fantasy.

let's talk weddings.  specifically let's talk wedding dresses.

i grew up fantasizing about wedding gowns.  my sister and i used to buy bridal magazines with some regularity.  we'd pour over them, dog-earing the dresses we liked, drooling over diamonds, dreaming of the day when we could deck ourselves out like the models in the magazines.  we weren't totally without a critical eye.  we frequently made fun of mermaid dresses and models who looked like they were sick to their stomachs.  but we generally bought into the bridal image: poufy, white, bead-bedecked froth accented with pearls and a diamond ring.

i went bridal gown shopping with my sister when she was engaged a little over ten years ago.  it was fun watching her try dresses on.  and i loved the dress she chose--simple a-line with a square neck and minimal pearl beading.  but even then i had started telling my mother that i didn't want a traditional wedding.  i had long since started making fun of the dresses i had fantasized about as a 13-year-old.  and when i saw first hand all of the planning that went into my sister's wedding--well, as much as i liked the finished product (and it was a lovely wedding), i started threatening to elope.

tonight as i was flipping channels, i ran across say yes to the dress on TLC.  and i got sucked in.  except what was once fantasy is now more like horror.  the fashionista in me still kind of enjoys seeing dresses.  i do watch the academy awards mostly for the pre-show red carpet, after all.  but so many wedding dresses are just style nightmares.  and the practical, feminist, non-traditionalist me with my taste for simplicity--well, i can't help but be horrified.  there's the prices--$5000 for a dress?  really?!  that's just nuts.  and that's the low end of the budget, if this particular show is to be believed.  and then there's the princess mentality.  heaven forbid the bride not have her perfect day.

i understand that weddings are a big deal in our culture.  i'm all for celebrating such an important occasion.  and i think people should celebrate in whatever way they feel is appropriate.  but i don't like traditional weddings.  i don't like the emphasis being on the party rather than on the commitment being made.  i don't like the tradition of the father giving the bride to her husband; it smacks of the past when women did not have a legal identity of their own.  i don't like the expense.  or the stress.  and i don't like tradition for the sake of tradition.

but you know what i like the least?  i really hate the way the fantasy dominated my youth.  to such an extent that the failure to accomplish the dream has created serious emotional and psychological blocks for me as an adult.  the assumption that i would grow up and marry was so deeply ingrained that i never doubted it as a child and young woman.  but i have not lived the fantasy.  and as it became more apparent that i would not have the fantasy, my self worth and confidence became proportionately less.  i hate that.  why should my sense of value be contingent on my being married?  to my having the fantasy? that's ridiculous.

so here's what i fantasize of now: i fantasize of a world in which everyone, female and male, is valued for her- and himself.  alone.  because they are unique and individual and have wonderful things to offer the world.  and if they are fortunate enough to find another individual whom they love, then we will celebrate that union.  because it is a beautiful thing for two people to love each other and commit for a lifetime.  but it is also a beautiful thing for one person to live a full, rewarding life.  and that should be celebrated, too.

library.

tonight i was very disturbed.  you see, i was innocently minding my own business, driving home from a doctor's appointment, when this story came on the radio.  all about a library that GOT RID OF ITS BOOKS.  excuse me!?  how can a library be a library without any books?  it makes no sense!

okay.  granted the library subscribed to a database with millions of digital books.  and it acquired some kindles students can check out.  but i'm very sorry to say digital books and digital book readers do not a library make.

now, don't get me wrong.  i recognize the value of digital resources.  i use them all the time in my own research.  i love searchable text databases.  i love having online access to full text articles.  but i also print up the articles or chapters that i find pertinent to my research.  why? because there's an enormous difference between reading material on a screen and reading it in print format.

it's true that most digital readers allow for annotation in some way or another, but from what i've heard it's cumbersome at best.  i've also been told that accessing footnotes on digital readers is difficult.  both of those tools--annotating a text and accessing that text's notes--are invaluable to academic reading and research.  and then there's the small detail of memory.  i frequently find things in a text because i remember that it was at the top of the left side of a page (or somesuch).  maybe i'm weird, but there's just something more memorable about  a physical text than a nondescript screen of text.

and all of that doesn't even touch the physical beauty of a book and of stacks of books.  there's something magical about a library that cannot be duplicated.  books have lives, beyond the life they contain in their text.  they represent the interests and tastes and loves of the people who owned them, the priorities and emphases of the institutions that acquired them.  when someone dies and leaves behind a library, some part of her continues to live.  when someone gives a book, he also give some little bit of himself.  how could we possibly imagine that a world without books, even one in which all of the same information was immediately searchable and accessible through digital means, would be a world in which we would want to live?

i love digital tools.  i use them all the time.  but i hope i never get to the point that i choose digital texts over my lovely, beautiful, wonderful books.

questions.

