Postscript

My mom has always been a bit of a devil’s advocate. It came, she claims, from her father who, I think, rather enjoyed the challenge of a good argument. She tells me that it didn’t matter that he may have agreed wholeheartedly with her stance, he would question and test -- suggesting ever different angles and possibilities -- until she either saw a new side to things – one she hadn’t considered might have merit -- or, was able to  leave with a stronger conviction that her view was truly sound.

My mom has kept up this tradition with her kids. I can clearly hear her voice saying, “Nan, what about this . . . ?” or “Well. Maybe. Maybe not. What if . . .”  and while, at times, I may have groaned – just wanting her to blithely agree with me, it has taught me not to feel immediately threatened by differing views; not to worry that they will shake my convictions or weaken my resolves, but to understand that, at times, there might actually be a different angle that makes sense, there might be some good that might come from something that seems all bad; or even, through a bit of testing, helped me discover an even greater devotion to my own way of thinking.

I am certainly not always great at looking at other sides; at trying to appreciate how someone might see things differently. There are some convictions that I hold so dear or that are so much a part of me, that I simply close off when any counter argument arises – finding it difficult to even muster a little understanding of a differing perspective.

There are times when I am likely a bit lazy and simply default to the opinions and views of those I admire and respect (my in-laws and siblings, my parents and Mike) with out necessarily thinking it through for myself.

Also, I admit that my nature is very much a peace-loving one. I shrink from confrontation and conflict, and perhaps too often stick to timidity when boldness might need calling upon.

I do admire my friends and family who aren’t afraid to resolutely slam fists on tables (so to speak) despite any backlash or unfavorable prevailing opinion.

And, for all I said about carefulness and kindness with others feelings, I will freely admit, that there are times when greater things are at stake – particularly when clear wrongs are taking place – when things must be said and done fiercely and quickly.

Still, I hold that, for most instances, the Savior’s injunction that we bless those that curse us, and pray for those who use us; that we love our neighbors as ourselves, stands. Even when they have views and opinions, beliefs or a moral compass vastly different from our own.

I once heard a quote that would sound extra spectacular if I could put it here word for word, along with whatever impressive person said it. Alas, I can’t find the exact source. Still, the concept is good and sound. The gist of it was that, when trying to illuminate others, we should always seek to shed light, not start fires.

That is what I was referring to yesterday. All the slinging of giant balls of fire – which will never gently show anyone anything good or right, but will only cause them to run. I feel certain that we may as well shout our views at a stone wall as expect someone to listen or give respect where none has been afforded to them.

So, enough of that business. It has been on my mind a lot of late though because, while I want my own children to stand firm and unwavering in their right and good beliefs, I also want them to have compassion and understanding; and, in truth, I would rather they be kind than be anything else. Isn’t there a scripture about that? Kindness covering a multitude of sins? Maybe I made it up, but I believe it all the same.

Aren’t We All the Same?

The frenzy associated with the recent elections has, at last, died down. There seems to be a bit more balance restored to the goings on reported on Facebook, a bit more calm, a bit less desperation and hysteria in the opinions that have been boldly and somewhat carelessly thrown about. But the aftermath has left me still a little out of breath. Tilted and dizzy. Unsure of things I thought (hoped) I knew about people. Never before have I experienced such loud and conflicting opinions shouted back and forth (if typed words can be shouted). Perhaps it is because, in no past election, have I been involved in social networks. In no past election have “friends” been able to, with such ease, spout their views at one another with out having to do so face to face.

More than once, over the past several months, I found myself blushing and ashamed over the manner in which someone expressed an opinion that I actually shared. Not because I didn’t agree with the viewpoint, but because I was embarrassed at how insensitively it was put forth -- how carelessly it demeaned anyone who might not agree. Likewise; more than once I found myself intaking my breath sharply, hackles raised, over an opinion, different than my own, voiced loudly and with no room for discussion or exception – no room for anyone who might disagree to be a decent or valid person.



