fretting. And pacing.
I gave up caffeine for Lent (no, not really... just gave it up) several weeks ago... and have been feeling pretty good. Usually sleep better, but the other night was difficult. I was on duty, and when I went to bed, I tossed and turned all night, and never slept. Heart pounding, mind racing... all the symptoms of acute caffeine poisoning without the actual caffeine. :(
About my 43rd lap around the apparatus bay (it's about the size of 1/2 of a football field), it dawned on me why they call it a "Mid-Life Crisis." I'm mid-life. And I'm in crisis. And I have no idea how I got to this point in my perpetual train-wreck of a life. Well, that's not totally true. I do, I guess. I got here by one heaping failure after another.
In my youth, I had wide-eyed hopes. Dreams. Aspirations. Goals. And I don't think I've accomplished many... if any... of them in the decades since. It always amuses me when my wife (or anyone else) talks about my "many accomplishments." I don't see them. I see 51 years of unwavering failure. 51 years of regrets, heartache, sadness and sorrow. I see children who I love with all that I am, who no longer speak to me, or want me to be their father. I see grandchildren that I'll probably never have the chance to know... because of nothing more than the mean-spiritedness of their parents. Did *I* raise them that way? Was I really that bad of a dad? What crime did I commit besides trying desperately to keep my emotional head above water to merit being treated like this?
I'm truly baffled here... my step children's father physically, verbally, and emotionally abused them for years and made their lives a living Hell before he ultimately took his own life and abandoned them forever. And yet, most of them still love him and miss him... and despise me. I love my children with all my heart... and they want nothing to do with me. What's wrong with this picture? Oh, wait. I already know. I'm a loser. And a colossal disappointment. I tried to recover from the unbelievable pain of losing my family and my children when I went through my last divorce by pouring myself into "doing it right" with the next family who was unfortunate enough to be in my life-path. The first kids resented me for not being there for them... the new set of kids resented me for.. being there for them. Lose-lose all the way around. Now neither set speaks to me.
Around my 67th lap around the apparatus bay, I came to the realization that not only do I have no clue what went so terribly wrong in my life, but I have no clue where I'm going or how to fix it, either. I'm kind of like Tom Hanks at the end of "Castaway," where he finds himself at a crossroads on a very lonely stretch of road... trying to decide which way to go (except for the fact that he has money, no kids, and his whole life ahead of him). One way leads, hopefully, to happiness. One way to continued failure and despair. And then there's the knowledge.. the SURE knowledge... that no matter WHAT road I take... it won't be the one I want.
Everything that I've touched in my life, with very few exceptions, has turned to crap. Everything. Marriages, children, professions, possessions, interpersonal relationships... doesn't really matter. It's all a colossal steaming pile. I spend most days trying to figure out what great cosmic competition my poor wife failed so as to be stuck with ME as the consolation prize. I truly feel desperately sorry for her. She is stuck with me, and more than likely BECAUSE of me, has no friends. Of course, neither do I. Not really. Haven't had for years.
Oh, now don't get your panties in a wad. I have long-distance-we-really-like-you-because-we've-never-met-you-in-person friends. But they don't count. Not really. The only real friends that count are the ones that are actually, physically HERE for you. The kind who can sense that you're in pain, and who take you out to lunch so they can kick your butt back into normalcy. The kind who can quietly listen to you pour your heart and soul out, and who have a tear of empathy in their eye when you're done... but who don't then try to "fix" you.
I haven't had a lot of luck with Best Friends. The best friend I ever had turned on me 12 years ago. Had a traffic ticket I hadn't paid... slipped my mind. He was the city manager. So one day, out of the blue, he had 2 detectives come to arrest me in front of my house.. handcuffs and all... in front of my children. That was his intentional plan. For a traffic ticket. Fortunately for me, his wife called me and tipped me off, and I scampered down to City Hall to pay it before returning home that day. When I got home, there they were... waiting for me. They (and he, who was probably waiting in the bushes with binoculars, I'm sure) were truly disappointed that I had paid the ticket. And this man was my best friend for over 16 years. We hung out together, worked together, went camping together... we did everything together. He was the brother I never had. And he turned on me in the blink of an eye... for what reason I still don't know to this day. That's a succinct encapsulation of my life so far. Loss. Betrayal. More loss. More betrayal. Both being betrayed, and betraying others. Having your guts ripped out on a regular basis.. both by things done to you, and things you know you have done to others you love... for reasons not even you really understand.
