bedlam.

tomorrow, november 9, is the 20th anniversary of the fall of the berlin wall.  i remember learning about it as a freshman in high school, recognizing its importance.  but i think the most powerful experience i had regarding the wall and what it represented was when i visited the imperial war museum in london.  outside, on the museum's peaceful grounds, i found a chunk of the wall with wide open eyes and an even wider open mouth shouting the words "change your life."

i spent hours alone at the imperial war museum, wandering exhibits that captured and explained the horrors of the great war and its successor, world war II.  i've always had a fascination with these two wars--with how the entire world could get caught up in such violence.  my visit to this particular museum was as much an act of homage to those who died and fought in the wars as it was an educational excursion for my own benefit.  because i had lived through the end of the cold war and the fall of the wall, this particular piece was especially powerful for me.

but what was the most powerful was the location of the museum.  you see, the imperial war museum is housed in what remains of the priory of st. mary of bethlehem, later known as bethlem royal hospital, more commonly known as bedlam.  first the priory and then bethlem royal hospital specialized in caring for the insane.  the juxtapositions of this site, its current focus on two of the most disastrous wars in history, its name's popular connotation of insanity itself, and the birthplace of jesus strike me as not only interesting, but apt.  i do not believe that christianity necessarily causes either insanity or war, but i do believe that the bastardization and misunderstanding of christianity is at the root of a great deal of both insanity and bloodshed.  and this museum, with its long and rich heritage, captures that unfortunate history of christianity's bastard children.

refuge.

i’m reading terry tempest williams’ refuge again, looking for a bit of insight into finding peace within myself when external sources of peace seem lost to me.  i read it the first time as an undergrad at BYU for an assignment in an english course.  my group members and i drove up to the bear river migratory bird refuge to bird watch and take pictures for our presentation.  it was beautiful—a brisk, early spring day with a breeze and bright sunshine.  as we drove into the refuge a flock of redwing blackbirds rose into the sky.  there were hundreds of beautiful tundra swans swimming.  and it was clear why this magical place had been a source of refuge, not only for wild birds, but also for its human visitors.

as i re-read, i’m interested in what i found significant enough to mark on my first time through.  a handful of quotes have drawn enough notice that i’ve marked them again.  some leave me a bit mystified as to what i saw in them.  so far i’ve only found one piece of marginalia that goes beyond underlining.  williams recounts a family gathering soon after her mother tells them she has cancer.  the men in the family gather around to give her a blessing.  williams writes:

'kneeling next to my grandmother, mimi, i felt her strength and the generational history of belief Mormon ritual holds.  we can heal ourselves, i thought, and we can heal each other.'

i underlined that last line and in the margin wrote: 'not quite—god heals us when we have faith.  i wonder if she’s still active.'

when i read my little bit of marginalia, a deep wave of shame washed over me.  not shame at my belief that god heals us through faith.  i still believe in the healing power of faith in god.  but because i read williams’ words as heretic enough that i judged her as 'not quite' right in her views and questioned her standing in the church.

looking back on my note after a decade, i see in my younger self some of the very tendencies that most upset me about mormon culture and attitudes.  we are so confident in our own understanding of the world, that we forget that our knowledge is incomplete.  that simply because we know—or think we know—one thing, doesn’t preclude the possibility of truth in other ideas or understandings.  as my own understandings of mormon teachings have deepened and become nuanced, i have often been frustrated at the closed forum of mormon meetings.  too often our sunday meetings are about reiterating prescribed understandings, rather than exploring the gospel’s possibilities.  and my soul hungers for the opportunity for that exploration.

when i re-read 'we can heal ourselves, i thought, and we can heal each other,' i no longer saw misunderstanding.  instead i saw revelation and i underlined the words again.

bedtime.

i've been keeping late hours the last couple of weeks, thanks to the olympics and being on vacation with my family. last night my sister J and i spent our evening playing with her girls and watching the olympics (or at least i was ogling the beautiful men on the U.S. track team). which meant bedtime wasn't until well after midnight.

i climbed into bed about one in the morning but found myself tossing and turning a bit. so i pulled out my computer to read a few of the blog posts i'd not had a chance to read (due to excursions to the park to have a picnic and ride the horsies [i.e., carousel], playing princess dress up, swinging small girls by their ankles, etc.). maybe it was a mistake to try to pass a bit of time that way, because it got my mind whirring. again.

all day yesterday, my frustrations and tension and pain over the church's position on california's proposition 8 (which would amend the state constitution to prohibit any marriage but that between a man and a woman) bubbled under the surface. let me be perfectly clear: i find this proposition repugnant in every way. i believe it originates in bigotry. i believe it attempts to deny citizens of the state liberties that the government should protect and preserve, rather than remove. there is no question in my mind that every citizen should have the opportunity to enter into a civil marriage contract with another consenting adult and to therefore receive the protections and privileges governments grant to married couples.