The thing is, I have gone about my life (perhaps naively?) thinking that most of us, at our core were the same. Sure there were bad people. There were petty and mean and even horrifyingly evil people. But the rest of us? Most of us. Didn’t we all love our friends and families more than all else?  Didn’t we all want to be respected and liked and understood? Didn’t we all want to listen to Christmas music while laughing, reminiscing and drinking cocoa with loved ones? Didn’t we all want to stop and help the person with a flat tire (regardless of the political sticker in his rear window)? Didn’t we all like to wave at the crossing guard standing dutifully in the rain, keeping our kids safe on the streets near school; or pull a shopping cart out for the lady struggling with a kid in each arm? Didn’t we all want to tuck our kids safely in bed at night; and be the kind person who helps the kid who can’t find his mom at the grocery store; or let the man with only a gallon of milk cut in front of us in the checkout line? Didn’t we all like to share a laugh, even with a stranger, over something funny just witnessed? Didn’t we all want, in our hearts, to be kind and good and understanding and decent? Wouldn’t we all, given the chance, actually like each other?
(photo credit goes to my awesome sister Amy who captured this moment of me and several of my sisters, nieces and nephew having a laugh following a family wedding)




And, if we did share all those things, didn’t they bind us more than our differing opinions and views, lifestyles and choices separated us? That might have been something I would have typed nicely as a rhetorical question before, but not now. Now I am really asking it. Of you. Of me. Do those things matter more? Do we even share those things after all?




Like a child hesitantly asking their parent if Santa exists (or, in my case, unicorns), I am afraid that I might not want the answer. Maybe we aren’t all equally good – or at least wanting to be. Maybe we don’t share those same basic things. Or maybe we do, but they aren’t enough.


We do all have beliefs – things that shape our very selves and our very ways of living – that we must stand for; that we can’t just set quietly aside if we are to be true to ourselves or if we are to ever change the world for the better. And maybe my Utopian-like ideal – where people matter more than ideas and opinions -- can’t exist because not all ideas, beliefs and opinions are decent. Maybe they aren’t all ones that we can, if not respect, then at least understand. Maybe some are just simply too wrong, too bad, too ridiculous or illogical. . . . And when we are sure our views are the right ones (which they very well may be)? Well, what then? Do people, do our relationships with them; how we treat them; how we make them feel still matter more? Can they still matter more?


It discourages me because while I do want to be able to share my opinions, to talk about my belief system; while I do want to better learn how to listen to others who feel and believe differently -- with my defenses kept tightly down; what I want, most of all, is to be living in a world where people -- individuals -- matter most. What I want is to have all those similarities between us matter more than our differences. What I want, in my perhaps unaffected way, is for love to be at the top of everyone’s pyramid of beliefs and the Golden Rule to be the thing that governs us. All of us.


It is a difficult thing to work out for a girl who wanted unicorns to be real. A girl who is perhaps dreaming up some impossible world full of good people who, while making different life choices, are all trying to be thoughtful and kind, but there it is: my question. And here I wait, hoping for my own “Dear Virginia” letter telling me that Santa, unicorns, and people who care more about each other than about being right still exist.

Don’t Judge People . . . Well, Maybe Judge Them for Some Things, but not for Other Things . . . Like Coming Late to Church Things.

We should never judge one another. No. Never. Because, take little things. Like, oh, say . . . I don’t know . . . just off the top of my head: someone coming in very late to sacrament meeting. Or, maybe not just one someone. Maybe even . . . like . . . SEVEN someones. And let’s say they are trying to sneak in all quietly with downcast eyes, but they are having to step over and past other seated-on-time people’s knees, and five of the seven are actually rather small and rather irreverent and probably not having properly downcast eyes at all.

See. You want to judge them. You want to say, “Come on! Church doesn’t start ‘til 11:00! Get here on time.” I mean, I want to judge them because that would certainly never be me. But, I don’t because who knows really? I mean any number of things can happen, if you think about it, between one walking out their front door (with church only a half block away and ten minutes to spare) and one actually arriving at said church. Yes, any number of things.