Tried counseling... a bunch of times. Went all the way through Impact... a "self-realization-find-the child-within-through-three-different-sets-of-three-20-hour-days-of-sleep-deprivation-intensive-group-therapy"program that managed to simultaneously strip you of your dignity, your emotional baggage AND your life savings in one fell swoop. Felt good for a while. For a while, I felt like I actually had some worth as a human being. And then I woke up. Then it all came crashing back. Went through 6 years of therapy during my second marriage after which the therapist actually threw me out. Told me nothing was wrong with me anymore. And so, of course, more therapy during my third. Boy, THAT was a trip.
Poor Zoobie therapist at LDS Social Services. What a lost little lamb. LOL!!!! He didn't know WHAT to do with me. He was a Bishopric Wannabe, died-in-the-wool-wearing-the-uniform product of LDS Higher Education. He was adorable. :) This guy would've looked at a can of Diet Coke the way most people would look at a bag of uncut Cocaine.
He came up with a great therapeutic "assignment." He had me list those things that I had "lost" in my life. 2 1/2 pages of single-spaced itemized heartbreak later, he stared at me with those "wow, they never prepared me for THIS" eyes, and said, "I don't know how you're still standing upright." No shit, Sherlock. Me neither. That's why I'm HERE. I honestly believe that by the time I was done with him, HE was in therapy.
I discovered one valuable thing during that foray into the Jungian forest though... came in the form of an epiphamy right in the middle of listening to a droning clot of graduate school textbook 'talk-therapy' wisdom: I'm angry. As soon as the thought struck me, I started weeping inconsolably. Kinda freaked Zoobie-boy out. I think he was trying desperately to remember what masterful thing he had just said that had triggered such a huge "break-through." I was ANGRY.
I know. Pretty profound. And not just your everyday "My bra's on backwards" annoyance or petty irritability, mind you... but Cosmic Angry. Angry at God. Angry at life. Angry at the poor waitress at Denny's who had the audacity to give me eggs that were over easy instead of over medium. Angry at people I didn't even know. Angry at the frustrating nothingness that is Hell-bent on cheating me out of a cogent thing to be angry AT. Just all-consuming anger. And not the "over-the-top" sociopathic shoot-you-in-the-head-road-rage angry. The more insideous kind. The kind that's always right there... smoldering just under the surface, ready for one more playful shriek to trigger your already-metal-on-metal sensitivities and meltdown. Angry when I see anonymous best friends laughing, playing, spending time with each other... knowing that I'll never have that in my life.
Wow. This is waxing morose. I'm even depressing ME, and I started OUT depressed. That's quite a feat! But I digress.
The only thing worse than the anger is the feeling... of nothing at all. An all-encompassing numbness, mixed with a generous helping of emptiness. It's the feeling of overwhelming abandonment. Of isolation. Of desolation. Of... hopelessness.
I guess that's it in a nutshell. Hopelessness. Hopelessness secondary to Infinite Cosmic Anger. Sounds like a diagnosis from House, or a pronouncement from the Genie in Aladdin, I can't make up my mind which. The feeling that no matter what you do, you won't be able to "fix" anything. Ever.
Your stomach will never stop hurting. You'll never stop feeling tired and weary and beaten up. You'll never get a home of your own. You'll never get a job. You'll never pay off your back taxes. You'll never be out of debt. Your children will never love you. Your wife will never respect you. Your Bishop will never look at you with anything more than nervous discomfort before he skittles off in another direction... ANY direction... away from you.
You'll never be happy. Ever. Worlds without end.
The ever-pervasive "I'm-So-Done-With-This-Life-I-Just-Wanna-Go-Home" hopelessness has helped me understand what both Hell and Satan are like. As awful and overwhelming as it is to realize that NONE of your hopes, dreams, or yearnings will ever be achieved, it is second only to the soul-stabbing misery whose hunger for company seems to rise in direct proportion to the amount of pain one is in.
OK. I better stop. Stepping in front of a commuter train is looking pretty damn good to me right now.
I spent a sleepless night some time back fretting. And pacing.
I gave up caffeine for Lent (no, not really... just gave it up) several weeks ago... and have been feeling pretty good. Usually sleep better, but the other night was difficult. I was on duty, and when I went to bed, I tossed and turned all night, and never slept. Heart pounding, mind racing... all the symptoms of acute caffeine poisoning without the actual caffeine. :(
About my 43rd lap around the apparatus bay (it's about the size of 1/2 of a football field), it dawned on me why they call it a "Mid-Life Crisis." I'm mid-life. And I'm in crisis. And I have no idea how I got to this point in my perpetual train-wreck of a life. Well, that's not totally true. I do, I guess. I got here by one heaping failure after another.
