OPPOSE? TOLERATE? OR JUDGE?

The question is when are you 'righteously' opposing something sinful/evil/bad, and when are you UN-righteously forcing your religious values on others?

As I crept in late (helping with Primary music), our combined Relief Society/Priesthood was being taught by our bishop. From the board, it was obvious we were talking about those standard Mormon things (FHE, prayer, scriptures, tithing) that most of us standard Mormons at least try to do regularly.

And Bishop was emphasizing how important it was to use these times to teach our children, and not just assume that if we got them to church and Mutual, they'd somehow turn out okay.

Then he used a particular phrase - "And realize you are going to have to talk to them about the BIG things."



And my immediate thought was, "Oh, big things - like basic sex education, how to avoid drugs and getting pregnant!"

No.

It was homosexuality.

Now, yes, I know some gay people. I know some gay couples. Got a few gays in my family. And yes, from my church's teachings, sexual relations are to be limited to a man and woman in a legal, martial relationship.

But why is this a "BIG" thing?

I know a heck of a lot more teenage girls who have gotten pregnant because some young hot male convinced them that it was how to show love. I know a lot more people who got married at age 16 because of a pregnancy. I have seen more people in my life have to deal with drug addiction; I have seen quite a few fail miserably. I have a friend who died of AIDS.


And how many people do you know who are living together without the 'benefit' of marriage? Now, again, from my church's view, this is sinful. Why suddenly is this BIGGER if the couple happen to be of the same sex? They at least don't have to worry about unwanted pregnancy, right?

Another phrase used that raised my eyebrows was to "not TOLERATE homosexuality."

As my husband brought up, what is the alternative, exterminate?! And why isn't this judging? Isn't this forcing OUR religious views on other people?

I have no problem with sex outside of marriage being wrong - I agree with it. It's a betrayal of marital vows.

But before you start determining the "largest" of the "gay problem," please address all the married people who are having affairs - to all the physical, mental and emotional abuse that can occur in the home to spouses and children and parents - address and conquer addiction to pornography - focus on alcoholism.

And when you get all that taken care of, THEN being homosexual can become a "big" problem.

CLEARING THE MIND

A lesson at church yesterday focused on how we get caught up in the rush of modern-life and daily stress, and forget the essential elements of salvation in the crunch of myriad mundane elements (wow - that sounds exactly like my cereal before the milk sogginess sets in, doesn't it?).

Anyway, the main concept seemed to be on changing our focus from the temporary irritations to a more eternal perspective, and opening ourselves to the spirit's influence instead of the shouting of the material world.

It's called meditation, and yet I hesitated and did not make any comment about this in the class.

Meditation, although mentioned frequently by the prophets and scriptures, seems to carry a whiff of incense, Hari-Krishna (sp?) white robes and mindless chanting of mantras.... at least to Latter-Day Saints in the Rocky Mountains.

Scented candles, darkened rooms, yoga mats... somehow these translate into dark and mysterious hints of evil.

I'm not anywhere close to where I would like to be with my meditation habits - it happens infrequently, at odd times and places.

But when I do take that single deep breath, when I do disengage my thoughts from the insane whirlpool of ever-deepening worries, fears and mundane cares - then almost immediately I can feel my chest loosen, my nasal cavities open, and the light begin to clear my brain.

And I recognize very clearly that God has a different plan for me.

PUSHING UP DAISIES

We don't like talking about certain things. 

It's fun to gossip about what your neighbors may (or may not) be doing. We love complaining about our life and our situation at the moment. We moan and groan and over-think little comments or actions until they become huge matters simply by our over-attention on them/

We LOVE talking about the Hollywood stars' lives splattered over the front page of those scandal rags at the check-out counters. But when they become feeble, confined to a wheelchair, breathing only with the aid of a respirator, you don't hear anything about them until they actually die.

Words can distance us from acknowledging something we don't want to talk or even think about.

Death is one of those things.

It's amazing how many euphemisms we commonly use instead of actually saying the words, "S/he DIED." 