the day i heard the news that the california state supreme court had overturned prop. 22 (passed nearly ten years ago) and therefore declared marriage legal for all california adults regardless of sexual orientation, i celebrated. and the day i learned the church planned to join in the effort to pass prop. 8, i mourned. on the day (coincidentally--coughcough--gay pride day) the letter from church headquarters regarding prop. 8 was read in church, i went to church wearing a rainbow ribbon and with a freshly buzzed head--two visible attempts to declare my disagreement with the church's actions without being too confrontational.

since then, i've continued to display my rainbow ribbon when i go to church. and i'll keep my hair buzzed through the november election. but it's not enough. last fast sunday, in the midst of incredible spiritual turmoil at least in part caused by this issue, i bore my testimony about what i believe is the true miracle of christ's atonement--that it teaches us to look past people's problems to recognize their beauty; to step outside of ourselves and extend love and compassion and understanding to all people, regardless of their gender or their race or their religion. for me the gospel of christ is a gospel of love and acceptance—one that requires that we stretch ourselves to understand how and why people think differently than we do. for me, the gospel of Christ is not one of imposing our own beliefs on others or of believing our job is to make everyone else like ourselves. but while i think i made that point fairly clearly, i did not specifically mention prop. 8 and gay marriage, in spite of a powerful desire to do so.

then last week a member of my ward called to confirm i'd received an email about the "prop. 8 walk." i hadn't, but rather than mentioning that, i immediately spoke up to explain my position. the conversation went something like this:

me: i think i should clarify that i will not only vote no on prop. 8, but i will also do everything i can to make sure it does not pass. and i will certainly not do anything that could be seen as support.

him: so you're going against the brethren on this. {definitely a statement, not a question.}

me: no, i’m going with my conscience on this.

him: but you’re going against the brethren.

me: no, i’m going with my conscience, which is what i believe god expects of us.

him: hey, i don’t want to argue with you—i’m just kidding around. {trust me, there was no hint of humor in any of this exchange.}

and that’s where the conversation ended. when this man’s committee chairperson—an old friend of mine—called a few days later to ensure that the first caller hadn’t said anything inappropriate, i explained what he had said. my friend apologized. i asked him for clarification on what the “prop. 8 walk” was and clarified my own belief on the issue. because i’ve decided that i can certainly speak up in one-on-one conversations with other church members, even if i haven’t quite figured out how to speak up in institutional church settings.

i still feel that what i've done is not enough. and last night that was causing me a great deal of angst. so much that in spite of being very tired, i could not sleep. so when i was still tossing and turning after three in the morning, i called j(wh) and we talked through some of what i was feeling. not only about prop. 8, but about the church more generally. i won't go into that here. i'm not sure it's something i want to put out into the ether. we'll see. but it was good to talk to him, to name my fears to someone else and receive in return unqualified love and concern.

and best of all, when we were about done talking he read me a bedtime story and encouraged me to hope for something that seems nearly impossible--because maybe, just maybe, the horse will sing. another reason i love my j(wh).

denial.
this afternoon i read poetry. all afternoon. working on the syllabus for a class i've never taught before. shakespeare. donne. marvel. finch. keats. bradstreet. wordsworth. shelley. coleridge. wheatley. emerson. behn. among others. (tomorrow i get to do the 19th and 20th centuries--yay!) i love it. and it intimidates the hell out of me. i fluctuate between excitement and feeling terrified. but mostly i'm excited.

i made a point of reading poems by george herbert today. i've always loved herbert, but before today it was an academic kind of love. it was the way he made the shape of his poems and their meanings coincide. i've long been fascinated by texts which use their physicality to create layers of meaning, so discovering herbert was one of the highlights of the rather boring early british lit survey course i took as an undergrad (the other highlight was my professor, who regularly wore suspenders with pigs on them and who did a spot-on thomas s. monson impression).

today i loved herbert for much more than his form. "prayer (I)," in which he describes prayer as "the soul in paraphrase," "Christ-side-piercing spear," "Heaven in ordinary," and "something understood." the image of man as "brittle crazy glass" given, through the grace of god, the "glorious and transcendent place, / To be a window" in god's temple. herbert's poetry is achingly beautiful--full of a spiritual insight so pointed it pierces through layers of obscuring fear and self-delusion.

i particularly loved "denial." i'll type it here, but you should follow the link to see it's format (if only i could figure out how to format things better through blogger).

Denial

When my devotions could not pierce
Thy silent ears,
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse;
My breast was full of fears
And disorder.

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder:
Each took his way; some would to pleasures go,
Some to the wars and thunder
Of alarms.

'As good go anywhere,' they say,
'As to benumb
Both knees and heart, in crying night and day,
Come, come, my God, O come!
But no hearing.'

O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue
To cry to thee,
And then not hear it crying! All day long
My heart was in my knee,
But no hearing.

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
Untuned, unstrung:
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipped blossom, hung
Discontented.