In my youth, I had wide-eyed hopes. Dreams. Aspirations. Goals. And I don't think I've accomplished many... if any... of them in the decades since. It always amuses me when my wife (or anyone else) talks about my "many accomplishments." I don't see them. I see 51 years of unwavering failure. 51 years of regrets, heartache, sadness and sorrow. I see children who I love with all that I am, who no longer speak to me, or want me to be their father. I see grandchildren that I'll probably never have the chance to know... because of nothing more than the mean-spiritedness of their parents. Did *I* raise them that way? Was I really that bad of a dad? What crime did I commit besides trying desperately to keep my emotional head above water to merit being treated like this?
I'm truly baffled here... my step children's father physically, verbally, and emotionally abused them for years and made their lives a living Hell before he ultimately took his own life and abandoned them forever. And yet, most of them still love him and miss him... and despise me. I love my children with all my heart... and they want nothing to do with me. What's wrong with this picture? Oh, wait. I already know. I'm a loser. And a colossal disappointment. I tried to recover from the unbelievable pain of losing my family and my children when I went through my last divorce by pouring myself into "doing it right" with the next family who was unfortunate enough to be in my life-path. The first kids resented me for not being there for them... the new set of kids resented me for.. being there for them. Lose-lose all the way around. Now neither set speaks to me.
Around my 67th lap around the apparatus bay, I came to the realization that not only do I have no clue what went so terribly wrong in my life, but I have no clue where I'm going or how to fix it, either. I'm kind of like Tom Hanks at the end of "Castaway," where he finds himself at a crossroads on a very lonely stretch of road... trying to decide which way to go (except for the fact that he has money, no kids, and his whole life ahead of him). One way leads, hopefully, to happiness. One way to continued failure and despair. And then there's the knowledge.. the SURE knowledge... that no matter WHAT road I take... it won't be the one I want.
Everything that I've touched in my life, with very few exceptions, has turned to crap. Everything. Marriages, children, professions, possessions, interpersonal relationships... doesn't really matter. It's all a colossal steaming pile. I spend most days trying to figure out what great cosmic competition my poor wife failed so as to be stuck with ME as the consolation prize. I truly feel desperately sorry for her. She is stuck with me, and more than likely BECAUSE of me, has no friends. Of course, neither do I. Not really. Haven't had for years.
Oh, now don't get your panties in a wad. I have long-distance-we-really-like-you-because-we've-never-met-you-in-person friends. But they don't count. Not really. The only real friends that count are the ones that are actually, physically HERE for you. The kind who can sense that you're in pain, and who take you out to lunch so they can kick your butt back into normalcy. The kind who can quietly listen to you pour your heart and soul out, and who have a tear of empathy in their eye when you're done... but who don't then try to "fix" you.
I haven't had a lot of luck with Best Friends. The best friend I ever had turned on me 12 years ago. Had a traffic ticket I hadn't paid... slipped my mind. He was the city manager. So one day, out of the blue, he had 2 detectives come to arrest me in front of my house.. handcuffs and all... in front of my children. That was his intentional plan. For a traffic ticket. Fortunately for me, his wife called me and tipped me off, and I scampered down to City Hall to pay it before returning home that day. When I got home, there they were... waiting for me. They (and he, who was probably waiting in the bushes with binoculars, I'm sure) were truly disappointed that I had paid the ticket. And this man was my best friend for over 16 years. We hung out together, worked together, went camping together... we did everything together. He was the brother I never had. And he turned on me in the blink of an eye... for what reason I still don't know to this day. That's a succinct encapsulation of my life so far. Loss. Betrayal. More loss. More betrayal. Both being betrayed, and betraying others. Having your guts ripped out on a regular basis.. both by things done to you, and things you know you have done to others you love... for reasons not even you really understand.
Tried counseling... a bunch of times. Went all the way through Impact... a "self-realization-find-the child-within-through-three-different-sets-of-three-20-hour-days-of-sleep-deprivation-intensive-group-therapy"program that managed to simultaneously strip you of your dignity, your emotional baggage AND your life savings in one fell swoop. Felt good for a while. For a while, I felt like I actually had some worth as a human being. And then I woke up. Then it all came crashing back. Went through 6 years of therapy during my second marriage after which the therapist actually threw me out. Told me nothing was wrong with me anymore. And so, of course, more therapy during my third. Boy, THAT was a trip.
Poor Zoobie therapist at LDS Social Services. What a lost little lamb. LOL!!!! He didn't know WHAT to do with me. He was a Bishopric Wannabe, died-in-the-wool-wearing-the-uniform product of LDS Higher Education. He was adorable. :) This guy would've looked at a can of Diet Coke the way most people would look at a bag of uncut Cocaine.