"i beg you . . . to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.  don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them.  and the point is, to live everything.  live the questions now.  perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." --rainer maria rilke, letters to a young poet 

i encountered this passage from rilke again yesterday, this time on a quotable magnet in barnes & noble.  and there, in the middle of busy, superficial fashion island, it spoke to me again.

i want to live this way, loving the unresolved questions of life, embracing them as bearers of knowledge and wisdom that living will bring.  there is so very much that is uncertain in this world.  far more than there is that is known and understood.  i want to coexist with the questions, rather than beat them out of existence with pompous certainty.  i want to wrestle with them, as jacob wrestles the angel--struggling all through the night and, even in the face of injury, demanding a blessing.  and the blessing?  a new name: israel, or 'one who has prevailed with god.'  i believe god lies not in the answers, but in the questions.  in living them fully and struggling with them honestly, rather than giving pat answers which gloss over the messiness of life and truth and god.  and i believe if we live honestly these questions, this messiness, we will live our way into answers, prevailing even with god.

failure.

ever tried. ever failed. no matter. try again. fail again. fail better. --samuel beckett

i've been thinking about failure lately.  it's an interesting thing, failure, because its definition is slippery.  what does it mean to fail?  does it mean not to accomplish what you set out to accomplish?  does it mean to disappoint others by not accomplishing what they expected you to accomplish?  does it mean not hitting certain benchmarks of success on a prescribed timeline?

at different moments in my life, failure has meant each of those things.  i've nearly dropped out of grad school more times than i can count.  each time i felt disappointment in my own failure to achieve what i had planned to achieve.  but each time i also felt a wonderful sense of release and opportunity for a fresh start.  and i have been accutely aware of the ways in which i have failed to conform to the expectations of others, both in my family and in my church community.  but these failures don't feel like personal failures; they feel like explorations and discoveries, my true self emerging from beneath layers of prescription.

the most difficult version of failure i've had to deal with is the failure to achieve life goals on the timeline i've always been taught to accept.  i'm 34 and unmarried.  i have no children.  purchasing a house seems like a distant fantasy.  i'm still a student after 14 years of school, and will be for another three.  finding a job in my field seems an even more distant fantasy than owning a house.  and then there's the complication of being unsure i even want to accomplish those goals.  it's a constant struggle to remind myself that it's okay not to have achieved these benchmarks by age XX, that it's okay to be different from the prescribed norm i grew up with.  when i fail to remind myself of that, i begin to fail in other ways, too.  because dwelling on the fact that where i am in life constitutes failure according to some grand schema developed by someone else interferes with my ability to succeed in my pursuits, making failure all the more likely.  it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.  not only do i end up a failure according to the prescribed metanarrative, but also according to my own ideas of what it means to be happy and successful.

so i try.  i try to remember that i don't want to be married; rather i want to be married to the right person with whom i can have the kind of relationship i want.  i try to remember that there is still time to accomplish my goals and many avenues to them, not just one.  i try to remember that owning a home is not, in and of itself, a good thing; that sometimes there are alternative and more sustainable ways of living.  and mostly i try to remember that the only measuring stick that matters is my own conscience, not others' prescriptions.

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.

love.

one afternoon a couple years ago, i stopped short on my walk back to my car after teaching.  as i had walked up the stairs, this had caught my eye:

i was so struck by these simple words that i stopped, dug out my camera, and snapped a picture.  i ran across the picture tonight and again the phrase's simple power struck me.

this is what i want of life--love.  i want to be loved.  i want to love.  romantically, yes, but in so many other ways, too.  it's such a simple desire, really.  but it's so elusive.  and looking at this image i think i understand part of what makes it elusive. because this phrase functions doubly--it's both an imperative and a request.  a statement of what others must do and an asking for what one needs.

i think it's the double nature of love that makes it so difficult.  being able to put down fear (even well-founded fear) and ask means making ourselves vulnerable to another person and simultaneously making that person vulnerable to us.  because to ask for love of another is to request, but it's also to require.  i believe it's worth it.  because i believe that love which not only requests but also requires is adequate to any challenge.