O cheer and tune my heartless breast,
Defer no time;
That so thy favors granting my request,
They and my mind may chime,
And mend my rhyme.

so many times i've felt this. the frustration. the anger. the sorrow. of asking and seeking and begging. 'but no hearing.' but i always come back. because when i am 'unable to look right,' i know the only answer is to go to god and ask him to mend me. to 'cheer and tune my heartless breast' so that in granting that favor--the favor of re-tuning my spirit--i can align my will with his, rather than continuing to let my imperfect vision control what i seek.

herbert captures this perfectly. the anger that masks the anguish. and, when neither the anger nor the anguish gets me anywhere, the quiet turning back to god. and, god willing, for a time it's peace not denial that colors my relationship with him.

one.
in two parts.

and you're single because...
that's a statement, not just a question. and i hate it when people tell me why i'm single--almost as much as i hate it when they ask me why i'm single. i hate it every bit as much when i have to listen to someone tell men why they are single.

last sunday, a very well-intentioned member of my ward stood to share his testimony. and as part of that testimony he recounted his own experience as a single man. looking back, he apparently believes he remained single as long as he did because he loved his fast car. and after explaining that, he advised all the single men in our ward (which is a stake magnet ward for mid-singles [ages 31-45]) to stop spending all of their time and energy on acquiring and enjoying toys and to just get to it and get married. i hate hearing this. no matter who says it and no matter what position he (it's almost always a he; a he in a priesthood position usually, though not always) may hold. i think it is a gross misrepresentation of why mormon men remain single. i find it callous and uncompassionate. i think it rests on sexist assumptions about both men and women: that men do not have a deep need for emotional support and love, unlike women who live for such things and who are not driven by physical appetites; that they are motivated by physical drives and pleasure, not the higher emotions women feel; that they, not women, are responsible for getting themselves and the women of the church married; that they are lazy freeloaders who will take whatever you give them (whether we're talking food or sex) and never make a commitment unless forced to by depriving them of that for which they have an uncontrollable need. i could go on.

i will not assert that there are no men who are simply too comfortable in their single lives to make relationship commitments or who are more concerned with acquiring things than with building love and family. i'm sure they exist. but i emphatically reject the notion that this group of the male population is anything like a majority. i know quite a few men who either were or still are "older" (in mormon parlance, though that is not always very old in non-mormon terms) and single. and their still being single has nothing to do with their obsession with acquiring and enjoying toys, an innate tendency to freeload, or an unwillingness to commit. generally it has much more to do with the fact that they simply have not yet found a woman they can marry. and i should say that i reject every bit as firmly the argument that if someone would just try, they'd find someone to marry. i suppose that is true if the only objective is to participate in the sealing ordinance. it is not true if by "marry" you mean build a deeply intimate, loving, beautiful relationship with someone who is/can become your soul mate.

{i should thank my bishopric for immediately countering this man's problematic, albeit well-intentioned, comments about single men.}

but touching is like watered down sex...
last wednesday as i was stewing over how to build a bridge between two sections of my paper, i took a quick break from thinking wilkie collins and the moonstone and community, and instead read a couple of blogs. deborah, over at exponent II, sent me on to a beautiful and poignant conversation happening at segullah about being single and not being touched. i read the entry with its subsequent questions and the first two comments before i realized that if i kept going i would start crying and not be able to refocus on my paper. and i had to focus on my paper that day. which i did. i finished it and submitted it and it made me happy to do so. but that post has been hovering in my mind ever since.

not being touched is one of the things i hate the most about being single. this is obviously in some ways about sex. some people have the ridiculous and, in my opinion, incorrect idea that women have little if any need for sex. or if they do, it's just not comparable to a man's. well, i'm not a man so i can't say whether my needs are comparable to men's. but i can say that it's just not true to assert that women have no need for sex. i understand the law of chastity. and i think celibacy outside marriage is a good thing. but i don't think the absence of all sexual touch is a good thing.

but it would be a mistake to believe the longing for touch is entirely sexual. it's not. as the post at segullah and the responses to it illustrate so profoundly, it's also about being human. human beings are social creatures. and they are, in my experience, creatures that express their care and concern for each other physically. at this point in my life, the only person who touches me with any regularity is my mother. but i sometimes go days without seeing my mother in the evening, which is when she usually hugs and kisses me as she says goodnight.

i'm not sure why it is that i have so little touch in my life right now. i'm used to having physical contact with my friends and family. when my brother jared and i were in high school, we'd often lay on his bed and listen to music and talk. and we had this almost ritualized bedtime routine that always included a hug and saying 'i love you.' while i was at byu, i lived with my best friends. a few times a week, late at night randi would climb onto my upper bunk and we'd start talking and laughing. and after not too many minutes had gone by, marguerite would come in (it became something of a joke for her to kick the door open) and join us. three of us curled up on my little twin bed talking and laughing and simply being together. i miss that closeness. i've almost always had friends--both male and female--that i hugged goodbye after spending time together. i have little of any of that now.

i have to take the blame for some of it. i have isolated myself emotionally for much of the last three years. it's been a hard time. and i'm sure that my self-imposed isolation has led to the absence of physical contact between me and my friends here (who are wonderful). but i think part of this has to do with this idea that touch is about sex--especially touch between members of the opposite sex. and i hate that--the categorical assumption that all male-female contact (and for some people, all male-female relationships) is by definition sexual. being alone together, touching each other is not the catalyst to some sexual conflagration. it's just two people being people. i'm not trying to argue that there is no possibility of sexual interest or reactions--reactions that are sometimes not meant to be acted upon; i'm simply arguing that it's not exclusively sexual. it's also human. and very, very necessary.


