A Good Defense

I've been thinking about "Defense" today. I started the morning off with reading a news article about Curt Shilling, a famous baseball player who, when his daughter was being sexually harassed online, stood up for her - (by writing a blog post) - shaming those who were blatantly disgusting in their harassment, and encouraging anyone who knew those people - he named names - to give them a piece of their mind.

Aside from reminding me of a post I wrote on #YesAllWomen awhile back, on how it is up to men to change the harassment of women, this article touched me because of this father's profound sense of responsibility to defend his daughter, at any cost.

It got me thinking about defense. When have I been defended? When have I NOT? What happened after that? Who are we responsible to defend? How can we defend? In what circumstances? A lot of questions, needless to say.

In thinking about it, I realized that, throughout my life, there have been different sources of "defense."

Obviously, as a child, my parents defended me. In middle school, I was being bullied on the bus. It was because I had short hair. Some dude, who thought he was terribly clever, funny, and was getting a real power trip out of it, thought it was hilarious to loudly and rudely proclaim me a lesbian. If someone sat next to me, he made comments, came to loud conclusions, etc. He was loud, obnoxious, and rude. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I don't sit back and tolerate things well. I told him just what I thought of him, how wrong he was, and how "mature" bullying made him look, but, because he was a bully, my defending myself did nothing for me.

After a few months of this bullying, I finally told my mom. THE NEXT DAY, she took time off work to drive me to school, let me go to class on my own, walked into the principal's office, and THREATENED TO KILL HER. "My daughter is being bullied on the bus," she had explained. "And, as the principal, if you don't do anything about this, I will kill you." I want you to imagine being backed into a corner by this short, fierce, Australian woman, who is threatening to kill you. Honestly, I'm not sure how my mother intended to follow through on that threat, as she is a very honest, religious person, but the threat was made, and I know my mom would have followed through if she had to!

And it worked. The principal had the fear of God put into her, the boy, somehow, I still don't know,punished, and never spoke to me on the bus again, and, for the last year of my middle school experience, the principal knew me by name, was always smiling at me, and was overly dramatic about knowing how she could help me in any way she could. I think she sincerely believed my mother would kill her.

I didn't always have the luxury of family close by, to help defend me with all my minor struggles. So I had the opportunity to try and learn how to know and respect myself, as well as defend myself, appropriately - whether that was telling the teacher that, no, my answer to the test question was TOTALLY right, and I'd write a 5-page essay to prove it, all the way to using weaponry against entitled, grabby beggars I had the misfortune of dating. (My weapon of choice was a chess set to the groin. It worked quite well, thank you.) Now, it's organizing against our apartment management when they charge us fees for services they don't provide, etc. (We totally just won that whole petition/certified letter/talk to a lawyer at BYU thing, just a few days ago! I'm still stoked!) I learned to defend myself.

Unfortunately, you CAN'T always defend yourself. I've been in situations where I've felt completely and utterly swamped, incapable of doing anything, or saying anything that would stop a harmful occurrence from taking place, that hurt me, or affected me in a real way. I couldn't stop it, and maybe mom wasn't there, right then, to make everything better. Family, those close relationships, or even your own strength of will IS NOT ALWAYS ENOUGH to defend you. You are "defense-less."

People need defending every single day. Just look at the news! How many cases have you heard of, where some kid was abused by his parents, some baby was abandoned in a garbage can, or on the side of the road? How many kids live in houses where they have to walk through animal feces, to move in between rooms? How many kids go hungry because mom is too stoned to go out and buy them food? How many of mom's boyfriends are shaking their babies, throwing puppies off balconies? How many kids?

Let's leave kids and move on, to older. The rate of teenage suicides/attempts/suicidality is disgusting. It's increasing. In the crisis office at the hospital, there is a constant undercurrent of, "Not another one." "Not a teenager." "He's ELEVEN??" "This is ridiculous!" How many cases of suicide have been in the news, lately, because some kid was bullied? So many! So many kids feel alone. And how many of teens are being taken advantage of, because they think it's socially required to send nude selfies? How many of them sit alone at school, eat alone? How many have no friends, and no support from their parents? Some HAVE support from their parents, but still fall into trouble, to the point that their parents despair, "I'm taking him, and I'm running away with him to northern Canada, and keeping him in a box, where this doesn't happen, anymore!" (That's a quote.) And who helps this mom?

How many adults are defenseless? How many adults look at the world, and can't find their place in it? How many can't afford insurances, or healthcare, who live out of their cars because they're uneducated, and their minimum wage job and mental illness prevent them from keeping an apartment? How many elderly women fall down in their homes, can't get up, and aren't missed, so they aren't discovered for days, until they've starved to death and died, very much alone and in pain? (Okay, let's be honest, this DOES happen, but probably not as much as I think it does, as personally, that's my number one fear on how I'm going to go.) But how many are abused in nursing homes, or at least forgotten?

Defense. Where are the cheerleaders when you need them?

Who plays defense? Honestly, it should be all of us. If you see something wrong, you do something about it. Is it uncomfortable to play defense? Sometimes. Is it, necessarily, what you want to do at that moment? Probably not. It's terribly inconvenient to have to "do something." Do it anyway.

Am I saying you can solve all the world's problems? Heal all the broken hearts? Feed all the homeless? Absolutely not. That's crazy-making. But you can definitely do something within your immediate range of influence. You can be the defense. You can protect someone. You can help someone in desperate need. (This isn't meant to be political, but sometimes it's as easy as, "You can VOTE!")

Maybe the defense someone needs is for you to speak up, advocate for them, tell someone off, offer a shoulder to cry on. Maybe the defense is organizing committees, groups, or just pointing someone in the right direction. I don't know! But I don't think you can err, too seriously, on the side of doing "too much." (Don't neglect your family or your own mental health. Enough said.) Help people. Do something. Defend them with passion.