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).

titled.

sometimes i read in barnes & noble. if luck is with me, i find a big cushy armchair and settle in for a few hours of reading. my view from those chairs looks like this:i like looking up and perusing book titles on occasion. it's interesting to see what people write about. how they represent that work to readers. how the title and the cover art work together.

lately i seem to find my cushy chairs in the current affairs section. and i've been struck by some of the titles. a few examples:

• by ann coulter how to talk to a liberal (if you must): the world according to ann coulter and if democrats had any brains, they'd be republicans. on the covers of which coulter does her best to look sexy.
• another conservative commentary: conservative comebacks to liberal lies. touted as a 'national best seller.'
• a liberal approach of the same stripe: the GOP-hater's handbook: 378 reasons never to vote for the party of reagan, nixon & bush again. with a picture of an elephant's backside with a target on it.
  

these are all relatively amusing when seen for what they are--trash. they're less amusing when you realize that people might actually believe what's written in them.

the one that caught my eye the most--and the reason i'm writing this--is i don't believe in atheists, by chris hedges. take a look at the cover:

this book, like the others, aims to shut down conversation rather than open up opportunities to learn and understand. the title reminds me of a scene in kushner's angels in america. harper--the agoraphobic, valium-popping wife of kushner's gay mormon--encounters prior--the AIDS patient who sees visions of angels--in a hallucination or a dream or some alternate reality. she tells him that in her church, they don't believe in homosexuals. now, i've been raised mormon and i don't think i'd ever come up with that statement on my own--mormons don't believe in homosexuals. but i understand how someone could make that statement. and it bothers me. because to dismiss someone else by saying you don't believe in one of the groups they belong to--you don't believe in their professed identity (whether sexual or spiritual or whatever version of identity)--well, it's a neat way to avoid any real engagement. and it's an assertion that you understand the other person's reality and experience better than they do.

i was also struck by hedges' title because of its graphic design. the white words 'i' and 'in' easily disappear against the gold background, especially when the book sits on a shelf under bright lights. and when they disappear, an imperative remains: 'don't believe atheists.' with the picture of god's enormous hand pressing down against puny man. opinion becomes dictate--and one with divine sanction.

the imperative and the image made me think of how easily religious believers attempt to dismiss atheists as immoral, anchorless, lost human beings who may deserve our pity, but who certainly don't deserve our respect. of course, this response isn't reserved for atheists. i know believers who respond similarly to those of other faith traditions--especially traditions that do not resemble their own. i've also encountered a few atheists who react this way towards believers.

i don't like the reaction no matter where i encounter it. it's too self-assured. too convinced that i am right and they are wrong, end of story. i don't like it because when argumentative amelia emerges, she's willful and adamant and articulate and passionate but she's usually not listening. i don't like that when i'm convinced i'm right and 'they' (whoever they are) are wrong, i stop making the effort to understand. to think in new ways. to recognize the realities of someone else's life.

i'm not always good at keeping argumentative amelia on a leash. but i've been trying. if she's reared her ugly head in your direction, do accept my apologies. and know that i'm more interested in understanding than in being right. so give me another chance. because i don't want people to walk away from me feeling like the title across my forehead reads 'i don't believe in X' or 'don't believe x.'

good.
i am thinking about that proverb again. specifically about 'withhold[ing] not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it. say not unto thy neighbour, go, and come again, and to morrow i will give; when thou hast it by thee.' and i'm thinking about it in light of my own circumstances. what good i have to give those to whom it is due (and this includes both others and myself). what good i have it in my power to do. what i have to give. what it means to lead a 'good' life.

and i've realized that in many ways i have thought about this incompletely. what does it mean to live a good life--not just one full of goodness, but one that deserves the epithet 'good'? in many ways, i've envisioned the 'good' life as something that originates outside myself in some set of ideals. some of those ideals are very traditional. marriage. children. a home with a garden. building a sanctuary for those i love. others of my ideals are very reformist liberal. social equity. various versions of activism (though i generally espouse the variety that involves my purchasing power and my lifestyle, more than the variety that involves shouting in the street). progressive politics. while they all reflect my own beliefs, i think of all of them as greater than myself--as something larger and more beautiful than i am alone. and because they are superlative, they're difficult to realize. that difficulty is exacerbated by the fact that those two different sources of ideals--the traditional and the progressive liberal--often seem to conflict. what does it mean, for instance, to want both a career (one centrally focused on feminism and liberal social ideals) and a traditional home life? i realize these desires don't necessarily conflict, but sometimes they feel like they do.

and then there is doing good. so often, i think about doing good in prescribed ways. to do good is to give to others of my material means. or to do acts of charity. i feel enormous responsibility to relieve suffering--a responsibility so enormous that i could never fulfill it. because there seems so very little i can do to help the children of haiti or AIDS orphans in africa or the dislocated people of sudan. because locked in my rather sterile suburban existence, the good i do often seems limited to providing christmas for a local family through my singles program or simple, spontaneous acts like thanking someone who holds a door for me or helping clean up a mess i didn't cause. i recognize and espouse the necessity of spontaneity in doing good. but when i think about it in the abstract, doing good generally is about fulfilling some external dictum. forgive. comfort. mourn. relieve. love.