{i want to say, for the record, that at this moment i am very happy. and i feel more peace with where i am in all aspects of my life than i have for a long time. this has not always been--and probably will not always be--the case. but i'm glad for the peace i have right now.}

experience.
a few new treasures to add to a growing stockpile.

laugh.

• out loud. not many books move me to do so, but christie malry's own double entry did. it's an intelligent little novel (only about 180 pages) by b.s. johnson about a young man just making his way in the world when he stumbles upon his great idea which results in much mayhem and hilarity. at once scathingly disturbing and delightful, it's a fascinating treatment of not only society, but also the novel and literary art.
• at shamelessly cheesy television. "the adventures of briscoe county, jr." to be exact. a silly but smart and entertaining TV western.

feast.

• cuban style at felix's. on the orange circle in old town orange. try #19--arrozo cubana--a delicious blend of rice, saffron, chorizo, pork, chicken and other spices. and don't miss the tres leche cake--white cake soaked in cream and topped with whipped cream.
  
• on indian at ambala dhaba. in artesia's little india (on pinoeer blvd.). the best indian i've eaten in california. the goat curry was delicious. and i was surprisingly happy with the eggplant dish we tried.

balance.

• living with ambiguity. as expressed in Philippians 4:12, which reads: "I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need." i love this idea--that we must learn to live being both full--replete with the word of god--and hungry--longing for more of his word. the word of god being only one example of how we must find this balance. it seems we must find it in so many other ways. in loving other people perfectly while never being able to fully know them. in living in peace even as we are full of struggle. in still laughing with joy while weeping in sorrow. in my mind, this balance--this coexistence of unavoidable opposites--must be what christ experienced. which would explain why the verse following this exhortation reads: "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
  

straw.
i ruined a cake last night. it was monday--specifically the monday on which i was in charge of family home evening for my mid-singles group. and i had arranged for a friend of mine to come do a presentation about the perceptions of race in the mormon church and the 1978 revelation regarding blacks and the priesthood. over the course of the weekend, i had an email interchange with one person who was put off by what he believed would be an exercise in blaming and criticizing the church. "liberal indoctrination" i believe he called it. and then i got a message yesterday from a church leader reminding me that all presenters need to keep their comments appropriate. i was frustrated. i was trying to do something interesting and different rather than the typical mediocre fare and it was being treated like something borderline sacrilegious when nothing could be further than the truth. and it felt like i had been put in a difficult position between the speaker i had invited--a man i respect very highly and who i trust implicitly to read his audience accurately and plan his presentation accordingly--and people at church.

i had forgotten to arrange for others to bring refreshments, so i decided i would make some dessert. and it seemed like it was one problem after another. every egg i broke got shell into the bowl--one egg even spurted egg nastiness onto my sweater. and when i went to put the cake batter (of cake number two) into the pan, i plopped one spoonful in and stood looking at it. it was superthick, and i knew i had done something wrong. a quick look at the recipe revealed that i had put an extra quarter-cup of flour in the batter. and that was it. the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. it felt like no matter how hard i tried, whatever i did just got screwed up.

i stood there for a moment, staring at that cake with all of my self-criticisms flooding into my head and all of the stupid little things that don't matter at all building themselves up into damning evidence of my ineptitude. true, the fact that my hair is really long and takes far too long to manipulate into something resembling a style isn't really evidence of inability, but the fact that i let it frustrate me seemed to be. and a rogue egg splatting onto my clothes doesn't demonstrate my incompetence, but the fact that it made me swear and slam a few things around seemed to be. it's amazing how these little things can undermine our best efforts and intentions and abilities and make them all seem meaningless in the moment.

my cake turned out. it was delicious, in fact. in spite of--or, if you ask my mom who has been saying for a couple of years that that particular recipe needs more flour, because of--my adding too much flour. the FHE was fantastic--an informative presentation, several people asking provocative questions, and almost everyone thanking both armand and me for making it possible. and maybe--just maybe--i'm not an utter failure after all.

epiphany.
until a month ago, i had never spent much time thinking about the gifts of the wise men. all i knew was that they represented great wealth and that we exchange gifts at christmas partially in honor of the fact that the magi brought gifts to the baby jesus. historically, the arrival of the magi was celebrated on january 6—twelfth night or epiphany (in some traditions, this was seen as the actual day of christ’s birth) and the twelve days between christmas and january 6 were festival days. so i thought i would share what i learned to celebrate twelfth night.