There are amazing examples of defenders among us, that we can learn from. Curt Schilling, Mother Theresa! (It's always Mother Theresa.) Nelson Mandela, Emma Watson, Jackson Katz, Rebecca Hosking! Honestly, the list is as long as it is diverse, and for all different kinds of reasons! (Defending their family, the poor, the needy, the abused, the ANIMALS.)

But there is one defender who tops the list, who proclaimed Himself to be even, "a father to the fatherless," "a defense," "a shelter." Christ. He loves us. He has defended us, and He will defend us always, when we are right, and when we need Him. If you follow His example of defending others, you will never go wrong. In defense, Christ was brave, loving, and willing to sacrifice everything. Literally, everything.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland gave a talk, once, at BYU. One simple story that he tells has alwaysgiven me the strength to press on, even when defending people feels like it is too much, or too costly, or too tiring.

"An old Arabic legend," he says, "tells of a rider finding a spindly sparrow lying on its back in the middle of the road. He dismounted and asked the sparrow why his feet were in the air.
Replied the sparrow, "I heard the heavens were going to fall today."
"And I suppose you think your puny bird legs can hold up the whole universe?" laughed the horseman.
"Perhaps not," said the sparrow with conviction, "but one does whatever one can.""

I think in our loud, and evil world, what we need more of is defenders - people willing to take stands, risk personal discomfort, and do what is best in the name of others. We have enough excusers - people who take the easy way out by saying, "Well, it's not THAT bad." or "It really won't make a difference in the long run."

We need defenders. We need people who address the issues. We need people to stand up for the innocent, and the people who are looking for help, comfort, support, and assistance.

I'm starting to look forward with optimism for the future. You can always find the bad in the world, but the lines are being drawn in the sand. "Good" and "evil" are becoming clearer, more easy to discern. And so it is in times like this, in times of certainty in moral grounds, that we CAN take stands of defense, and should. STRONG defense. With so much wrong, we need so much more good to oppose it. And even if you feel that all you have are some puny legs, those puny legs are just what we need to keep the sky from falling.

Lies My Depression Told Me

I've been debating on if I want to write this blog, or not, for the past couple of months, in truth. In one way, I think it will be helpful. I think it will validate others who may have similar feelings or experiences, or even questions. The downside, I've worried, is that people will feel this is some self-serving stunt, on my part, to get attention and gain sympathies. Fortunately or unfortunately, you pick, I decided that I feel passionately enough about it to not care what people think. I've found that my blogs, in the most unlikely of places, have a track record of helping people. I hope that this one, too, might help somebody.

Depression. I have it. So do a lot of people. It's actually pretty common.

(Hyperbole and a Half really describes it best. See picture.)

I've had Depression since high school, by my reckoning. I was easily upset, then. The littlest things would trigger me into a downward spiral of anger, bitterness, and loneliness. It could have nothing to do with my life, and have no affect on me at all, and it would depress the crap out of me. I felt completely unloved, much of the time. I felt quite alone, hated, and quite useless. College was a little better, the mission a little harder, and I still struggle with it today.

Throughout my life I've been told by friends, strangers, clergy, myself, that because I have Depression, I am:

• Selfish
• Weak
• Not keeping the commandments
• Not praying enough
• Just being dramatic
• Don't have faith
• Making excuses

Et cetera, et cetera. The first time I was prescribed an anti-depressant I cried in front of the doctor. I was so horrified, so embarrassed by the tears streaming down my face, and how quickly they had come. I had just told the man I was Depressed, and was instantly overcome with self-loathing and shame. He was more than happy to write the anti-depressant prescription. But because of my shame, I took one pill and stopped. 

I told myself it was my fault. I told myself it was because I was unmanageable. I was being dramatic, and if I'd just pray to God, more, I wouldn't feel this way. As a social work major, it was easy for me to say that Depression was a chemical imbalance, and has a biological root. It was easy to say, but for me, no, I was different. My Depression was a sign of my weak and flawed character. So if I could only do more, only be better, only be less selfish, I would be fine. God's grace was there to help my weaknesses, right? I only had to believe, and the Depression would go away. 

On the mission, I drove myself nuts. I was Depressed because I wasn't putting my full effort into the work. Every time I didn't have the enthusiasm to do a good, hard 30-minute workout in the morning, the natural result HAD to be Depression. I knew it. I had failed Him. I wasn't doing everything I could do. I snapped at my companion - I was going to Hell. I disliked a zone leader - surely I shouldn't be happy. How could such a hateful, horrible person ever deserve anything better? We didn't make our goals. I overslept on my lunchtime nap. I broke down in tears, sobbing hysterically, one morning, and I didn't know why - surely I didn't have the faith the Savior required of one of His servants. 

I got on an anti-depressant on the mission. It cost my family $90 a month. I couldn't do that to them. Not when it was just an issue of my faith. After a couple months on the anti-depressant, I quit it, again, and, in learned helplessness fashion, resigned myself to the work. Get up even when you don't feel like it. Put on your shoes. Kick your butt out the door and just do it. Exact obedience would show evidence of my faith, and my Depression would be healed, would it not? I couldn't make anyone else pay for weaknesses. $90 a month? I could just grow the faith I needed, for $90 a month, and cure myself that way. But we stayed too long at dinner appointments, regularly going over one hour. Each time, I beat myself up over it. Obviously I wasn't obedient enough. I was failing God.

I got back home from my mission two years ago, but even now, sometimes I still tell myself lies about my Depression - I didn't cook dinner like I said I was going to - I have a complete inability to care for and love my husband, by not cooking like I said I was going to. Why does he even love me? I'm just his trial. I am a trial. I am disobedient, because I didn't pray this morning - why should God love me, or bless me? I made someone upset - I deserve all the hate I receive, and it only makes sense that I am ignored, and have no one to talk to. Ultimately, all of my friends will leave me. This is inevitable. It has already begun. "What proof do you have otherwise?" I've debated anti-depressants again, off and on for the last two years. I've started and quit them repeatedly. (I'm a social worker. I know how bad that is, so don't tell me.) Eventually being on an anti-depressant just started causing me severe anxiety and panic attacks - so not worth it. 