He came up with a great therapeutic "assignment." He had me list those things that I had "lost" in my life. 2 1/2 pages of single-spaced itemized heartbreak later, he stared at me with those "wow, they never prepared me for THIS" eyes, and said, "I don't know how you're still standing upright." No shit, Sherlock. Me neither. That's why I'm HERE. I honestly believe that by the time I was done with him, HE was in therapy.
I discovered one valuable thing during that foray into the Jungian forest though... came in the form of an epiphamy right in the middle of listening to a droning clot of graduate school textbook 'talk-therapy' wisdom: I'm angry. As soon as the thought struck me, I started weeping inconsolably. Kinda freaked Zoobie-boy out. I think he was trying desperately to remember what masterful thing he had just said that had triggered such a huge "break-through." I was ANGRY.
I know. Pretty profound. And not just your everyday "My bra's on backwards" annoyance or petty irritability, mind you... but Cosmic Angry. Angry at God. Angry at life. Angry at the poor waitress at Denny's who had the audacity to give me eggs that were over easy instead of over medium. Angry at people I didn't even know. Angry at the frustrating nothingness that is Hell-bent on cheating me out of a cogent thing to be angry AT. Just all-consuming anger. And not the "over-the-top" sociopathic shoot-you-in-the-head-road-rage angry. The more insideous kind. The kind that's always right there... smoldering just under the surface, ready for one more playful shriek to trigger your already-metal-on-metal sensitivities and meltdown. Angry when I see anonymous best friends laughing, playing, spending time with each other... knowing that I'll never have that in my life.
Wow. This is waxing morose. I'm even depressing ME, and I started OUT depressed. That's quite a feat! But I digress.
The only thing worse than the anger is the feeling... of nothing at all. An all-encompassing numbness, mixed with a generous helping of emptiness. It's the feeling of overwhelming abandonment. Of isolation. Of desolation. Of... hopelessness.
I guess that's it in a nutshell. Hopelessness. Hopelessness secondary to Infinite Cosmic Anger. Sounds like a diagnosis from House, or a pronouncement from the Genie in Aladdin, I can't make up my mind which. The feeling that no matter what you do, you won't be able to "fix" anything. Ever.
Your stomach will never stop hurting. You'll never stop feeling tired and weary and beaten up. You'll never get a home of your own. You'll never get a job. You'll never pay off your back taxes. You'll never be out of debt. Your children will never love you. Your wife will never respect you. Your Bishop will never look at you with anything more than nervous discomfort before he skittles off in another direction... ANY direction... away from you.
You'll never be happy. Ever. Worlds without end.
The ever-pervasive "I'm-So-Done-With-This-Life-I-Just-Wanna-Go-Home" hopelessness has helped me understand what both Hell and Satan are like. As awful and overwhelming as it is to realize that NONE of your hopes, dreams, or yearnings will ever be achieved, it is second only to the soul-stabbing misery whose hunger for company seems to rise in direct proportion to the amount of pain one is in.
OK. I better stop. Stepping in front of a commuter train is looking pretty damn good to me right now.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
When do people just get along?
We had a bit of drama around here this past week. Because I have personally been hurt by someone else who used names and particulars in a rant on that "someone's" blog, I will leave out the pertinent details so as not to offend, embarrass, or slander.
That said, I will say once again that I will never wish to be back in high school. One of my children has had the misfortune of being named in a rumor (probably more than once) which has been embarrassing as well as hurtful. Said child also has a "friend" who is really a drama queen in disguise (though just barely). She seems to find it absolutely necessary to run to my child whenever she learns something that has the slightest thing to do with my child; whether that something is beneficial for my child to know or not. I've learned in my years that it's not necessary to tell everyone everyTHING. Sometimes it's a kindness to NOT share things you know or hear or even feel. It's really best to take it on a case-by-case basis. For instance, last year someone called me right after the Pinewood Derby, which Scott had won, miracle of miracles. Turns out this caller (she says) overheard two of the other dads complaining about how Scott and his dad had cheated and, boy, they were gonna tell the bishop, and he was gonna fix it! It got my hubby all riled up (there was no cheating, thankyouverymuch!) and had him running to the bishop to make sure his character was not defamed. Of course, we don't know who the mystery men were, nor did this make the caller and me friends (she never particularly noticed me after that). It was kind of a chance for her to be in the center of a drama that really didn't need to go any farther than her overhearing it and rolling her eyes privately.
Anyway, that's old news. Most recently one of my kids had a little get together at our house and invited everyone. Several kids did come, and they all seemed to have a good time. One person who did not come told my child that that person's parents were "uncomfortable" with their child coming to our house. First, if that were true, why would you tell that to your "friend"? How could that be anything but embarrassing and hurtful? And secondly, if it were not true, wouldn't you think you could come up with a kinder lie?