it occurs to me that i almost invariably approach the question of what it means to do good by first considering what others need and then applying the appropriate dictum. someone's spouse dies; mourn. someone is in pain; comfort. someone hurt me; forgive. now, i don't think this is a wrong approach to doing good. i think it's absolutely vital that we go out of our way to be aware of the suffering around us--both locally and distantly--and to then do everything in our power to aid those who suffer. and the external ideals that give rise to my vision of the 'good' life are important and beautiful. but today, as i re-read my post on confidence (i needed the pep-talk, even if it was self-authored), i got to thinking about this state of affairs.

a great deal of my current depression and paralysis arises out of an almost inescapable awareness that my life does not match the 'good' life i envision. i'm not married. i don't have children. and when i'm brutally honest with myself, i acknowledge that it's entirely possible (and perhaps entirely likely) that i'll never marry or have children (though i'm pretty adamant about adopting if i remain single). i don't have my own place to live and sometimes despair of being able to have my own home surrounded by beautiful growing things. every morning i start my day with a dose of npr. and while i can't imagine not doing so, the news sometimes leaves me feeling utterly incapable of doing anything meaningful to advance the causes of social equity. while i occasionally refuse shopping bags because i don't want to cause waste and walk because i don't want to waste gas and throw my cans and bottles into the recycling bin, i'm shamefully wasteful and as consumerist as the next american. the discrepancy between my reality and the external ideals i adhere to occasionally strikes me as so great that i become paralyzed: incapable of making the ideals real but loving them and believing in them so much that i cannot simply ignore them, i end up doing nothing. nothing but berate myself for my failure, that is.

in the last several years, this has been most pronounced in my academic career. in part this manifests itself in the clash between perfectionism and grand ideas on the one hand and deadlines and practical expectations on the other. like the paper i wrote last february--the one i had to write so i could return to school full time. a friend read it for me and commented that the ideas were the makings of a dissertation, not a seminar paper. and he was right. half my battle was pursuing ideas and connections on such a large scale that i couldn't make them fit the parameters of the assignment. and the other half was that nothing i wrote seemed good enough. the reality of the paper just didn't match the elusive vision in my head of what i wanted to say. and as a result i stewed and stewed and stewed and drove myself (and others) a bit batty. in the end, i wrote the damn paper. and in the end, it was good enough.

my academic paralysis has also resulted from the apparent clash of ideals i mentioned earlier. intellectually i understand that pursuing my degree and my career does not shut off the possibility of marriage and motherhood. in fact, given my passion for what i do and my commitment to education and gender equity, i'm more likely to attract the kind of man i'd be interested in marrying if i continue my education than if i did not. but with nearly 32 years of mormon religious education under my belt, there's an undeniably real undercurrent in my psyche that suggests that the more educated i become, the less likely i am to marry and, by extension, have children. i know that's wrong. and i reject as deeply flawed every understanding of mormon teaching that suggests that women should not seek fulfillment as individuals or that they should stifle their own passions and drives in order to marry (these understandings are generally not overt, but rather culturally implied). in my opinion, a woman stifling herself in such a way is nothing short of a recipe for disaster. but the years of lessons and talks and blessings have successfully induced me to believe in the ideal of marriage and family as the 'good' life so thoroughly that it continues to govern my subconscious in spite of the beliefs and ideals i more consciously espouse. and then there's the reality that being a liberal or a feminist or an intellectual single mormon woman drastically reduces the pool of potential mormon spouses. being all three sometimes feels like a death sentence where marrying a mormon is concerned...

combine this state of affairs with the fact that my current commitments (grad school, church callings, family obligations, trying to have something of a social life) make it nearly impossible to do good in the prescribed ways that meet general needs (service as relief work, either locally or globally), and i not only feel paralyzed but selfish and thoughtless, too. and before i know it, i seem not only to fail at leading a 'good' life, but also at doing good. my life ends up feeling insular and isolated. and it doesn't even compensate by at least fitting the mold of the 'good' life as premised on external ideals.