I'm at a really good place right now, though, without anti-depressants - which is no easy task, and not something I'd necessarily recommend for everyone. I've worked hard to be where I am now. Not in the "work hard" way I thought I could do it, on my mission, though. No amount of "hard work" could help my Depression. Beating myself up like that only ever made it worse. But how do I do it? How am I doing better, now? Now, I've done it with sympathy and love for myself. 

Some days you don't cook. Screw it. Who cares? Some days you just feel like crying. Well you should do it, then! Don't judge yourself for it. So it's irrational and crazy to cry for no reason? That's okay. Accept yourself for who you are, and just cry it out. You are struggling, but you are an amazing person. You are strong, you are loving. You work hard, you care about doing what's right. Your heart is in such a good place, and you don't deserve a single minute of sitting around judging and hating yourself for who you are. You've done enough of that already. Love yourself. 

Depression. I have it. It kicks my butt, sometimes. 

BUT... (And that's a really big but) - It doesn't have to. 

My Depression has only as much power as I give it. The more I shirk away from being honest with myself and my emotions, the worse it gets. But when I can sit down, look at my heart and label the emotion - "Today I feel like I should maybe rot in Hell, I'm so worthless." - then I can do something about it. I can love myself as God loves me. All those lies I told myself, for years, were not God's words. God has done nothing but love me. And I need to learn to love myself too. It doesn't help to blame myself or hate myself for how I feel, just as it doesn't help to blame anyone else either. 

As I say in the "Relaxation Activity" for one of the groups I run, "Notice any areas of discomfort or pain you may feel. Be aware of that discomfort - it is neither good nor bad. Just be aware of it, and move on." (It's a group for people with chronic conditions. That's why we talk about pain.) 

The World Health Organization has a fantastic video on YouTube. Since discovering it, I've found that it helps me, in forming a mental picture. Black Dog - (Not the Led Zeppelin Song, though that's an awesome ringtone.)

"I have a black dog," it starts. "and his name is Depression." Everyone has their own black dog, it continues. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some sneak up on you, while some just sit on your chest and stare you in the face. Some are trained to your command, and some are far from it. 

Become aware of your "black dogs." Train them, tame them, teach them to heel. ("Heal." That's clever wording. See what they did there?) 

There's nothing you could do so wrong that would make you "deserve" Depression. Is it normal to be sad sometimes? Absolutely. Are you weak for it? Are you selfish? Is it just a sign that you're not praying enough? Not at all. Do not beat yourself up needlessly. 

God loves you. So often, with Depression, I think the secret lies in loving yourself. It's hard! A therapist and I discussed, once, how to teach someone that they are loved. I don't think you can. No amount of saying, "I love you." is going to make someone believe it. It never worked for me. The only way you can teach someone who feels that they are unlovable that they ARE lovable is by loving them. They have to learn through experience that they are loved. 

And if you have Depression, you can start with yourself. Instead of hating yourself, putting yourself down, or judging yourself, give yourself a hug. Love yourself. Imagine yourself back at a time when you felt you WERE worthy of love. Maybe that's when you were a child. I don't know. Imagine yourself as that child, and imagine putting that child down with all the negativity you are putting yourself down with right now, and stop it. You don't deserve it. You never have, and you never will deserve that kind of loathing. No one is perfect. You make mistakes. Should I hate you for them? No. Even if you killed my child, (on accident), I shouldn't hate you. Forgiveness is SO real, and it starts with yourself. 

So that was a lot of Depression STUFF. I guess, in summary, Depression is real. But it should never be something you destroy yourself with, as so many who suffer with it are prone to do. Don't believe the lies it tells you about yourself, or even the lies that misguided, well-intentioned others tell you about what Depression is. You're not weak. You're not being selfish. Trust me, it doesn't reflect on the level of your faith. But having faith in God, and loving yourself like God loves you, with all of your imperfections, IS the best help there is. 

Why I Still Call Him "Boyfriend"

There's a weekly occurrence in the Lisch home, that never seems to get old. It goes something like this:

Me: "Yo, Boyfriend!"
Him: "I'm not yo boyfriend."
Me: "You my boyfriend!"
Him: "I'm NOT yo BOYFRIEND. I'm yo HUSBAND."
Me: "Yeah. So boyfriend! I want ice cream."

That last sentence isn't the weekly occurrence I'm talking about... usually... but the rest of that conversation is a basic summary of the usual. I insist on calling him "boyfriend," and he insists that he's NOT my boyfriend.

Often this is accompanied by Nathan telling me that it's "better" to have a husband than a boyfriend, to which I insist, that no, having a boyfriend is better.

I've attempted to explain this to him several times. And because today, as I was heading out the door to go to my graveyard shift, complaining about what I would do for the next 8 hours, my husband was really sweet and said, "You always write good blog posts, on graveyard..." I decided to write on this.

"Boyfriend" > Husband > boyfriend.

This is complicated math. But it's really quite simple. See, "Boyfriend" and boyfriend are not the same.

A boyfriend is someone temporary in your life. It's someone who you decided you'd date for awhile, get to know better, and is someone that makes you happy. They turn your stomach in giggle-fits, they make you blush with each hand-hold, and cause you to have nonsensical hour-long conversations with your girlfriends. Also, a boyfriend pays for all of your dates, your food, etc. Thank you boyfriends.

But boyfriends only last for so long, you see. Boyfriends graduate on to being either an "ex," or a "husband." This is the way of the world. In our society, often some believe boyfriends can graduate on to being "significant others," but really, that's just a fancy way of saying someone who doesn't want to commit to being your husband, but isn't ready to be your "ex" yet. And they don't want to pay for all the dates anymore, like boyfriends are supposed to. So they become your "significant other."