"She passed."  "She departed." (that one I love - sounds like she caught the last train to Georgia) "She recently departed" (oh, she caught that earlier train to Georgia). "She has gone beyond" (well, then she's obviously going all the way to the East Coast now).

Yesterday my mare Sally was euthanized and buried south of our house.

It was an easy decision - Sally was old, she kept losing weight regardless of how much food she ate, the vet said she simply didn't have much time left.

And after watching both my parents slowly die of cancer and multiple strokes, it was a relief to make the choice to deliberately end her life and end her pain.

------------------

Now, can I ask you a question? Are you a strict vegetarian? No? But while you do try to limit red meat and eat more fruits and vegetable, you just can't do without the occasional hamburger or that roasted chicken.

See, we have no problem with the concept of a living animal dying to provide us with those things.

But I am always surprised by how compassionate people become when they learn you have "put down" a pet. I guess we all get emotionally invested with our animals - at least, I know I do. And there seems to be a HUGE line between cows = hamburger and the cute pet ducks in your backyard = roast duck on the grill.

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The expression "pushing up daisies" is one of those sweetish euphemisms, which also was the name of an exceptionable (and short-lived) television show.

So in honor of Sally, I am going to plant some daisies - and also some sunflowers and whatever low-maintenance wildflowers I can find -all over the area where she is buried.

And I am going to try to be brave about using real words - like death, and dying, the end of life and such - both in honor of her and recognition that my family will have to be dealing with mine before too terribly long.

Although I must admit I do simply like the daisy expression.

SPEAKING BIRD POORLY

From one of my all-time favorite books, "God and Mr. Gomez" by Jack Smith:





"No agua?"  I said. "Por las flores?"  It was an extraordinary effort; a whole sentence, almost, conjured up from high school Spanish. I soon realized it had been a mistake. There is no use speaking Spanish unless you have the capacity for going on with it. Otherwise you simply give a false impression of felicity in the language, and set off a response that is rapid and utterly incomprehensible.

Both of the workmen loosed cascades of amiable Spanish, none of which I understood explicitly, but whose burden was obviously that, "Yes, there in no water."

-----------------------

This morning I made the same mistake, but in bird, not Spanish.

Now, I don't know very much about birds. I can correctly identify a bird as a bird around 80% of the time (the other 20% it's actually a bat). but I have no idea as to its breed, family, near-relations or country club memberships. Sometimes they are blue, some have yellow underbellies, some are big (in particular the hawks that follow my little border collie mix, eyeing her as their next possible meal), some are tiny.

And birds seem to have a huge variety of calls - but I can't tell if they are mating calls, normal conversation, or their version of the CNN Morning Headlines.

But this morning, I thought I would attempt to talk to them.

Ha.

I can't whistle very well following jaw-surgery back in the 80's, but I thought I did an adequate job of reproducing the shrill little whistler I hear almost every morning when I go back to feed the horses.

But it was met with stunned silence.

I tried it again - maybe I had said sometime very rude accidentally ("Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!") 

And that obviously was NOT the correct action.

Then, as Mr. Smith mentioned in the opening paragraph, there is no use in speaking a language you don't understand - you simply unleash a torrent of incomprehensible gibberish.


So I can't tell you what the birds replied - but it sounded suspiciously like

"We're knights of the Round Table, we dance whene'er we're able. We do routines and chorus scenes with footwork impec-cable, We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and Spam a lot. / We're knights of the Round Table, our shows are for-mi-dable. But many times we're given rhymes that are quite un-sing-able, We're opera mad in Camelot, we sing from the diaphragm a lot. / In war we're tough and able, Quite in-de-fa-ti-gable. Between our quests we sequin vests and impersonate Clark Gable / It's a busy life in Camelot. /I have to push the pram a lot.



Well, at least I got you to smile, didn't I?!

BREATHING VS BURNING

I am having trouble breathing at the moment.