last month when i began preparing a lesson about the christmas story, i started exploring the connotations of the gifts the wise men brought to the infant jesus (or the toddler, as my father believes he was by the time the magi appeared). gold, frankincense, and myrrh. the only one i’ve ever understood on any level was gold, the precious metal we continue to value as a symbol of wealth and status and, when we occasionally think figuratively, purity. so i spent a little time looking up these gifts of the wise men and was struck by what i discovered.

the aromatic resin frankincense was not only used in perfumes, but also in the holy incense used during sacrificial rites. myrrh, another resinous substance, was even more valuable than frankincense—sometimes worth more than its weight in gold. like frankincense, myrrh was used not only in perfumes but also in holy incense and ointments. it was used specifically in ointments for healing and in rites of purification.

certainly these gifts brought to the baby jesus meant much more than their monetary worth. this child had come into the world as the ultimate sacrifice. the frankincense the magi brought marked christ’s willing self-sacrifice that all mankind might be cleansed of sin and live again. his ministry and atonement both brought healing beyond any that could have come through the medicinal or ritual value of myrrh. and just as myrrh represented purification, christ’s atonement promised all men and women the possibility of absolute purity.

gold is perhaps the most interesting of the three gifts the magi brought. gold was used anciently in many of the ways it is used now—not only as a marker of wealth, but also as an ornament of places and tools with cultural and religious significance. it can be easily dismissed as a relatively simple symbol of reverence, if not already dismissed as nothing but a marker of wealth. but gold presents itself throughout the bible not only as a marker of wealth and respect for things sacred, but also as a symbol of evil. the false idol the children of israel built in their weakness was a golden calf. the love of money is the root of all evil. the gold the magi brought represented not onlychrist's purity and the magi's devotion to and worship of the son of god. i believe it also represents a willingness on our part to sacrifice our own pride, our evil tendencies, our false gods so that we might instead take up the gospel of christ. when we do so, we will be motivated not by wealth or pride or evil, but by the desire for healing of our hurts and a return to purity. and we will strive to help others find that same healing and purity. these sacrifices—christ’s sacrifice of his own life and blood and our sacrifice of our pride, sin, and egocentrism and the dedication of our lives—together make peace, love, and hope possible. may the new year be full of these gifts as we do his work.

saved!
i finally watched it. the film. well, i missed the first twenty minutes or so, but i think i got a pretty good idea of what happened in them. i'd heard good things about it. and i can see why. the actors did a great job. the script was intelligent and funny. it very effectively skewered the hypocrisy of those who use christianity (christianity specifically, but any religion in general) as a weapon rather than as a way to enlightenment, as a means for self-affirmation and aggrandizement rather than as an avenue to self-knowledge.

that said, i have some reservations about it. when i started at uci, i was shocked by how many of my colleagues (mostly other grad students, but one or two faculty members also) were willing to dismiss christians and christianity out of hand as a narrow-minded, bigoted petrie dish for right wing fanaticism at best and more often for brutal hatred. i'll never forget the day when i was walking from university center back to campus with my grad student "mentor" and we were approached by a representative of one of the many on-campus christian student associations. the woman who approached us very nicely invited us to a fellowship dinner. being a part of an actively evangelizing church myself, i know the potential cost of approaching perfect strangers in order to discuss religion with them. as a rule, i try to respond to any missionary-type effort with kindness. so i very nicely told her that i had other plans that night and my "mentor" and i moved on. as we walked away, she (the "mentor") asked me, in a scandal-tinged sotto voce, if i could believe the nerve of such people. and then she looked at me askance and asked, "you're not religious, are you?" with that balance of incredulity and horror in her voice that implies that clearly the answer will be a resounding "no, of course not! why would you think such an impossibly preposterous thing as that?! how could i be a smart, open-minded, thoughtful intellectual if i had a religion?!?" i quietly told her i was mormon and left her to squirm her way out of it.

that was simply one incident of many that told me that many of the generally liberal secular scholarly types around me thought christianity was the spawn of satan. now, i should also say that many of my colleagues have not demonstrated this kind of narrowness of mind where christianity is. i know many, many people in the academic community who have nothing but respect for me and my religious beliefs and do not subscribe to the notion that christianity automatically means everything thoughtless, ultra-conservative, hateful, and bigoted.

okay. with that backstory. i liked saved. it was funny. the characters were fairly well-developed. it's a great satire of christian hypocrisy. but i am bothered by a too easy dismissal of strong belief as necessarily resulting in the kind of hypocrisy and inability to reason portrayed not only in the obviously satiric hillary faye, but also in the somewhat bumbling pastor skip. now, the pastor's son displayed a christian belief that was charitable and accepting of human frailty. and the mother of the main character clearly was genuine and ultimately privileged family and love over blind, foolish belief. but the film clearly implies that those who really understand compassion and acceptance are the rebellious, unreligious jewish girl and hillary faye's unbelieving brother. in other words, the victims of christianity's hatefulness are those who are truly compassionate.