as i re-read the words of proverbs 3 today, a very simple realization struck me--one of those recognitions that is so simple that it almost shouldn't have to be articulated. if revelation is action--is moving forward into the terrifying void of an untried and unfamiliar life path, to paraphrase my previous post--and that action should take the shape of 'withhold[ing] not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it,' then what good must i do? what action must i take? what is in the power of my hand to do? recognizing need and suffering in others and alleviating it is certainly part of that action. but i don't think that good is exclusively reactionary in nature. i think it's also (and perhaps primarily) constructive and active in nature. it's using the gifts i've been given. all of them, not just those that will fulfill a prescription for the 'good' life. it's letting my passion for learning and teaching flourish. it's challenging my students' foundational premises so that they think and see the world in new ways. it's seizing the opportunities life presents and making them my own, complete with my own bizarre combination of apparently incongruous ideals and commitments.

in short, i think actively doing good requires being myself. doing what i do. thinking what i think. letting the 'good' life and good actions come from within as i reach towards the external ideals i love. seems rather simple, doesn't it. but it hit me pretty hard this afternoon. i don't want to jettison the external ideals i love and strive to realize. but i need to allow my own passions and abilities and ideas to combine with those external ideals in a process that results in a sum that is truly greater than its parts.

confidence.
i have been thinking a lot about confidence lately. mostly because it feels like mine has dissolved and disappeared in the last four years. it's no secret that i'm an opinionated woman. that i really see no reason to keep my thoughts to myself. except when tact dictates that i do (and i'm generally tactful). but where i used to question everything in an academic setting--where i challenged everything, from professors' comments in class to the ideas presented in articles--i no longer do. i've watched my marginalia change from in-your-face questions challenging the foundational premises of an argument to basic regurgitation of points made in the text. and it drives me absolutely batty. because somewhere inside of me that provocateur is still there, still has questions demanding answers. but somehow i just can't ask them anymore.

and i want to know where my confidence has gone. in part it's a victim of the depression i've dealt with off and on for the last five years or so. in part it's a victim of a graduate program designed to beat people down. (i know that's extreme; and i don't think it's entirely overt; but that is undeniably one of the dynamics of grad school.) mostly i think it's been replaced by fear. fear of an unknown future. fear of loneliness. fear of sounding like a moron. fear of feeling like i've accomplished something only to be told i failed. and, worst of all, on some level i fear success--almost as if the beauty of the life i envision will make the pain of life that much greater, more unbearable, so it's better to just be dulled. mediocre accomplishment with mediocre pain to go with it.

the problem is, that the questions are still inside me waiting to be asked. the lover of beauty is never going away. i can't help seeing the world with my particular slant on truth. i'll never be able to live so that everything is just kind of even--no big ups, no big downs, just steady. because it will hurt that there's a part of me bottled up inside, no matter how much i manage to avoid pain.

so i've been thinking about confidence. about what it is. about how it works. about how i can get mine back. and it made me remember a talk elder holland gave during my last year at byu. 'cast not away therefore your confidence.' in it, elder holland recounts god showing moses a vision of all of the earth and all of its inhabitants and satan's subsequent appearance to moses, demanding that moses worship him. after moses rejects satan, saying 'get thee hence, satan; deceive me not,' satan cries out with a loud voice, saying 'i am the only begotten, worship me. and it came to pass that moses began to fear exceedingly; and as he began to fear, he saw the bitterness of hell. nevertheless, calling upon god, he received strength. . .' i've always been struck by the fact that moses only sees hell after he fears. so long as he retains the confidence of his knowledge of god and god's creation, he simply dismisses satan. elder holland calls attention to that fact, sharing several other examples of fear preventing god's children from relying upon their confidence. his talk is wonderful, and you should read it.

but every time i read that talk (and i've read it numerous times in the last ten years), i think about that phrase: 'cast not away therefore your confidence.' and i wonder what it means. what is it that we cast away when we allow fear to come between ourselves and our confidence? what is confidence, other than a vision from god (not something i can claim ever to have received)? what is it other than a revelation of a specific course of action (as in the example of moses parting the red sea, another example elder holland shares)? what is it in my situation, where confidence seems to be ability combined with a state of mind (or an inability combined with a state of mind)?

being a total english nerd, i turned to the oed (for those of you not english nerds, that translates to the oxford english dictionary), which defines confidence as: the mental attitude of trusting in or relying on a person or thing; assurance; assured expectation; assurance, boldness, fearlessness, arising from reliance; an object or ground of trust--that which gives confidence, boldness, or security. the etymology of the word indicates that it originally indicated two friends who mutually confide in or trust each other (makes sense; the etymology doesn't break the word down to its component parts, but con- as a latin prefix means 'with' and fid- is the root of words that mean faith).