So, with my current "Boyfriend," we then came to the category of "husband." Husbands are a fun thing to have. Unlike boyfriends, though, having a "husband" is a legal thing. I had to pay money to have a husband. I had to go to the Social Security building and legally change my name, I had to go to work, and have THEM change my name, and go through the painstaking process of changing my name on ALL THE THINGS. And then they sold me a license to marry him, like a fishing license, and he became my husband.

Husbands are fun, don't get me wrong! Once you have a husband, you get to live in the same house as them, and budget your money together, and file taxes together. Husbands are really handy, because socially, there are things they're supposed to do for you, like fix your car, and open jars. (My "Boyfriend" did these things when he was still just my boyfriend anyway, but when they're a husband, they're supposed to.) When you have a husband, you have what it takes to be called a family! (We still only have each other, a beta fish, and a potted plant that we're trying to keep alive, but we're still a family!) When you have a husband, you have pictures taken of you and your husband, just to remind you that legally, you now have a husband. It's a very serious matter.

But now for the important part. Because remember, "Boyfriend" > Husband.

Someday, and only sometimes, your husband graduates from husband back to "boyfriend."

Unlike being the original boyfriend, this boyfriend isn't temporary - because he's also a husband. But just like the original boyfriend, this boyfriend is someone you are ACTIVELY deciding to be with, and getting to know better, because he is someone that makes you happy. They turn your stomach in giggle-fits, they make you blush with each hand-hold, and cause you to post nonsensical pictures of them, or information about them on social media or in giddy-filled texts to your friends, on a regular basis. Because they're your boyfriend.

This relationship is an active choice, and a happy one, at that. (Not like the active choice of going to work, Monday through Friday, or working graveyard shifts on the weekend, which is kind of like a chore, sometimes, too.) This relationship is something you are super excited to be a part of. It doesn't mean he's super-human - (he still needs to be reminded to pick up his shoes) - but it DOES mean that he's super-human to ME.

My boyfriend takes me out for ice cream when I just can't stand it anymore - and tells me that I'm prettier than the models I'm often jealous of. (My boyfriend is a little blind, even though he claims he has 20/20 vision. I'm happy to accept this disability.) My boyfriend always asks the question, "What can I do?" About everything!

My boyfriend is my complete opposite, which is just what I need! My boyfriend is ALWAYS willing to listen, and stands up for me when I'm feeling doubtful or am second-guessing the things that are important to me. My boyfriend is also willing to say, "Maybe look at it this way, instead." My boyfriend encourages me to be my best self every day, and is always pushing me to be better, with his humble, considerate attitude.

My boyfriend is ambitious, and has strong hopes, dreams, and goals for himself. He also has a crazy collection of ties. My boyfriend waits to start the dishwasher until I'm getting home from work, so I can hear it running when I come in the door - which reminds me that my boyfriend is continually trying to woo me, and impress me. (Because let's be honest, sometimes I don't notice if he did the dishes or not! And he wants me to know, in a "I did the dishes," flirtatious kind of way.)

When I first started dating my boyfriend, and he was just my boyfriend, people asked me what I liked about him. I usually said things like, "He's cute." "He does a great Gollum impersonation." "He can lift heavy objects." Things like that. And those things are still true, plus I continue to discover more and more things about him, which only add to that original "amazing qualities about my boyfriend" list.

Legally, he's my husband. But seriously? He's still my boyfriend! I choose to be with him, every single day, because he still makes me happy, still makes me blush, and still makes me feel like I'm the luckiest girl alive, for what I have today. Husbands are great, and I'd recommend getting one to anyone - (Like getting a massage. You've got to try it!) - but boyfriends are better. Legally, your husband is your husband. But boyfriends? They're a choice.

We the People

So I live in the United States of America, and have lived there for most of my life. Like your average American child, I went through an education system which educated us on US History. There are a few things I specifically recall about my elementary education years, and the history lessons I received. 

Surprisingly, the first thing I recall is that Eastern Canada had a lot of French traders, who were trading in furs. I probably remember this first, because of all the raccoon roadkill I saw on my mission there, so obviously I'm biased. I remember driving down Canadian highways thinking to myself how EASY it would be, as a trader, to get rich in raccoon furs nowadays. All you would need is a shovel and a highway...

I guess the first (US) American bit of history I think of is the Emancipation Proclamation. I wrote a paper on it, and had a lot of help from my dad - a history buff. My dad let me know that the Emancipation Proclamation wasn't all about good feelings towards slaves, but was also a political move on Lincoln's part, as well. It was a move to weaken the South, who depended on slave labor. I'm sure there was more to it, as well, but that was one thing he mentioned.

Another? The Revolution. Obvious choice. Tea parties, redcoats, and all the things that made the United States what it is today. It was their first stand against oppression. Taxation without representation. I have to say, the heroes of the time period were inspiring. 

So George Washington might not have done that whole "Prayer at Valley Forge" thing, but he was a religious man. Most of them were. They were people of tremendous faith, with strong beliefs, who did their best to form a government that would protect them, and preserve their country. What they did was nothing short of a miracle, and as an American, I can say, I appreciate what they did for us. I have studied their lives, the words they wrote, and the stands they took. They were inspired men, full of great love for their families and their God. These are the men who penned the words, "In God we Trust." To add, I think it's worth noting, I don't believe these were bloodthirsty men. I think the actions they took, they sincerely believed were good, just, and necessary for their lives, safety, and well-being. 

So this is not just a patriotic blog post. (Of course. I'm always trying to bring up social problems, as I see them.)

My husband and I have lived at our apartment in Provo ever since we got married. One of the first things I noticed, moving in, was our downstairs neighbor had interesting... taste...