okay. so that's a simplification. i think the film is more complex than that. but i also think that in our current climate, the message that christianity=bigotry comes across loud and clear while the nuances depicted in characters like patrick and in mary's crisis of faith get buried. worse, because such representations appear to support the notion that christianity=bigotry, they not only reinforce thoughtless prejudice against christianity, they simultaneously reinforce the stereotypical notion that the secular left unjustifiably dismisses christian belief as backwards. nothing like fostering prejudice on all sides.

but what's the answer? obviously the answer is not to avoid depictions of the problems of christianity just because such depictions might reinforce the prejudice that has become unfortunately prevalent against christianity. nor should they be avoided because some christians allow such representations to add to their martyr complexes. so what will save us?

asset.
yesterday i spoke in my ward. it was a topic i chose myself because it is deeply meaningful to me. and because i have spent a great deal of time studying it recently. i spent a lot of time thinking about it, both in personal study before being asked to speak and over the last week as i tried to define a structure for my talk that would allow me to share some of the insights i had gained through my own study. it went well, though i don't think i fully articulated some of the points i was trying to make. it probably would have been better had i finished writing it more than half an hour before church started so that i could do some re-writing.

after i finished speaking and we had sung the intermediate hymn, the next speaker stood up and proclaimed me an asset. i bit back a smile, until i looked at caroline who was sitting at the back of the chapel, grinning from ear to ear. because i have complained to her and others many times over the course of the last month or so about being declared an asset. the very first sunday i attended my new ward, i bore my testimony. because i felt moved by the spirit to do so. after sacrament, a handful of people pulled me aside to compliment me. these were not pass-in-the-hallway-so-you-say-something-nice type compliments. i've given and received my share of those. these were heartfelt statements of appreciation tinged with a bit of awe. this was repeated several times throughout church that day. and then, during relief society, i made a few comments, as i am wont to do. and the teacher stopped her lesson--stopped it in the middle of a thought--in order to state that i would be such an asset to the ward.

this bothers me. immensely. and not because it feels impersonal or like i'm appreciated only for what i can give the ward. i know these comments are not meant in that way. it bothers me partially because i know how very different my reality is from the appearance created by my statements. not that i'm a hypocrite. just that i am articulate and speak well, that i know how to use rhetoric in order to communicate, which i think often gives people an idea of me that is a little more together than my reality is.

but that's not the biggest reason these comments and compliments bother me. the biggest reason is this: i don't think i should be complimented for simply doing what i should do, for simply being what god has asked me to be. god has given me certain gifts and i believe he expects me to use them. i do--at least i try to. i do not believe i merit compliments for doing so. heaven knows i don't use them as well as i could.

more importantly, i feel like such compliments almost nullify the potential for interaction, learning, and growth that comes with true discourse. i don't want someone to tell me how smart i sound, or how insightful i am, or that my talk should be given in general conference. i want them to respond in kind. i want them to share their insights with me. i want them to engage in conversation, because out of conversation, communion, discourse, come greater light and knowledge for everyone involved. what comes of telling me how great my talk was? nothing, really.

i probably sound ungrateful. and i don't mean to. i appreciate people's compliments. i know they are generally sincere and that they're being nice. i am truly happy if what i have to say helps someone else and i would never want them to keep that to themselves if they want to share that fact (which someone did yesterday; i was happy that the spirit could work through me to help her). but i can't help but be uncomfortable in the face of such comments and praise.

dream.
i went to fhe. actually, before going, i talked to a friend about what we were doing. she explained how one of the bishopric wives had a child who had discovered mini pigs around their block and we were going to go on a mini pig hunt for fhe. i went, showed up a bit late, and was assigned to a team. they'd already found one mini pig but the girl who had found it got all squeamish and grabbed it too hard so it was injured. plus it was kinda black and looked a bit more like a mouse. so we kept looking, circling the block, checking every crack and crevice and hidden spot. eventually i discovered one--a perfect pink specimen rooting about in a conical bucket on its side. i picked up the bucket and tipped it up so that the pig slid to the point. i reached in and very gently picked up the pig with a napkin. i didn't want to touch it, so i wrapped it in the napkin, being careful to keep its nose and mouth free so it could still breathe, and we headed back to the house. by the time i got there i was worried that the pig's skin was drying out. when we walked in we discovered another team had already arrived with a pink pig. it was submerged in a bowl of water and apparently it had suffered an untimely death, cause they weren't taking it back out of the water. i dunked my mini porker in the water to refresh it and then took it out, spread out the napkin and set the pig on it on top of the table. the conversation turned to a recent date i had gone on with a man who was divorced. the bishopric wives were asking me if i thought there was potential; i indicated there was a little but not strong potential (all the while my wee pig was exploring the limits of the table top). meanwhile a sacrament meeting is happening in which a woman in my ward was standing up to speak after two speakers who only took about five minutes each (thus she had a lot of time to fill). as i flashed back and forth between the pig-accompanied discussion of the possibility of dating this man and the sacrament meeting, the pig started shedding a layer of its skin. meanwhile the woman giving the sacrament talk started explaining that her talk wasn't that long so she wasn't sure how she'd fill all of the time and then said that before she started her talk she wanted to say something. she proceeded to talk about being six feet tall (she wasn't me; i swear; she was blonde and much more beautiful than i am)--except she wasn't six feet tall--and how that kept men from dating her. and then she started berating the men from the pulpit. until the bishopric interrupted her in order to address the situation. all the while this mini pig was grunting and rooting around on the table. i didn't get to hear what the bishop said.