The following was posted on Facebook this morning by a young LDS mother I thought I knew quite well:

Ok, this story in the news about this JERK who burned an American flag and then died from the fumes...THAT IS RIGHT!!! Sorry, but "courtesy of the Red, White and the Blue" baby!!! =D
http://www.newstrackindia.com/newsdetails/2012/09/19/139-Pak-man-dies-after-inhaling-fumes-from-burning-U-S-flag-at-anti-Islam-film-rally-.html

First paragraph of the story: Islamabad, Sept. 19 (ANI): A Pakistani man has died after inhaling smoke from burning U.S. flags during a protest rally against the anti-Islam film - Innocence of Muslims.

Abdullah Ismail died in Mayo hospital in Lahore after having complained of feeling unwell during the angry demonstrations, reports the Daily Mail. 

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE, PEOPLE? As Christians, we get upset over certain groups of Muslim becoming violent over an evil portrayal of their prophet --- but we are HAPPY when one of them dies because of someone burning OUR country's symbol - not even a religious symbol?




When you talk about religious freedom, you don't get to pick and choose - oh, sure, MY religious/political symbolism is fine, but YOURS is completely ridiculous.



One of my favorite cartoons doesn't translate easily, but I'll try since I can't get the scanner to accept it:

Imagine a series of connect-the-dots, which obviously spell out "GOD LOVES EVERYONE."

Then immediately below it, the words "SOME PEOPLE JUST CAN'T CONNECT THE DOTS."

Do I really have to explain this you, my young friend? Do you honestly believe that God cares less about the man who died from smoke inhalation that He does about you, and he died BECAUSE he dared participate in a protest ceremony?

That somehow this is justifiable - God's way of getting back at him for burning an American flag? That this death, that ANY death by religious/patriotic/whatever fever is somehow within God's call?

And WE have the nerve to call these people religious fanatics?

At this instant I am ashamed of Christianity, and I am mortified that for even one instant, someone who I know considers themselves a Christian could take pleasure in some one's death by smoke inhalation - heck, their death by ANY means.

People, really -- connect the dots.

OKAY, JUST TELL ME WHY WE SHOULD NEVER FORGET

I better clear my name first, before I'm accused of being a terrorist sympathizer.

My husband's job for years and years and years before 9/11 has been anti-terrorism.  The last seven years being active duty Army, his job was visiting government facilities world-wide, coming up with possible avenues which a terrorist organization would take in a possible attack at that particular location, and then see how the facility could counter-act the imagined assault.

Before 9/11, these visits would be viewed as a necessary evil - no one likes being evaluated for something that hasn't happened, and in the view of many organizations, isn't going to happen - and then having to prepare their facility just in case of that abstract, hypothetical situation.

But after 9/11... well, we can discuss that later.

So while the terrorist attacks on September 11th were unimaginable to the majority of us, it has been discussed and, well, imagined. A plane being used as a missile towards the Pentagon has been thought of. An air attack towards the White House had long been viewed as possible and prepared against carefully.

My husband woke me up early on 9/11/01 (we were on Pacific Time), saying only that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York, and he had to get into the office immediately since this might be a terrorist attack.

So I was sitting watching CNN news when the second tower was hit.

I was watching as the each tower fell.

And I cried. And shook. And was so scared.

For weeks.

But back to the title of this.

Why "never forget."

Why "never forget, never forgive."

Why "never forget, honor those who died in the towers."

I can understand and accept that this should never happen again, and if that means longer lines at airports, more security check-points, careful photo identification, I'm fine with that.

I can take, to a point, the need for some liberties taken with tapping telephone and computer lines - reading people's emails - some civilian private actions being opened to government scrutiny.

But I can't live with the knowledge that we moved into Iraq for ten years, supposedly to "take care" of the terrorists and weapons on mass destruction... which didn't exist in the first place.

I don't want to sit still for 'honoring' the 3,000 plus victims of a senseless act of terror by sacrificing 100,000 plus lives in Iraq.

I refuse to believe that we honor any or all of these deaths by holding firmly onto the sense of anguish and hopelessness that we as American citizens felt on September 11, 2001.

It happened - it was terrible - it helped unite us as a nation for a brief and intense period of time.