That's right. That's "We the People" from the Constitution, with an awesome gun underneath it, plastered across the back of their truck window. But I'm not sure that the two stickers go well together. (Other than the obvious 2nd Amendment and the NRA, of course.) (Right to bear arms wasn't the founding fathers' idea, either, actually. That was just a given right of the day and age. Not inspired doctrine. Side-note...)

Those founding fathers, who wrote "We the People," had just finished telling King George that governments are supposed to take care of their people, and if the King wasn't going to care about them, they would be forced to form a government that DID. For me, "We the People" is a symbol of one of the greatest "boundary setting" documents ever forged! It was well thought out, it was thorough, and it was rational. It stated that lives are important, all men are created equal. These writers are the same people who declared their "firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence." 

One reason I can think of for why my neighbor would have a gun sticker underneath a "We the People" sticker on his truck, then, would be that he's an avid hunter, or could be concerned for protecting his home, and needs an assault rifle to do so, and he's setting that boundary, just like the founding fathers stated! Or, he really could just have a great love of the military, as the other sticker on his truck would suggest. (His wife is a soldier.) 

But ultimately, I think I know why he has such a giant gun under those words. I think my neighbor just really likes the good old American value of fighting the crap out of anybody who stands in your way, because you're right! - which I believe is a misinterpretation of the motivation of our original founding fathers. 

I want to talk about this attitude. It's rampant, and is, in fact, the key reason for why I can't echo the sentiment, "I'm Proud to Be an American" - because this attitude is the driving force behind that statement, and, unfortunately, the prevailing patriotic attitude at large, in this country. That attitude is the very thing that makes the US so unlikable to the rest of the world. (Correct me if I'm wrong!) I'm tired of Americans assuming that they know what is best for everyone, whatever they think is 100% right, whatever they do can go without consequences, all while being completely oblivious to what is REALLY going on in the rest of the world. 

Instead, our government tears itself apart with budget battles, and the headlines on CNN tell us only that Jolie has chickenpox, Prince George has cute Christmas photos, and Taylor Swift is HOW old??? The headlines have quickly forgotten the CIA torture cover-ups. It reeks of corruption of government, so it wasn't popular. We don't like to hear when we're wrong. We don't like to be told that sometimes, maybe we didn't handle that situation right. Or worse, we justify our actions. 

So what is right? How do we know? Our founding fathers had their opinions. They used words like "God," "Creator," and "Honor." They believed "right" was defined and determined by God, not by popular consensus or minority complaints. When people treated these, our founding fathers, unfairly, they responded with patience. They appealed, they petitioned (humbly, they noted), they attempted to work with those that opposed them. They didn't jump ship after the first offense. The Declaration of Independence, that started this whole country, had a list of well over 20 abuses and usurpations which occurred prior to their declarative stand. These people tried VERY HARD to work with everyone else, before they "pulled out the big guns," so to speak, and told King George they weren't taking it anymore.

How many abuses do we take, now, before attacking? Heck, sometimes I think we attack before we even know the whole story! We just assume that we're right, and we have the power to make people respect that! I'm not just talking about our government, either. I'm talking about We the People. The police are corrupt! Obama said this, that, or the other! All Muslims are terrorists! That Christian pastor won't marry us! Putin attacked Ukraine because he's evil! Grace is anti-American because she wrote a blog post saying negative things! ETC, ETC! 

I'm not saying I'm innocent, either. I can be a product of my society, just as much as the next person is. But I also happened to be raised by a hippie foreigner, and that balances things out, sometimes. 

Mum raised us with the familiar phrase, "God Bless the Whole World - No Exceptions," in response to the "God Bless America" bumper stickers. And why shouldn't He? What makes America better? We try not to even say the word "Freedom" around my mum. Land of the Free? Australia is free-er. Fact! The United States isn't even in the top 10. Freedom. We're not even the most Democratic. Democracy. But being in 36th place just doesn't sell bumper stickers, or inspire people to join the army, so... 

Did my mother point these things out because she hates America? Well, I can't speak for her, so I honestly don't know, but I don't think so. My mother said something, once, that has stuck with me. She said, "I'm not a hippie because I'm angry. I'm a hippie because I'm hurt." 

I don't say these things because I'm inspired by reckless rage and angst, and have no choice but to vent my negative emotions out at humanity via blog posts. I say these things because I sincerely believe that something is wrong, and I hope, maybe vainly, that something might happen for the good, some day, because I said something.

The US is straying away from our roots. And I love those roots! With all my heart! When I think of the founding fathers, I can sincerely say I AM proud (in an awed kind of way) to be an American. But we're not those people, anymore. But I'm going to be optimistic and say that we COULD be. (The first step is to accept you have a problem.) 

We may not always be right - and to boldly and loudly declare that we are, in an aggressive show of arms, is not the way to handle uncertain circumstances. If you are tempted to fight, you must first make it a matter of prayer, and seek an answer in your heart. You must be certain that this is a battle God wants you to fight, or He will not support you in it - and yes, it's not a free pass to God's assistance just because you're an American, or just because you're you. To act as if it is is to risk fighting on a battlefield you should not even be on. In drawing others onto that battlefield, you assume some responsibility for their actions there - as a mother who indoctrinates her children into her life of poverty and addiction holds some responsibility for their lack of insight into the downfalls of such life choices. 

We cannot be afraid to involve God in every matter of our lives. The current American attitude of "rightness" attempts, covertly, to replace truth and faith in God with faith in the philosophies and "truths" of men. "It is 'right' to fight, because they hurt us." "It is 'right' to compromise my values, because it's embarrassing otherwise." "It is 'right' to let her do that, because that's freedom..." It's not always easy to see where the line is, but God knows what the "right" choice is, every time. 

Dear Neighbor

Dear Neighbor,

Due to our work schedules, my husband and I are often trying to sleep anywhere from as early as 8-10 at night. This, however, has been difficult, due to your incessant tromping around in the middle of the freaking night, you selfish wretches! the noise level coming from your apartment, directly above us.