now. i've had some weird dreams in the past. being chased by storm troopers. watching the crucifixion while being concerned that the argonauts were coming for me. receiving a proposal of polygamous marriage from a good friend, being encouraged by his current wife to accept, and being presented with the primary incentive--a huge diamond ring. but all of those i could kind of understand. i mean, it's not all that strange to incorporate fictional characters into dreams. the crucifixion/argonauts combo directly addressed an emotionally stressful situation in my life at the time. the polygamy was wacko, but i had been learning about the history of polygamy in the church that week at institute. this one--this one i just don't know what to do with. thoughts?

shoulds.
this week's discoveries and recommendations.

eat.

• philippe's. the home of the original french dip sandwich, which was, according to legend, discovered accidentally one day when a sandwich was dropped in the drippings from the roast but the customer was in such a hurry that he ate it anyway. and then returned and ordered it the same way. it was good. but not outstanding in terms of food. i prefer dipping my own sandwich rather than having them dip it for me, which resulted in a sogginess that messed with my textures sensitivity. however, the experience was worth it since i was alread in the neighborhood (union station, olivera street, disney hall, etc., etc.). next time i'm in the neighborhood, i think i'll go with the lamb incarnation (which i was advised to do and didn't; i had to try the beef first). get the potato salad on the side.

sound.

• mahler. i told you last week you should go to this concernt. i did. last night with my mama. and it was every bit as incredible as i thought it would be. and then some. the third is a gorgeous, lush, formally unconventional symphony that celebrates love and joy's capacity to defeat suffering. everyone should see it performed. mahler is a genius. his third counts for this week's re-discovery.
  

site.

• gehry. specifically the walt disney concert hall. i'd been to the building twice--once to a film festival and once to explore the roof garden. i've always loved the exterior of the building and all of gehry's work. his buildings feel alive to me, an exquisite melding of movement and stasis in a building that demands to be called scuplture as well as a building. but i'd never seen the concert hall. it's as vibrant as the building, with curvaceous, warm wooden ceiling and walls, and a perfect twilight blue light. not to mention the exploding facade of the pipe organ. don't miss it.

grace.

• love. a scripture chain for you. because following it gave me peace this week. start in romans 8. a lovely chapter. specifically verses 28 and 37-39. some cross references about what it means to love god, as mentioned in verse 28. Ezra 8:22, in which seek takes the place of love; Alma 36:3 in which trust takes the place of love; D&C 90:24 in which search, pray, believe, walk uprightly, and remember the covenant take the place of love. after thinking through this, verse 39 of Romans 8 got me thinking about what could separate us from god, which took me to D&C 124:33 in which i discovered that we are separated from god when we "hinder the almighty from pouring down knowledge from heaven." i loved that idea--that god's love takes the shape of knowledge. thoughts?

forecast.

• classical. because you really should take advantage of the LA phil and disney hall. this week they're doing mozart's requiem and stravinsky's symphony of psalms (which uses the text from psalms 39, 40, and 150). i'm sure it will be brilliant.

struggle.
it has been a dark few months. dark with flashes of light. because god is good and because no matter how dark things get—and they have gotten rather dark at moments—i can’t help seeing some of the beauties and graces god gives me regularly. but i have been turning away from those moments, back into a landscape of despair and discouragement and self-disgust. i have struggled to do anything worth while. i have woken almost every morning wondering what it is i live for, what reason i have to do what i have to do. if i didn’t have unavoidable obligations, i don’t honestly know where i would be right now. the impulse to run, to hide, to avoid everything, to just go away has been strong. and i have done so in some ways. i have turned my back on so many things that i treasure. on myself and the gifts i have always loved. on my friends and family on occasion. on my education and my goals. on my understanding of the gospel and my relationship with god. faced by the pain that i had come to associate with these things, i simply turned away.

last week i broke. after saying the same things over and over for months, after having lambasted myself as lazy for not changing when i knew what i needed to change, after having felt anger and hatred for myself for not having the strength to take the simple actions i needed to take in order to help myself, i finally realized that i could not do this. this wasn’t a new realization. i’ve been realizing exactly that for a long time. but i have always rejected it. i’ve always adamantly insisted that if only i would get up earlier or work harder or eat better or some combination of the three or any number of other practical solutions, then i would feel better and i would be able to move on. but last week i came face to face with the realization that i. can. not. help. myself.