For example, they could be heading off happily – pleased at their perfectly curled girls’ hair, and their overall promptness. And then, who knows? Maybe their two year old might see a wasp of some sort, and he might think to himself, “I ought to catch that wasp post haste!” and he might catch it, and then the mother – who was poised and pleased as could be – might turn and see her two year old shaking his little hand and sobbing and she might, through instinct or experience (one can never be certain with mothers) say, “Oh no! Did you get stung?? Did you pick up a bee??” And as she runs to him, she might notice an angry and disgruntled little wasp crawling away. And she might know, “Yes, you did pick up a bee . . . or something very like it.” And she might scoop her son up and think about how he is always swelling up and having allergic reactions to everything. So, she might decide she ought to give him some Benadryl and probably ought to find his epipen to bring along just in case, and she might be about to run in to get those things when a neighbor might drive by (in a perfectly timely on-time-to-church fashion) and that neighbor might stop and say, “Umm . . . I think you have a chicken on my front porch.” And the mom holding the crying toddler might say something like, “Oh . . . is it grey and kind of little . . .” as if, perhaps the neighbor is mistaken. As if it might possibly be someone else’s chicken (in a neighborhood where chickens do not live and are, quite probably, not allowed).

So, then the mom of this little group might run in and tell her husband (who is still tying his tie – which seems odd as they were all out on the front porch, with ten minutes to spare, ten minutes ago) that a chicken is loose and might possibly be leaving unmentionable things on a very well swept, well kept neighbor’s porch. And then she might shout for another daughter to find a little cloth to wrap around the stung brother’s hand (as some sort of placebo comfort mechanism), and that daughter might open the closet in the bathroom and purse her lips and think and think about which little cloth would be best as the mother is reaching rather frantically for it. Then, the mom might go to the medicine cabinet and stare and stare – trying to find the Benadryl, but not finding it – even though it is directly in front of her (because maybe she is a little frazzled and slightly less poised by this point). But eventually she might find it and give it to her sad little son as she continues to remind him about not picking up bees because that is just what they do.

Then, the mom might go back outside – only not really thinking that now they will all get to church, but thinking, “I wonder if they’ve caught that chicken yet.”

And she might look down the street and see her husband and several of her children trying to slowly hem in the chicken – only to have it pass them. She might then watch them all leap and dive and miss (time and again). And she might think about how these neighbors had workers there sprucing up their yard “just so” for several hours the day prior to this one, and she might wonder a little about the chasing of the chicken through flower beds and the like. And she might think it is a little embarrassing that her family is chasing a chicken across this yard in their Sunday best instead of sitting reverently in church in their Sunday best. But then she might remember that her neighbors can’t see because her neighbors are all at church already (or, possibly in a drunken slumber – as all neighbors who aren’t at church would certainly be).

And, in the end, she might find herself actually enjoying the sight and chuckling to herself as her husband instructs his young helpers to “make a tight circle” and “walk slowly” and, in the end, when a brave leap allows the husband to catch the squawking chicken (pretty much by its tail feathers), she might be laughing out loud.

Only, then she will see that it is about ten minutes past the hour, and the girls’ hair and dresses might not look quite so proper anymore, and the older son might be happily brushing dirt off of the knees of his pants. Still, the sight might have at least calmed the wasp-stung smallest boy. And, in the end, they might all make their way to church and walk in at the very back – only to have the very back full. So, they might make their way sheepishly up a few rows and have to climb over several people to find a place to sit, and the boy (who nobody in the congregation knows was just stung by a wasp) might start to cry loudly about needing his little cloth wrapped around his hand (even though nobody recalls which hand anymore – not even the boy).

And that is why we shouldn’t judge people at all. Mostly at all if they are late to church (or don’t go to church – because some judgmental people might say something like, “oh, they are probably all drunken and asleep anyway”). Because true, most likely that is not a scenario that would occur (heaven knows how I came up with it), but it could possibly occur, or something kind of like it, and I just thought it would be a good and important thing for us all to think about . . . 

A Little More of the Same

Thanks for all of your nice comments on my post the other day. We were really fine
(other than my pride, of course), but after reading some of your nice comments I got wondering, "Would I have really stopped?"It seemed to me initially that certainly I would have. I've had times just out running when a big rain storm has started and multiple people have stopped to ask if I needed a ride, and this situation seemed worse -- babies and snow being involved, but it was a skinny road what with the big snow banks on either side, and there really was a line of cars dropping kids off that anyone who did stop would have had to interrupt. I'm sure people could see that I was getting up quickly and not just stuck there. Maybe I would have justified not stopping by the inconvenience to everyone and the fact that the mother and kids were probably fine.

I was talking on the phone with my friend Kelly today, and then had an email from my sister-in-law Rhonda about the same thing. They both mentioned how you just need to decide to always stop and help. Often it may seem inconvenient and by the time you think it through it seems like the right time has passed (like when you see someone with a flat tire on the freeway and you are fairly far past by the time you really have had time to think about stopping). The problem that both of them brought up is that you never know if the person wants help or if it might actually embarrass them. The solution, both said, was to simply do it. Awkwardness or uncertainty be danged.