Unfortunately, in a moment of hurt and anger, my hubby wrote an e-mail to the parents of the offending person, who were unhappy about it and confronted their child, who denied saying any such thing. And I didn't know about the e-mail until we both received a reply from one of the parents. Thankfully, these parents were never too friendly to us in the past, so not much will change, but still... And one of the parents is in a leadership role at church, which can only be awkward.
And then we get a call on Tuesday night, asking Lauren, Lindsay, Darryl, and me to speak in church on Sunday. Our topic is Chapters 11, 12, and 13 of 3 Nephi. Since I recently finished teaching a Book of Mormon course this past year, I'm pretty excited about the prospect of delving into this much-loved book of scripture. I just hope we can do justice. Well, let me amend that. Darryl WILL do justice; the girls will probably do a great job; me, I dunno.
Right now it's a Thursday, almost noon, and I am sitting in a very empty, very QUIET house. I think the silence is echoing :) It is amazing how therapeutic it is to spend a few hours alone. Of course, work has been pretty dead, and I really don't feel like working on what little I have to do. So here's my effort for the day.
That said, I will say once again that I will never wish to be back in high school. One of my children has had the misfortune of being named in a rumor (probably more than once) which has been embarrassing as well as hurtful. Said child also has a "friend" who is really a drama queen in disguise (though just barely). She seems to find it absolutely necessary to run to my child whenever she learns something that has the slightest thing to do with my child; whether that something is beneficial for my child to know or not. I've learned in my years that it's not necessary to tell everyone everyTHING. Sometimes it's a kindness to NOT share things you know or hear or even feel. It's really best to take it on a case-by-case basis. For instance, last year someone called me right after the Pinewood Derby, which Scott had won, miracle of miracles. Turns out this caller (she says) overheard two of the other dads complaining about how Scott and his dad had cheated and, boy, they were gonna tell the bishop, and he was gonna fix it! It got my hubby all riled up (there was no cheating, thankyouverymuch!) and had him running to the bishop to make sure his character was not defamed. Of course, we don't know who the mystery men were, nor did this make the caller and me friends (she never particularly noticed me after that). It was kind of a chance for her to be in the center of a drama that really didn't need to go any farther than her overhearing it and rolling her eyes privately.
Anyway, that's old news. Most recently one of my kids had a little get together at our house and invited everyone. Several kids did come, and they all seemed to have a good time. One person who did not come told my child that that person's parents were "uncomfortable" with their child coming to our house. First, if that were true, why would you tell that to your "friend"? How could that be anything but embarrassing and hurtful? And secondly, if it were not true, wouldn't you think you could come up with a kinder lie?
Unfortunately, in a moment of hurt and anger, my hubby wrote an e-mail to the parents of the offending person, who were unhappy about it and confronted their child, who denied saying any such thing. And I didn't know about the e-mail until we both received a reply from one of the parents. Thankfully, these parents were never too friendly to us in the past, so not much will change, but still... And one of the parents is in a leadership role at church, which can only be awkward.
And then we get a call on Tuesday night, asking Lauren, Lindsay, Darryl, and me to speak in church on Sunday. Our topic is Chapters 11, 12, and 13 of 3 Nephi. Since I recently finished teaching a Book of Mormon course this past year, I'm pretty excited about the prospect of delving into this much-loved book of scripture. I just hope we can do justice. Well, let me amend that. Darryl WILL do justice; the girls will probably do a great job; me, I dunno.
Right now it's a Thursday, almost noon, and I am sitting in a very empty, very QUIET house. I think the silence is echoing :) It is amazing how therapeutic it is to spend a few hours alone. Of course, work has been pretty dead, and I really don't feel like working on what little I have to do. So here's my effort for the day.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Cupid's Target
Today is Valentine’s Day. It’s really all about the marketing opportunity for retailers anymore, but I have to admit that I’m really glad I have a Valentine, and that I *am* someone’s Valentine (thank goodness it’s the same person, because THAT would be awkward!)
We’re quickly closing in on 12 years of marriage. I know that Darryl will agree with me when I say that they have been 12 really hard years. Mind you, the 12 years have not been hard BECAUSE of our marriage. In fact, if we hadn’t had each other for the past 12 years, while going through so much heartache and frustration, I can’t imagine the awful place we’d be right now.
So I’m going to tell you about my Valentine, my best friend, the love of my life. He’s awfully hard on himself, and most recently he’s taken sort of a beating from a family member, so I want to make sure to set the record straight.