it was a strange moment. full of grief. and full of grace. it left me weeping at my own inadequacy—past and present. but it also left me turning to god. so bereft of any hope that i could save myself that i was forced to turn to him and put myself into his hands. i had been so full of despair and afraid of life that day that i didn’t even trust myself to do that little—to actually say to god, “i trust thee. please help.” so i sought help in taking even that small step by going to talk to an ecclesiastical leader who is also an old friend.

as we talked and as we turned to the scriptures for insight and guidance, a beautiful thing happened. he kept turning to passages that spoke to me. that summoned up some principle or truth that has long been dear to me, that i have studied. and i felt the threads of my life twine and knit together. abstract lines of thought and study became urgently real in my moment of need. i left that night trusting god as i never have before. since then, my soul has known peace.

i know that things will not be simple. i know that i will still struggle, that i will still have some of the same problems i have had for the last two or three years. but i also know that i now have hope. that life looks beautiful again. that i see opportunities. that i recognize gifts. that i love myself again. and with that knowledge and that outlook—with god’s assurance and care—i can face the struggle.

adamant.
i read tonight the words of an apostle of the lord, declaring that god's love is conditional upon my obedience. every fiber of my being declared an emphatic NO! i can imagine no teaching more contrary to my belief in and idea of god. he loves me. it matters not what i do or think or say. it matters not how far from him i stray. his love remains. i acknowledge that his blessings are conditional. i acknowledge that eternal life is conditional. i acknowledge that inspiration and revelation are conditional. and i acknowledge that my ability to feel his love is conditional. but the existence of his love is not.

perhaps i split hairs. after all, what does it mean to love if that love cannot be expressed and made known? but i remain adamant; god loves every man, woman and child who has ever lived on this earth regardless of their errors and their sin. not in spite of or even though they have sins. he just loves them. because he sees the absolute beauty at their core. how can one help loving the pure beauty and power it is to be, to exist? and how can god, who sees perfectly and understands all of us, including our potentialities, help loving us? i insist upon this truth: my god loves all humankind. if he did not, he would cease to be god.

inhere.
tonight on this american life, the program was on names. it fascinated me. i have been thinking about names for weeks now, about what it means to be named something and to name yourself something. my name both explicates me and renders me somehow inaccessible. my names, the many names i have, explain who i am to someone who does not know me. they say something about me. i have parents who have been married for forty years. i am a member of a church that believes certain ideas and whose members live in certain ways. i have siblings and nephews and nieces. my names explain my background, my beliefs, and my identity. they allow a stranger to begin to understand me and to become my friend. but my names also build a fence around me--around the essence of who i am--and others stop at the fence, thinking they know me without having truly understood me. because i am mormon, i must necessarily think certain things and act in certain ways. at least i must in others' perceptions of who i am. names provide easy answers as to my being. i believe certain things, think certain things, do certain things. i don't think and don't do and don't believe other things. sometimes the limitations and explanations inherent in the connotation of my names are accurate. many times they are not. but i cannot escape them because others cannot forget them. the true litmus of friendship, of love, is whether a person can get behind my names, my surface identity and begin to understand me, rather than the names that have been assigned to me. this is when i can begin to be free with others. my names are not at my center; they are the periphery. seen from the outside they are one thing; seen from the inside they are another. and seen from the outside they cause problems because they delineate difference and exclusion. but seen from the inside they become beautiful and accepting. a name is a starting point; it provides a context for understanding my soul. but it can only be a starting point. one does not truly understand a name until they can see how it has been redefined by the essence of the named person. i make my names my own, though they may have been given to me by others. when you meet me, you encounter my names first. but then you move inward, towards the real me and when you get inside, you look back and realize that the definition of my names that you once possessed and believed in is not accurate. you begin to see that my names are other because on the inside, i have changed them, fitted them to the contours of my mind and my heart.

i am amelia. and in spite of history, i gave myself that name.

lamentation.
on sunday i walked out of church. i've never done that before. i could feel myself becoming frustrated and anxious and decided that simply sitting through it wasn't worth the anger i would feel afterwards. so i left. very simply, out the side door which was right next to my seat. the speaker was talking about his mission, which covered the north side of the traditional Bible belt. how mormonism destroys other churches' false doctrines and revisions of the scriptures. always circling back around to the language of battle and destruction and conquering. that bothers me immensely, to speak of another religious tradition as a mistaken, misshapen thing to be banished and smashed by the all-powerful weapon of the truth. i do not agree. i believe there is truth and beauty to be found in almost every religious tradition (the qualifier only because I do not know every religious tradition). and while there are differences and while i may even point to some of the differences and call them mistakes, i am much more interested in hearing people out, in finding out how they think about things, than in shutting them down. constructing walls and barriers, creating distance, declaring a triumph--that can only end in lamentation.

i returned to church when the speaker was done. i like church. it has immense power to make me happy. i wish i could see the statements such as those made in that talk as only the outward manifestation of imperfection that they are. but i can't. i expect more. and when i see such backwardness i cringe and do not want to be a part of it. someday i need to overcome that. for now, i need to find a way to manage the anxiety that invariably arises because of it.