It brought to mind a time when I was in the grocery store and saw an elderly man squinting as he searched along an isle for something. It occurred to me that I ought to offer to help him as he was clearly having a difficult time seeing the labels. Then I started thinking how it might make him feel dumb. I almost walked on. Luckily I stopped and asked if I could help him. He wanted sauerkraut -- something I have NEVER purchased or even seen at the grocery store. I said a tiny little prayer in my head and looked. The first thing I saw on the loaded shelves? The lone bottle of sauerkraut. How silly that I almost didn't do that one nice little thing for fear of it being embarrassing.

Anyway, thanks to my dumb little fall, the nice comments from all of you, and the wise words from Kelly and Rhonda, I have recommitted myself to just stopping, just asking, and just helping. I've had plenty of times in my life when people have done that for me -- brought me a cart as I unload all my kids out of a car to go in a grocery store, offered to carry something when my arms were full, etc. Sometimes it is those very tiniest little things that truly make my day and make me feel so happy about our world, and I need to do them far more often!

Of Pumpkins and Patches

I was thinking the other day (as it is Halloween time and these things are about) that I am really fond of the word "pumpkin" -- particularly when it is paired with "patch." There is just not much that sounds nicer than "pumpkin patch," and that is why, with these thoughts in mind, I was extra shocked and upset to see this headline (along with this picture) in the news this morning: Farmers offering reward after pumpkin patch is vandalized.

Really, things like that make me so sad with our world. Especially because I can imagine it might not have been anyone super evil, possibly just some goofy teens thinking it was funny -- taking the old pumpkin smashing (where you take pumpkins off of porches and smash them on the road) to an extreme level . . . maybe not fully realizing that they were actually destroying some poor farmers entire little Halloween season income. It made me sad and mad. And, I don't think it was just that it involved a pumpkin patch (which is such a pleasant thing) because I would have been just as upset had it been a watermelon field . . . of course I love watermelons too, so let me think honestly . . . a cabbage field? Yes, just as upsetting. Just needless and thoughtless ruin.

Well, with that big to do over the pumpkin patch, let us move on with the topic of liking words. I imagine there are lots of words I love but don't consciously realize (like pumpkin patch). I also like the word "riddled" -- sadly that always seems to go with "riddled with bullets" which, naturally, I don't like so much, but I liked the sound of it just fine when I told Mike that something I wrote was "riddled with mistakes" the other day. What are some more words to love? If I gather enough maybe I can compose an entire post about patches riddled with pumpkins and a bunch of other things that will make the entire post just sound so pleasing even though it won't actually talk about anything particularly great. (I also seem to use the word "particularly" a lot. Do I like that word? Hmmm . . .).

Jealousy is yuck

As you may have noticed, I mostly just like writing little bits of nonsense, but a few nights ago I felt like writing about this instead, and since my sister said she can blog about whatever she wants, so can I!

What is the deal with jealousy? I really don’t think of myself as a jealous type of person. In fact, the very type of person it conjures up in my head makes me shudder. It makes me think, “yuck.” It’s just such an unappealing trait and makes the person who is carrying it seem like much less than they are – in their own eyes as well as the eyes of any who know of their jealous feelings. In fact, if I ever feel it, I would be utterly ashamed for anyone to know it. BUT, I occasionally do. Well, I don’t know if jealousy is the right word exactly. I think the word that describes how I occasionally feel is competitive. It is rare, really, and there seems to be no real rhyme or reason as to who is the cause of those feelings, though I’m sure there is generally some explanation somewhere I just can’t uncover. It is a competitive like I must appear to be better or have everything better than another individual. WHY?? I recognize it so clearly only because it really is rare and when those feelings pop up in me, I feel . . . like I said, like, “yuck, what is this!? This is not the cool person I want to be.” (I have to keep stressing how “rare” because the very fact I am writing about it makes me worry I will appear to be someone with major issues).