Darryl is one of the most talented people I have ever known. He is a great photographer; a self-taught programmer in several programming languages; he served a mission in Japan and would take very little effort, I believe, to return to his near-native fluency; he has been an Intermediate Paramedic and is soon going to be recertified at the same level; he delivered our two babies at home – I can’t speak enough about how amazing those experiences were; he is a fantastic cook (if he leaves the stale potato chips off the casserole); he has a vast knowledge of the Gospel and has been able to answer so many questions and has been a tremendous help to the missionaries.
Darryl took me on, an “aged” 35-year-old mother of five kids. He took on my kids with their assorted issues and needs, and he never ran away, no matter how hard it got. There have been many times that he has been the better parent and has been able to help me deal with a sticky issue. I never realized before that I was doing it all by myself, something I wouldn’t recommend to anyone. We argue over which is the more thankless job: stepfather or stepmother. His children made their feelings known pretty thoroughly, so I don’t really feel like a stepmother anymore. But even when I was, I only had six months of actually having one of the stepchildren living in the home. So I guess, for our family, Darryl wins that contest :)
What’s really weird is that Darryl thinks he’s a waste of space. It makes me so sad. He has made such a contribution to the world during his short life (so far), and I look forward to seeing what’s next for him. The best thing, for me, is he is the most entertaining person. We talk and laugh and generally have a great time when we are together. We go out a lot, whether it’s for lunch or for a real date night. My life before was kind of like a dry desert; there was no talking and no sharing.
I am so grateful that we found each other and that we are able to share our 13th Valentine’s Day. I hope there are many other Valentine’s Days to come :) I love Darryl with all my heart and feel grateful that he's been mine for all these years. Heavenly Father loves me, and my Valentine tells me so :)
We’re quickly closing in on 12 years of marriage. I know that Darryl will agree with me when I say that they have been 12 really hard years. Mind you, the 12 years have not been hard BECAUSE of our marriage. In fact, if we hadn’t had each other for the past 12 years, while going through so much heartache and frustration, I can’t imagine the awful place we’d be right now.
So I’m going to tell you about my Valentine, my best friend, the love of my life. He’s awfully hard on himself, and most recently he’s taken sort of a beating from a family member, so I want to make sure to set the record straight.
Darryl is one of the most talented people I have ever known. He is a great photographer; a self-taught programmer in several programming languages; he served a mission in Japan and would take very little effort, I believe, to return to his near-native fluency; he has been an Intermediate Paramedic and is soon going to be recertified at the same level; he delivered our two babies at home – I can’t speak enough about how amazing those experiences were; he is a fantastic cook (if he leaves the stale potato chips off the casserole); he has a vast knowledge of the Gospel and has been able to answer so many questions and has been a tremendous help to the missionaries.
Darryl took me on, an “aged” 35-year-old mother of five kids. He took on my kids with their assorted issues and needs, and he never ran away, no matter how hard it got. There have been many times that he has been the better parent and has been able to help me deal with a sticky issue. I never realized before that I was doing it all by myself, something I wouldn’t recommend to anyone. We argue over which is the more thankless job: stepfather or stepmother. His children made their feelings known pretty thoroughly, so I don’t really feel like a stepmother anymore. But even when I was, I only had six months of actually having one of the stepchildren living in the home. So I guess, for our family, Darryl wins that contest :)
What’s really weird is that Darryl thinks he’s a waste of space. It makes me so sad. He has made such a contribution to the world during his short life (so far), and I look forward to seeing what’s next for him. The best thing, for me, is he is the most entertaining person. We talk and laugh and generally have a great time when we are together. We go out a lot, whether it’s for lunch or for a real date night. My life before was kind of like a dry desert; there was no talking and no sharing.
I am so grateful that we found each other and that we are able to share our 13th Valentine’s Day. I hope there are many other Valentine’s Days to come :) I love Darryl with all my heart and feel grateful that he's been mine for all these years. Heavenly Father loves me, and my Valentine tells me so :)
Saturday, February 7, 2009
The Honda 2010 "Atonement" Model
I love it when the sister missionaries come over. :)
They graced us with their presence this past week to deliver a message and to seek some help with an investigator they've been dealing with. This particular woman who they were teaching was from an Evangelical background, and told them that our religion could NOT be true because we "required works," which, according to her, "cheapened what Jesus did for us on the cross."