We hate to be "those" neighbors, but we, the neighbors directly below you, hate you need your help.

I recognize that our complaint may come across as blaming, because it is, and that you may feel there is nothing you are doing wrong. But you ARE wrong, and... We are grateful you're not throwing crazy parties, and really, the only complaint we have is that your walking sounds like a stampeding herd, your steps sound fat, you walk around too much, your walking is slightly loud.

Do you really have to walk in and out of the bedroom every ten seconds? Do you really have to walk around the bedroom so much? Have you considered surgery for your fat feet? Between 8-10 at night, when we are trying to fall asleep, we can hear you walking about your bedroom. Because of the fact that we live in a cheap apartment, the floors and ceilings are quite thin, and your heel-strikes piss us off to the max, reverberate quite loudly. You should take up river-dancing.

Could you just stop walking? I know this is difficult to solve, as you can't just stop walking around your apartment. Could you just stop breathing? We would ask if you might be able to be consciously aware of walking quietly during nighttime hours. I sincerely doubt you even care, but we can dream. It would really help us out. Fatty.

Sincerely,
Your Neighbors

Coming next week, a letter to the crazy, militant neighbors DOWNSTAIRS. 

Warm Up With An Egg

A typical routine, Monday through Friday, begins simply. My husband wakes me up before running off to work, around 5:45 in the morning. We say a prayer and he kisses me goodbye, and then I tuck myself BACK into the bed and sleep for another hour and a half. Some days I dream about staying awake – cleaning the house, washing the dishes, writing, watching a movie, reading a book – basically anything other than continuing to sleep. But I never do. I always sleep.

I finally wake up around 7:15 and rush to get ready. Sometimes I snooze until 7:30, but when I do this, I don’t have enough time to throw something together for breakfast or lunch, and so I end up just having to buy food at work – which is always more expensive, and always more unhealthy…

At work I do my best, but sometimes I struggle with wanting to meet with patients. I struggle with wanting to make all of my phone calls. It’s hard to see how I can’t always help them, how sometimes the only suggestion I have is, “Mountainlands?” Their family members call me, and I try to brainstorm solutions with them. I try to encourage them when they’re down, be empathetic when crap happens, and try not to think about it, when it’s a little old lady who tells me how lonely she is. I can’t solve all of their problems. But it gets hard when they return and return to the hospital, or otherwise - I find them in my daily search of the Obituaries.

I struggle with feeling important, or like I’m a part of the work “team,” when people constantly have to be reminded about who I am, and, “What is it that Grace does, again?” It’s not all bad. Sometimes people seek me out, for my extensive community resource knowledge, or to ask me if patients who came in on a pink slip need to be blue slipped before being transferred to another hospital in between counties, because I try to stay up to date on that kind of thing. (I try. Apparently I was wrong, though, the other day…) But for the most part, when things like that happen, I feel fantastic.

Even notarizing something is a change to my usual day, and, when the legal wording is on the document, and my notarization stamp decides to work, it’s a good day. I enjoy it. Some nights I stay late, running one of my Living Well with Chronic Conditions groups, or staying after for a late staff meeting. Sometimes this is an awesome addition to my night, depending on everyone’s humors. Sometimes it just reminds me of how unappreciated I can often feel at work, or how hypocritical I can be – especially when I teach the lesson on “Communication” in my Chronic Conditions group.

After work I’ll run an errand, or just go home, and immediately put on more comfortable pants. These things are important, when you live in slacks. This is only disturbed by the occasional dinner date you make with neighbors or friends, when you’re trying to have a social life. Even then, after work, if Nathan is still home, three days of the week, I’m sending him off to night classes.

The other two days of the week I’m looking at him and debating if I should be cooking him food, or if I should just make up an excuse to call it “a night out.” Sometimes I feel like cooking. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I look in the fridge and the cupboards, and everything disgusts me. Sometimes it’s just that it will take more than 30 minutes to make, and we’re both so hungry that 30 minutes feels more like 5 hours. Especially if we have to do all the work to cook it. Especially if we have to wash the dishes first. Or if I have the contents of my backpack still laid all over the couch, and I can’t seem to bear the thought of cooking with that kind of reckless sloth taking over my life. So I just become more slothful, and we buy cheap corndogs at Sonic.

When I do cook, though, I feel like a hero. If there’s a vegetable on the plate, I feel like a freakin’ saint. I feel like I’m holy translation material. I feel like they should write a book about my life, I’m that awesome when I cook. And it tastes good, too. After that, I imagine how I’m going to cook every night for the rest of my life from then on, until Nathan is gone the next night, and I realize I’m not really that hungry. Then I fall out of the habit. The next day…

Or maybe the dishes were just still dirty from the day before.

I dream of being a writer. I heard back from the first publisher, the other day. They told me they were interested in my book. They just wanted a couple things changed, and they’d publish it. But I’m not sure I want to publish. I’m not sure I have the energy for it. I’m not sure I have the energy to have someone else telling me what I have to do before such and such a deadline – I already have ME for that!

So I don’t spend my evenings writing. I haven’t done that in awhile. I guess having a publishing offer wasn’t motivation enough. So I spend my evenings either cleaning or obsessing about my dirty house, chores I’ve set for myself, about car repairs, or how I’m so anti-social, or about pretty much anything. You name it, I stress about it. Sometimes, instead of stressing about something or cleaning something, I decide to watch a movie.

When Nathan is home, we usually sit around and talk. Sometimes we take funny videos of ourselves pulling faces. Sometimes we do the laundry. Sometimes I force him to watch a movie with me. Sometimes both. He whittles, and the wood chips cover the floor. I actually don’t mind that as much as I thought I would. To me, wood chips on the ground are a sign of creativity. We’re abstract. Our house is cluttered with different displays: Swords, a half, hand-painted dragon, two large, porcelain, green goats, a Peruvian painting of Christ, a statue of a white, vein-filled foot. 