but what does it mean spiritually? in psalm 65, the psalmist cries out, 'o god of our salvation; who art the confidence of all the ends of the earth.' proverbs 3 (a beautiful chapter of scripture) confirms this idea that god is himself the confidence of all the earth. after urging us to 'lean not unto [our] own understanding,' but to instead find wisdom and get understanding (by which god founds the earth and establishes the heavens), we are told: 'my son, let not them depart from thine eyes: keep sound wisdom and discretion: so shall they be life unto thy soul, and grace to thy neck. then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble. when thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet. be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked, when it cometh. for the lord shall be thy confidence, and shall keep thy foot from being taken.'

the lord shall be our confidence. and i'm struck by the repetition of 'foot'--our feet will not stumble. the lord will keep our feet from being taken. and it reminds me of the promise made in genesis after the fall that god will 'put enmity between thee [satan] and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it [christ, but by extension all who take upon them christ's name] shall bruise thy head, and thou [satan] shalt bruise his heel.' god will be our confidence--our assured expectation; our boldness; our fearlessness--because through reliance on him, our feet will be kept. we will not stumble. satan may bruise our heel, but we will continue on without our feet being taken.

but what does that mean? in his talk, elder holland urges us not to stop once we've received revelation. and he explains that revelation is not just information (the knowledge that god is our confidence, for instance). it's also action. it's moving forward into the terrifying void created by parting the red sea. it's refusing to turn back in the face of an unprecedented course of action because the old captivity seems less bizarre and more sure than the way forward across dry land between towering walls of water (at least that's the way cecil b. demille makes it look).

just as it's a mistake to receive information and stop there without understanding and taking the way forward--the actions that will make that information efficacious--, it is a mistake to read far enough to get the philosophical without continuing to get the practical understanding of confidence. having told us that 'the lord shall be [our] confidence, and shall keep [our feet] from being taken,' the proverb continues: 'withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it. say not unto thy neighbour, go, and come again, and to morrow i will give; when thou hast it by thee. devise not evil against thy neighbour, seeing he dwelleth securely by thee. strive not with a man without cause, if he have done thee no harm.'

it seems to me that confidence--my confidence and yours--is not merely god protecting us from harm. it is also our continuing on in goodness. it is, as joseph smith demonstrated after having been tarred and feathered by a mob, continuing as usual in spite of whatever fear or difficulty we face. and as we do so, we will 'lie down, and [our] sleep shall be sweet.' and we will find that, according to isaiah, 'in returning and rest shall [we] be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be [our] strength.' indeed, if i have learned anything about confidence through the depression and darkness of the last few years, it's that raging at god exacerbates the fear and the loneliness, while quiet acceptance of his will fills me with peace. when i return to him and try to develop a relationship of mutual trust and faith with him, i no longer fear.

i think it is the mutuality of the relationship that creates confidence. in placing my faith in god, i also place my faith in his perception of me, in myself. in accepting him as the source of assurance, fearlessness, and boldness, i accept myself as assured, fearless, and bold. because he sees in me (and each of his children) all of the pure potential that lies within. in realizing (in the literal sense of making real in my life) christ's atoning sacrifice by doing his will, i fill my heart with love leaving no space for fear. because 'perfect love casteth out fear.' and god truly becomes my confidence.

alarming indeed.
alarming--that's how ruth bader ginsburg described the supreme court's decision to uphold the 2003 ban of D&X (dilation and extraction) abortion procedures, more commonly known as partial-birth abortion. and i have to agree with her.

now, please do not misunderstand me here. i do not think i would personally choose an abortion in any circumstance except pregnancy resulting from rape. and even then i'm not confident as to what my decision would be. and i find the D&X procedure troubling in many ways. what i object to is not the effort to regulate abortion or this particular procedure. i object to regulating it without leaving any room at all for an exception. i am not a medical doctor, so i cannot make medical arguments as to whether or not such a procedure is a necessary option in order to preserve the life or health of a pregnant woman. but my understanding of both justice and equity demands that there always be room for an exception to be made in exceptional circumstances. and this law denies the option of exceptionality, and therefore equity. to that extent i find it deeply troubling that the highest court in our nation would place justice above equity, implying that an unborn child's life is always worth more than that of its mother.