I think I generally am not prone to those feelings because I do realize, I think fairly well – though I’m sure never well enough – how hugely blessed my life is. I am pretty sure that gratitude is the antidote to jealousy, and here is the thing; I know the other feeling, the true charity good feeling, the feeling we are supposed to have about success and good things happening to our brothers and sisters. Take for example my friend Marzee (yes, that’s you Marzee). I am the Mia-Maid councilor and she is the advisor (basically the one who does all the teaching). Besides being naturally beautiful and as thin as you could ever wish, she has all of these amazing talents that I can not even begin to think of being good at. She is always the one asked to sing for anything, she can just get up and lead the girls all perfectly, she can dance and just come up with some whole routine for the girls to work on in a matter of minutes, she is also spiritual and very clever and funny (you’ll see that if you ever read her comments), but I don’t feel jealous of her. I feel amazed and just like, “how on earth can someone be soo so good at something I can barely pretend to do??” but it’s like I am able to just feel like I can see God’s hand in the gifts in someone else’s life and I can see how it enriches and beautifies other lives around it including my own. See, that feeling. That is how we are supposed to feel. It makes me happy when I feel that way, not like I am less because someone else is great. My sister and I were talking once about our children and how it would only bring us joy and happiness to see them smarter, kinder, more talented and more attractive than we’d ever dreamed of being. The thought of them being amazing makes me filled with happiness. That is such a good feeling. It’s how we should feel about everyone I guess. Feeling joy and happiness because of someone else’s talents, gifts, and blessings seriously is the best, happiest feeling. I can’t explain it, but knowing that feeling, it really has made me finally understand the scripture in Moroni where it tells us to, “. . . pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love . . .” I hate ever having the other feeling.

Sometimes I think of life like a mission (you know, the 2 year mission), some people go to poor countries and live in filth while others go to rich countries and drive cars and have nice apartments, but no one has ever seemed to care about that aspect of things. It influenced the type of experience they had, but they never seem to wish it was different, certainly never feel jealous. They all love their experience because they all know it was about something much more important than the superficial things. I’m sure that’s how we’ll see life down here once it’s through. I think it’s interesting, that my first “favorite” scripture was Moroni 7:45. I’ve since had many other favorites and while this is a great scripture, I haven’t considered it a favorite really for years, but when I first read the Book of Mormon, it was my first real “favorite” and I remembered that it had been just the other day. It is the one that describes all the traits of charity. I’m getting tired of typing now, but you know – envieth not, beareth all things, not puffed up, etc. Anyway I really know and believe that it is so important to be grateful for what we have, really grateful and not to slip into the trap of thinking that if someone else has something good or does something good, it diminishes what we have or do, and I’m glad I wrote this because I have such a hunger to feel that happiness for others joys now and such a desire to banish any of those competitive feelings (I will still allow myself to always have particular people I want to beat in races however.)

It's a bloggy blog world

1 – I’m not super fond of the word “blog.” I don’t know why, I just feel a little dumb saying it. I still do say it though, so I’m not too good for the word. My smarty-pants sister tells me it comes from “web log”.

2 – I like the word “post”. I think it is because every time I hear it I think of the slightly bizarre movie “Cold Comfort Farm.” The main girl was often referred to only as, “Robert Post’s child.” Sometimes I tell my sisters to go check out my new Robert Post’s child when I’ve added a new post.

3 – I used to wonder what the deal was with the strange curvy letters you have to type in if you want to leave a comment at the end of a post. I knew it was some type of protection and so wondered, “can ‘bad’ people not read these tricky letters?” My sister thought perhaps it was some form of discrimination against the visually impaired and any comments they might like to leave. Once again smarty-pants sister (that’s Perla for any of you who have noticed her here) tells me it is to avoid spam – as an actual person needs to type it in. Ah-hah!

4 – A good way to have the last word in any conversation (especially if your husband is treading on thin ice with some smart-alecy remarks) is to say, “HA! I’m going to blog about that!!” -- Even if you must say the word “blog.” It always makes me laugh like, "just wait, I'll show you!"

5 – People seem to feel silly leaving comments if you didn’t specifically invite them to your blog, but that is only because they don’t realize a comment (especially unexpected) is like a little treat left on your door-step, and you like that they have been sneakily reading your blog.

6 – Everyone I know who started up a blog (or “jib” as my sister calls it) after first seeing mine, made their own ten times cooler looking. What gives?

If there is anything else you've thought of when it comes to blogging, feel free to tell me in a comment.