On Friday nights either Nathan or I am planning a Sunday School lesson for the following Sunday, and every other Saturday night I’m picking up a graveyard shift, where, you guessed it, I think about writing but usually don’t.  I’m usually surfing the internet, reading articles I find interesting, browsing news articles, or watching a crime documentary on Netflix.

There’s not really a day of rest, and sometimes I get tired of praying for one, so I just don’t pray at all. Yes, I recognize this doesn’t help any, my silent-treatment of the heavens. But when you’re tired and feel like you’re not being heard, sometimes you let a little bit of sulking in. I enjoy my teaching calling in church, but sometimes wonder why church has to be so long – why we can’t all just escape after an hour to go back to our homes where we weren’t really doing much that was productive, anyway, other than cleaning, stressing, and dreading work the next day.

This isn’t made better by the fact that my stomach has been having this unusual, difficult, nauseating reaction to my Dr. Pepper, lately.

There’s a lot on my mind, of worries and stress. I worry about schooling, I worry about jobs. I worry about Utah Mormons, and feel like I need a change of scene. They’re irritating me. (They’re not all bad, but some days...) There’s only so much PTO in a year, only so much money for a vacation. Only so many programs for schooling, and, one could argue, too much family with too many houses, quite stable in Utah. Perhaps I’m being avoidant of a deeper issue. Maybe it’s just the birth control I resent so much. Maybe it’s just my lifetime goal of living in Nebraska that’s going unfulfilled.

Monday comes, and I’m back in the car, heading off to work once more. I woke up at the 7:15 time, this morning, so I’ve packed myself a lunch of leftovers from the night before – rice. That sounds terrible, but I’m actually quite excited. Rice, with shredded cheese, which I’ve slathered in enchilada sauce. There’s some pineapple for it, too, and I’m thinking that I’m pretty creative for this particular concoction, today. It’s like a Mexican Hawaiian Haystack.

It’s cloudy and stormy, weather I quite like, and the heater is turned on in my car, as I take my left hand turn and the hospital comes into view. So does the McDonalds.

The electronic sign out front of the fast-food restaurant is set for the morning crowd, advertising their delicious breakfasts. “Warm Up With An Egg,” it announces. The seconds tick on, as you wonder about this curious proposed relationship with a poultry byproduct. But then it all makes sense, when the screen changes.

“McMuffin.”

You don’t have the whole story, till it makes sense. You can’t judge one minute from the next. Who are we to say what we know, or don’t, yet, when all around us is change and uncertainty? What is our purpose, or what is the plan? Do we truly understand it all, or are we just waiting for the fog to clear? Sometimes what we think is doomed, is actually alright. And sometimes the things we are so certain of really don’t mean much at all.

But there are always Egg McMuffins. So in the end, it’s not that bad.

I Do Well to be Angry - Even Unto Death!

I'm afraid I'm going to get a little bit Biblical on you, here. My husband and I are Gospel Doctrine teachers for our ward. We take turns, every other week, teaching a lesson on the scriptures - this year, from the Bible - The Old Testament.

This Sunday I am teaching, and so this week I have been preparing a lesson on Jonah. I'm sure you all know that Jonah was swallowed by a fish, and that's neat and all, and then he went and served a mission to the people of the city of Nineveh, and that's neat and all too. But I've really been concentrating on the man Jonah - and what the HECK his big problem was, with all of this.

Jonah's father's name was, translated, "Truth". And I don't find that an accident. Jonah was a man who loved the truth. He loved God's justice, and he loved God's law. He loved the law so much, that he didn't know how to get along with people who weren't keeping the law, or loving God by keeping His commandments. He was a love-of-God-aholic. This man was so passionate about the law, that when God called him to be a missionary to sinners, he would rather run, because he didn't know how, or didn't like, that God would possibly accept those sinners. He couldn't comprehend forgiveness or wrap his mind around mercy, and in this blindness, he missed the most important message God has to offer all of us - LOVE.

Now, let's understand Jonah for a second. The people of Nineveh were EVIL. Nahum 3:1-4 teaches us a little bit about these people:

"Woe to the bloody city! It is all full of lies and robbery; the prey departeth not; The noise of a whip, and the noise of the rattling of the wheels, and of the pransing horses, and of the jumping chariots. The horseman lifteth up both the bright sword and the glittering spear: and there is a multitude of slain, and a great number of carcases: and there is none end of their corpses; they stumble upon their corpses: Because of the multitude of the whoredoms of the well favoured harlot, the mistress of witchcrafts, that selleth nations through her whoredoms and families through her witchcrafts..."

Are we seeing the picture of why Jonah doesn't want to go there?

 




These people are bloodthirsty people, full of prostitution, battle, endless artwork of killing lions, and MURDER. These people are terrible people.

In the end, though, Jonah goes and cries repentance, and the people, in a short time, are dressing in sackcloth and ashes, the king is declaring public fasts, including their livestock in on the fast, so even their cattle aren't allowed to eat, and all of this in the hope that God will forgive them for their many sins.

But Jonah? He still has a problem with this. It's not enough for Jonah, that these people have repented. He still can't understand how God would just forgive them like that, and so Jonah sits tight to watch, hoping that he can see God working some of His miraculous JUSTICE.

God, trying to teach Jonah a lesson about his attitude, blesses Jonah with a gourd - basically a plant that will grow vines enough to provide Jonah with some shade, while he sits on the hilltop hating Nineveh.

Then, because God is God, and He knows how to teach a good lesson - he kills the gourd.

The gourd dies, and the sun is hot, and Jonah is miserable - unto death. So God asks him: "Doest thou well to be angry for the gourd?" And, in juvenile angst, Jonah replies, "I do well to be angry - even unto death!"