(r)evolution.
tonight my mom brought on a blast of reminiscence. she's been gathering up some of my sister's old things and shipping them out to her in NY where jeni now lives with her husband and daughters. and as she was sorting, she found an old craft project that jeni and i had both done. we grew up painting plaster things--christmas ornaments, plaques, figurines. we loved going to the plaster shop that was a couple miles from our house. my mom would load us all up in our big old passenger van and we'd be off to wander through the shop, contemplating the difficult dilemma of which thing we wanted to paint this time. i remember this particular project. i must have been ten or eleven. and i just knew it was the finest bit of plaster painting i had ever done. and i remember secretly feeling sorry for jeni cause hers wasn't as beautiful as mine.

if there's any single object that could represent me and all of my hopes and dreams as a little girl--and a not so little girl--this is probably it. pink. and flowery. in a big poofy skirt. with a baby. and those books--the complete works of l.m. montgomery, purchased one at a time on my weekly excursions to the bookstore--were some of my favorite reading as a pre-teen and on through my first couple of years at byu. and of course i painted the object myself. because everyone knows that a good woman can make all kinds of things from scratch or craft in myriad ways.

those of you who know me now but didn't know me, say, twelve years ago are probably a little bit stunned. but it's the truth. i was the poster child of conservative mormon femininity. well, maybe with a couple of minor exceptions. i did love backpacking, after all. but that kind of fits in with pioneer trekking or something. and i was really into school and books (not just those by l.m. montgomery) and had a career path in mind. but everything, including the unfeminine backpacking and the career path, had a spin to it that pointed in one direction--wife and mother. at home, of course. i think the family i envisioned at that point in time was 8 kids. and a husband, of course. and i wasn't sure if i would finish my bachelor's or not.

obviously my life didn't work out the way i envisioned it when i packed my bags and moved to the Y at age 17. i now have far more education than i ever dreamed of. i'm more committed to a career than i would have found acceptable then. and almost every political or social opinion i have now--imagine the reverse and ascribe those positions to my 17-year-old self. gun control? hell no! (except i wouldn't have said "hell.") environmentalism? that's for fruity liberals. america fighting a war to "preserve freedom" and "promote democracy" in the middle-east? strike up the patriotic band!! feminism? that's a naughty word...

clearly i wasn't an entirely foreign being to who i am now. i valued education. i loved reading. i loved art and culture. i have always been a thinker, committed to examination and evaluation. i simply had not had much opportunity--or a reason--to examine the opinions that had been instilled in me by my parents and the other adults in my life. my platform in high school was that i was mormon and mormons believe "X."

i'm still a mormon. and i still believe most of what mormons believe, at least when we're talking about doctrinal beliefs. i've long since jettisoned much of the mormon cultural fluff that i accepted as a kid. and i have byu to thank for it. i went away to college knowing exactly what made me different from everyone around me. and what made me different was my mormonness. after two years of absolute fun (with occasional academic work) and a summer of dating a baptist, i found myself lost in all that mormonness swarming across byu's campus. and it forced me to examine my beliefs and make them my own. it wasn't a short process. but it helped me figure out what i think rather than what mormons think. and it taught me the value of ongoing re-examination. the person i am now would have probably chosen almost any university other than byu. but i wouldn't change it for the world. if i hadn't gone to the Y, i may have been a pink-flowery-clothing-wearing mother of eight by now.

light.
a scripture chain for you. tracing it last night made me feel better; hope it makes you feel better, too.

• alma 5:7 speaking of a people in captivity to the lamanites: god 'awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto god. behold they were in the midst of darkness; nevertheless their souls were illuminated by the light of the everlasting word.' such a beautiful idea, that our souls can be 'illuminated' even in the 'midst of darkness.'
  
• d&c 50:24-25 in which we learn that light, when it is received and when we continue in god, creates more light--that it 'groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day. . . . and i say it that you may know the truth, that you may chase darkness from among you.' i love that--that if we know the truth that light increases as we receive it, then we will be able to chase darkness away.
  
• d&c 93:36, 39 in which we understand that 'the glory of god is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth' and that, by implication, if 'the wicked one' takes away light and truth through disobedience, then obedience brings light and truth. and i read obedience not as simply doing what we're told; since this is presented in the context of knowledge and truth, rather than simply performance, i think that obedience refers to living in keeping with god's will because we understand it--because it is a part of us.
  
• 1 john 2:4-5 in which we learn that truth is not in any man who claims to know christ but who does not keep his commandents; that god's love is perfected in she who keeps the commandments. and in verses 8 through 10, we learn that we abide in light when we love our brothers and sisters.
• light then is a result of obedience. and in my reading of these verses, obedience takes the shape of love (which is, after all, the heart of the two great commandments--to love god and to love our neighbors as ourselves). so as we love others, we are filled with light--even in the midst of darkness.
• d&c 115:5-6 in which we are told to 'arise and shine forth' not only that our light (our love, not our selves) may be a 'standard for the nations,' but also that our 'gathering together' and our stakes (in other words our communities) will be a source of defense and refuge from the darkness of the storm.
  

i love these ideas. that as we do the will of god, we will be filled with light. and as we let that light shine forth--as we live the truths we know, as we love, actively making our world better--we will build communities which will have the power to 'chase darkness from among [us].' that our souls will be enlightened by the word, the word which is christ, christ who is love incarnate--that our souls will be illuminated even in darkness.