Now. If you've ever been a missionary before, this was definitely not a new argument. We used to hear it all the time, especially in San Diego, right before I came home. Long the stronghold of consumate anti-Mormon Walter Martin, that particular area had a large and disturbingly frothy following of his, including one passionate but misguided soul who actually started chasing my companion and I down the street one day when we rode by on our bikes, waving his Bible at us like a weapon, and shouting. Much to my companion's dismay, I stopped. He had long since come to know this about me... even then, I couldn't resist a great "discussion." He circled back around, rolling his eyes, and pulled up for the show. :)
This individual's argument was precisely the same as the woman that the sister missionaries were teaching... not even a syllable had changed... and it goes something like this: "The gospel that we as a Church teach as the 'true, restored gospel of Jesus Christ' can't be, because it relies on a 'works theology' as opposed to 'what the Bible teaches...' and that our insistence that obedience is necessary cheapens the value of the Gift of the Atonement given to us by the Savior." Apparently, the only way we can truly appreciate the great gift of the Atonement, is to be totally disobedient. And as ludicrous as it may sound, this was precisely the ideology of many of the Great Reformers, namely Martin Luther.k But I digress.
As I was sharing some ideas with the sister missionaries about how to handle this, an analogy popped into my head which really speaks to this idea of our obedience "cheapening" the work of Christ in the Atonement. I shared it with the missionaries, and they became very excited about using it with this woman the next time they saw her. I share it with you now, in case you have a modicum of interest. The reality is that if I don't commit this to writing, I'll forget it in a few days given the sorry state of my memory lately. :(
So.
Imagine your self as a newly-minted 16 year old on your birthday... full of excitement... full of passion for life... sure in your knowledge that you're going to somehow change the world. As your birthday celebration reaches its' peak, your parents lovingly take you aside and ask you to close your eyes. You do so in eager anticipation of what they might have in store for you... what will it be?
When they finally give you permission to open your eyes, you find yourself standing in front of your dream car. A brand new Honda (yes, this is a "green" analogy) 2010 model hybrid... in your favorite color... with a huge red bow on top!!! They hand you the keys, hold you tight, and tell you how much they love you.
In the midst of your shrieking and squeeling with delight and gratitude, your father arches one eyebrow and says, "you know... this does come with some strings." Uh oh. What does he mean?
"We know you are a good student... we've watched you for a long time. We know you could never afford this on your own, so we are giving this to you as a free gift. No payments, no taxes, no insurance, we'll cover everything."
The daughter, now grinning ear to ear, says "So... what are the strings?"
The father smiles back and says, "The only strings are that you obey the rules of the road."
"That's ALL? Of course I will!" the daughter exclaims.
Many of those in the world reject the Doctrine of Salvation as taught in the Bible and the Book of Mormon because they do not understand the nature of covenants with the Lord. There are those, for instance, who would point to this analogy and claim that by putting ANY conditions on the gift of this brand new car, that it "cheapens" or "demeans" the value of the gift itself. This is not the nature of covenants. Covenants are never "free." They are never one-sided. Covenants with God are always two-sided. And they NEVER degrade, diminish, or cheapen the Lord's side of the covenant.
Now... imagine how that loving father and mother would have reacted if the child had thrown a fit, pouted, and shouted at them, "How COULD you! This brand new car is worth NOTHING if I have to obey TRAFFIC rules! I want to drive any way I WANT!"
Imagine the loving, patient, yet concerned father trying to explain to his now-hysterical daughter, "Sweetheart... I put that condition on you to keep you SAFE... to make sure that you will be HAPPY and to ensure that you return home safely to us at the end of the day!"
"I don't CARE. If you make me do that, this gift is worth NOTHING to me."
Can anyone imagine behaving this way in the face of receiving such a magnanimous and generous gift? Yet, in their lost and ignorant state, this is the attitude of Apostate Christianity when it comes to the greatest gift given to mankind.
In the case of the atonement, Paul's epistle to the Hebrews clearly and irrefutably lays out the covenant relationship that exists with the atonement, and the conditions upon which we become partakers of that great gift:
"And being made perfect, He [Christ] became the author of eternal salvation to all them that obey Him." (Heb 5:9)
THAT is what the Bible teaches about the atonement and obedience.
If we are obedient, He is the author of our eternal Salvation. If we obey the rules of the road, He has given us the most magnificent brand new car we could ever hope for. If we disobey the rules of the road, we risk losing that precious gift in a painful "accident" that could "total" our precious new car, and inflict permanent and devastating injury to our eternal souls.
In His omniscience, Heavenly Father has given us "rules of the road" to keep us safe, to help us be truly happy, and to be able to return to Him at the end of the day. They are there because He loves us, and knows what kinds of treacherous conditions exist on the freeways of our lives.
Remember. Satan and his angels don't drive so well.
They graced us with their presence this past week to deliver a message and to seek some help with an investigator they've been dealing with. This particular woman who they were teaching was from an Evangelical background, and told them that our religion could NOT be true because we "required works," which, according to her, "cheapened what Jesus did for us on the cross."