But Jonah is missing the point, and God tries to teach him. See, the gourd represented the people of Nineveh. When God destroyed the gourd, he allowed Jonah to see what it would be like, if he had decided to destroy the people of Nineveh anyway. It would have been sad, and something miraculous and beautiful (like a human life) would have been destroyed. But Jonah has more sympathy for a dead squash plant than he would have for an entire city of people, who, pretty clearly, God explains are not accountable - are not aware of the sins they were committing. And God loved them.

So I wonder. What can we learn from Jonah? Are we ever so hateful of someone, that we would have more sympathy on a squash plant than we would have on their own souls, if they were to be destroyed by God?

So I was preparing my lesson, researching Nineveh, when I came across an interesting fact.

Nineveh is located in modern-day Iraq. Not just modern-day Iraq, but modern-day Mosul. Mosul is, aside from being home to many Muslims individuals, at present, is it also occupied by a host known as ISIS.

ISIS is a group that is terrible and bloodthirsty, calling themselves the Islamic State, they have driven Christians out of the city, and murdered more Christians. Children, innocent people, they have shot, beheaded, slit throats, raped, starved, stoned, and more. They are a force of terror and evil in this world.

Upon discovering this, I burst into tears, because suddenly, I felt I understood Jonah greater than I ever had in my life. I finally sympathized with him. I finally felt how he must have felt. Jonah had seen a great evil, and could not move past it. He valued squash more than the lives of these sinners.

Now, the rest of my blog post I am not focusing on ISIS. ISIS is a barbaric group, who know better. The tenants of their faith, and the innocents pleading for their lives have been warning enough for these people. But I am going to talk about Muslims in general.

For years, I have seen white Americans, Christians, and others, hold fast their hatred of the Muslim religion. (Muslims are hated even more than Mormons, in America, and that's saying something.) I have seen post after post on social media defaming and slandering Muslims and their faith, completely ignorant to the fact that A) Not all Muslims are terrorists, B) Not all Muslims are murderers, and C) Not all Muslims want to kill infidels. These are a minority, who interpret the Koran to fit with their political leanings and personal vendettas.

I have seen friends post bigoted articles spreading lies - that young virgin women are brought to their marriages handcuffed, in order to be raped - these articles taking photos from Islamic, symbolic cultural celebrations and spreading complete lies about what is actually happening. I have seen friends post articles boasting the number of murders Muslims commit, while good-natured Jews are off winning Nobel Peace Prizes, to contrast the two and paint the members of Islam as bloodthirsty terrorists. And these are articles from my friends - who I usually handpick for their values.

This makes me furious, because I love Muslims.

As a missionary for the LDS church, I had more doors slammed in my face, and more curse words sent my way from "Christians," than I ever had from Muslims - and I was serving in a plentiful Muslim community. The Muslims I knew were kind, they were respectful, they were generous. The Muslims I met were thrilled with the love that we had for our God, and were impressed at the sacrifices we were willing to make for Him. Did they want us to be Muslims? Well, yeah! Because they loved us! (If it's any consolation, we wanted them to be Mormons! So it was only fair.)

I remember Ahmed dearly. We met with Ahmed for weeks. He was a devout Muslim, who said his prayers, and believed his faith. I remember he wouldn't even shake our hands - I take that back. He shook our hands once, and prefaced it by saying that in his culture, it wasn't polite to touch a woman you weren't related to, but he respected us greatly, and so he shook our hands. I remember he would always walk us to our car, to make sure we were safe. When we came to visit, he would always have fruit juices for us, and chopped melon and cantaloupe. (He got offended when we were so excited to teach him that we forgot to eat the melon. Ah, I miss the cultural customs!) Ahmed was an amazing man, and I loved him dearly!

I remember we decided to stop teaching Ahmed, when, after several weeks, he was still being stubborn. (He wasn't really listening. He just wanted us to be Muslim. But I don't blame him. He thought it would bring us peace and happiness.) About a week after we saw him for the last time, we had a phone call from Ahmed late at night. Ahmed was upset - as one of the roommates in the house he was living in phoned the police on him, for waking up in the early hours of the morning to say his prayers. His roommate was a Christian, and, as Ahmed explained, was not being very "Christian" at all, in insulting his religion and his faith. Ahmed asked us to pray for him - to pray that he would have peace with his roommates, and that they would not discriminate against him anymore, and hate him.

I remember crying, that anyone could hate Ahmed for living his faith, ESPECIALLY someone claiming to be "Christian." Because his faith was different than theirs, they hated him. He was devout, and they hated him.

Now I want to go back to Jonah, and I dare say that many people in our society are Jonahs. You see evil being done by people claming to act for Islam, that you are so blinded by hatred that you fail to see that these same evils, (ISIS, etc), are committing evil against their own people. The news would tell you that ISIS only killed Christians, and yeah, those were their targets. But have you heard how they have forced toddlers (Muslim) to be recruited to their ranks? Have you heard how they have stoned citizens (Muslims) in the streets? Have you heard how, due to their violence, patients in the hospital (Muslims) are being sent home to die - because they can't get their cancer treatments? If you think for one second that all Muslims are bloodthirsty, that they are all evil, you fall under the sinful category of Jonah, who could see only the evil, that he failed to realize that there was beauty there, and that the vast MAJORITY was beautiful, in their ability to love and turn to God.

I've had to de-friend a couple people on social media now, but unfortunately, I can't de-friend the entire world. Because I love Muslims. And I will not hear "Christians" speak against the brothers that I love so much, out of complete ignorance and blind hatred. They have seen evil, as did Jonah, but they have felt more sorrow for the gourd than they do for their faithful Muslim brothers, upon whom they seek only destruction and justice.

But I know that God is just. God is merciful. And for the vast majority of Muslims, who oppose radical murderous groups just as much as you and I, God is understanding.

Don't hate. Look for truth, and you will find it.