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.

charity: a reflection in three parts.


christmas. at some point just before christmas, my mom told me that my dad had invited two women from their ward to join us for christmas eve. my immediate response was to be peeved. i like my holidays quiet. i don't want to entertain a bunch of people and feel obliged to talk to them if i don't feel like it. i hate small talk with strangers. i don't like trying to find something i have in common with them to talk about. and i made it known to my mom that i wished we could just have a quiet holiday.

but my dad had already made the invitation. and one of the women had agreed. and the other one called on christmas eve to tell us she was rearranging other plans so she could come and be with us. needless to say, i was not pleased.

but once something can't be changed i'm not one to be all snotty about it. so i set to work and helped my mom prepare all kinds of food and set the table pretty and fold the napkins like lotus flowers. and the two women came and one of them was a bit dour and the other one was a bit effervescent. and i was a bit sulky.

until i stopped worrying about how they were ruining my christmas and instead let myself realize how happy they were to be with us. these two beautiful women who didn't have families to be with that night. rather than having a christmas eve i had to suffer through, i ended up enjoying myself and the laughter these two women brought with them into our home.


resolution. i don't often make new year's resolutions. i'm not very good at keeping them. but this year i have made one. i am something of a thinker. and i have been trained by my graduate programs to think by taking other people's thoughts apart. breaking ideas down into component parts to see if they work. what results often sounds negative. because it leads me to point out the ways in which another person's work is inadequate or wrong. this is in part a necessary evil. to make one's way in the world of academia, it's vital to find an opening. some niche that you can make your own. and that can only happen when you show that everyone else has failed to see things your way (which is, of course, the correct way).

but i don't like the fact that this response leaves others feeling like i'm always trying to show them how their thoughts are lacking, how they are weak. it makes it sound like i'm condescending and i don't like being condescending.

i still want to think critically. and i still want to recognize the ways in which an idea may not be sufficient. but i want to read more generously. i want to go with someone in their thoughts and their argument, try to understand it. find the ways in which their thoughts fit with mine, areas where they overlap, places at which there is a gap between them. and try to adjust my own thinking to incorporate the good of theirs while maintaining the good of mine. it is time for more intellectual charity in my life.


god & i. i have been thinking lately about how i have dealt with the fact that i am not where i think i should be. i think i should be married. with a baby. or maybe even two. of course, that's fairly irrational given that i've never even had a legitimate opportunity to marry (i don't count the time a guy i knew showed up at my house and told me god wanted me to marry him as legitimate). but i still haven't let the irrationality of my expectation prevent me from being angry at god for not giving me what i think i deserve. i have tried not to be angry. because i'm pretty sure getting angry at god doesn't accomplish a whole lot. at least nothing positive. it has certainly worked to undermine my happiness.

a couple of weeks ago i was talking to a friend about this issue. not about my anger. more about the fact that i have essentially reached the conclusion that i will most likely never marry. and i got a little weepy (as i'm prone to do). he looked at me and asked me if my being married is a good thing. the answer seemed so obvious that i looked at him funny and then answered yes. his reply was simple: then pray for it. because we have been told that when we ask god in faith for something which is good, he will give it to us.

i wasn't convinced it was that easy and left the conversation a bit skeptical. but i've been thinking about it. about this idea that if we exercise faith and ask god for good things, he will give them to us. that our faith truly is a tool that we can use to bring about good in the world. and i've thought about how i have responded to this particular problem in my life. i certainly have not responded with faith. i have responded with anger and anguish. and with fear. but not with much faith. and it occurs to me that i have not been charitable to god. i have not loved him and believed in his goodness--not where i am concerned. it is time for a more simple faith. trust that god does love me and will provide for me. a more pure love of god--not for what i think he can do for me (that love transforming to anger when he doesn't deliver), but for his essential goodness and mercy and love.

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.

laugh!
today i have been thinking about god, about prayer. i think prayer is laughter, beautiful and raucous. sharing life with god. acknowledgement of all that is good in the world. an exclamation. and it is the sigh of contentment. the peace of living. sometimes it is wailing lamentation. mourning the uglinesses of humankind--so much uglier because it is capable of utter beauty. once in a while it is anger, lashing out in helplessness. but mostly it is laughing communion, making god your friend.

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.