Now. If you've ever been a missionary before, this was definitely not a new argument. We used to hear it all the time, especially in San Diego, right before I came home. Long the stronghold of consumate anti-Mormon Walter Martin, that particular area had a large and disturbingly frothy following of his, including one passionate but misguided soul who actually started chasing my companion and I down the street one day when we rode by on our bikes, waving his Bible at us like a weapon, and shouting. Much to my companion's dismay, I stopped. He had long since come to know this about me... even then, I couldn't resist a great "discussion." He circled back around, rolling his eyes, and pulled up for the show. :)
This individual's argument was precisely the same as the woman that the sister missionaries were teaching... not even a syllable had changed... and it goes something like this: "The gospel that we as a Church teach as the 'true, restored gospel of Jesus Christ' can't be, because it relies on a 'works theology' as opposed to 'what the Bible teaches...' and that our insistence that obedience is necessary cheapens the value of the Gift of the Atonement given to us by the Savior." Apparently, the only way we can truly appreciate the great gift of the Atonement, is to be totally disobedient. And as ludicrous as it may sound, this was precisely the ideology of many of the Great Reformers, namely Martin Luther.k But I digress.
As I was sharing some ideas with the sister missionaries about how to handle this, an analogy popped into my head which really speaks to this idea of our obedience "cheapening" the work of Christ in the Atonement. I shared it with the missionaries, and they became very excited about using it with this woman the next time they saw her. I share it with you now, in case you have a modicum of interest. The reality is that if I don't commit this to writing, I'll forget it in a few days given the sorry state of my memory lately. :(
So.
Imagine your self as a newly-minted 16 year old on your birthday... full of excitement... full of passion for life... sure in your knowledge that you're going to somehow change the world. As your birthday celebration reaches its' peak, your parents lovingly take you aside and ask you to close your eyes. You do so in eager anticipation of what they might have in store for you... what will it be?
When they finally give you permission to open your eyes, you find yourself standing in front of your dream car. A brand new Honda (yes, this is a "green" analogy) 2010 model hybrid... in your favorite color... with a huge red bow on top!!! They hand you the keys, hold you tight, and tell you how much they love you.
In the midst of your shrieking and squeeling with delight and gratitude, your father arches one eyebrow and says, "you know... this does come with some strings." Uh oh. What does he mean?
"We know you are a good student... we've watched you for a long time. We know you could never afford this on your own, so we are giving this to you as a free gift. No payments, no taxes, no insurance, we'll cover everything."
The daughter, now grinning ear to ear, says "So... what are the strings?"
The father smiles back and says, "The only strings are that you obey the rules of the road."
"That's ALL? Of course I will!" the daughter exclaims.
Many of those in the world reject the Doctrine of Salvation as taught in the Bible and the Book of Mormon because they do not understand the nature of covenants with the Lord. There are those, for instance, who would point to this analogy and claim that by putting ANY conditions on the gift of this brand new car, that it "cheapens" or "demeans" the value of the gift itself. This is not the nature of covenants. Covenants are never "free." They are never one-sided. Covenants with God are always two-sided. And they NEVER degrade, diminish, or cheapen the Lord's side of the covenant.
Now... imagine how that loving father and mother would have reacted if the child had thrown a fit, pouted, and shouted at them, "How COULD you! This brand new car is worth NOTHING if I have to obey TRAFFIC rules! I want to drive any way I WANT!"
Imagine the loving, patient, yet concerned father trying to explain to his now-hysterical daughter, "Sweetheart... I put that condition on you to keep you SAFE... to make sure that you will be HAPPY and to ensure that you return home safely to us at the end of the day!"
"I don't CARE. If you make me do that, this gift is worth NOTHING to me."
Can anyone imagine behaving this way in the face of receiving such a magnanimous and generous gift? Yet, in their lost and ignorant state, this is the attitude of Apostate Christianity when it comes to the greatest gift given to mankind.
In the case of the atonement, Paul's epistle to the Hebrews clearly and irrefutably lays out the covenant relationship that exists with the atonement, and the conditions upon which we become partakers of that great gift:
"And being made perfect, He [Christ] became the author of eternal salvation to all them that obey Him." (Heb 5:9)
THAT is what the Bible teaches about the atonement and obedience.
If we are obedient, He is the author of our eternal Salvation. If we obey the rules of the road, He has given us the most magnificent brand new car we could ever hope for. If we disobey the rules of the road, we risk losing that precious gift in a painful "accident" that could "total" our precious new car, and inflict permanent and devastating injury to our eternal souls.
In His omniscience, Heavenly Father has given us "rules of the road" to keep us safe, to help us be truly happy, and to be able to return to Him at the end of the day. They are there because He loves us, and knows what kinds of treacherous conditions exist on the freeways of our lives.
Remember. Satan and his angels don't drive so well.
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