But the reason it hasn't happened again here is because of tightened security - individuals like my husband who work long and hard hours on tracing terrorist cells, who track activities such as fertilizer orders, weapons, ammunition, innocent items that can be combined to produce bombs. Carefully watching the activities of American citizens as well as foreign-born visitors, education, travel, social contacts.

Not because we went barging into the Middle East.

This anniversary has been hard on me every year. I don't want to watch the films of the planes hitting - I don't want to hear the tapes of people screaming - I don't want to hear the stories of the families of those killed.

I do not want to feel that sense of terror and loss.

I do want to know what we are doing to prevent this from every happening again.

And I'd like everyone else to know and acknowledge this - not my husband in particular, but the work being done in his field.

And I wish we would honor and recognize just as much as the 9/11 victims the 100,000 plus Americans and Iraqis and British and French that have died in Iraq. I wish we had flown the flag at half-mast for every day that someone died in that war. I wish we were arguing about what type of memorial should be built for them. I wish we would honor so much better the thousands of vets who return home, suffering from PTSD, wounds both physical, mental and emotional. Who are then relieved of duty... and of support and help.

Okay, I've gotten this off my chest... for at least this year.

JANE EYRE

How many young girls have read Jane Eyre, been fascinated by the brooding & angry Mr. Rochester, trembled at the murderous actions of the mysterious Grace Poole, and pine with Jane as she watches Mr. Rochester court another woman and then is still forced to reject his proposal of a bigamous marriage.



I love the fact that although the novel was released in 1847, was written by a woman, and presents a strong female character who stands up and acts directly against society, church and culture biases.




And it has been made into about eleven movies  - with most of the Mr. Rochesters being too gorgeous to contemplate (Orson Welles, Timothy Dalton, William Hurt, Michael Fassbender) - some too showy Janes (Jane Fontaine, Mia Wasikowska), but some very realistic ones (Charlotte Gainsbourg, Samatha Morton).




So why do we girls relate to so strongly to the character of Jane?


Is it the lowly position of an orphan, fighting against her abusive family?


Could it be suffering through a cruel schooling system, dominated by a sadistic male authoritative figure?


Or serving as a common governess in an elegant household, insulted by guests of higher social standing?


When Jane flees Thornfield and wanders the moors homeless and helpless - as she serves humbly again for room and board - when she is fighting against her emotions and ties back with Mr. Rochester.... what is it about this story?



I'd like to think that we all identify more with Jane's courage and resolution to live by her own personal standards - not necessarily society's dictates - and in particular hold to her principles in the face of starvation, societal scorn and solitude.


So - why do you like it?

LABYRINTH

The 1980's were a lot of things to a lot of people.

I lived the majority of that particular decade in Hawaii - where, despite the heat, we wore leg warmers with our leotards at exercise classes - shoulder pads were in all women's business suits - computers were just beginning to really come into regular use - we all tried to solve the Rubiks' cube in under five minutes.

We listened to the Culture Club, we drank Shasta soda, and we imitated Valley Girl talk - we played Pac-Man on our computers (and wow, was THAT hi-tech at the time!).

But for six years of this decade, I lived on Oahu - on a hillside with bananas growing in my backyard, a view of Honolulu all the way from Diamond Head to Pearl Harbor. My kids were in one of the better school systems in the state (schools overall in Hawaii were poor), and we lived in a small enough military neighborhood that the children had free run for about half a mile.

And I ended up with on of the most satisfying jobs in my life - working for the American Heart Association in the school and workplace heart education programs. Our affiliate was one of the top per capita fund raisers, so we had a lot of money and programs to share throughout the state - and boy, was that fun!

So what does the title of this post have to do with anything? Labyrinth, for those of you who remember or have seen it on television, was a 1986 movie with David Bowie and an incredibly young Jennifer Connelly in a nice fantasy full of Jim Hensen's Muppets. In fact, I think it may have been Jim Hensen's last movie - he died in 1990.

And watching this on television this past week, I could not shake the memories of the evening breeze wafting through our always-open louvered windows. Dave Gardner, our friend, sound asleep in my rocking chair while his wife Janice and I chatted and watched this movie. My three kids entertaining their toddler, Christopher, underneath the full-size grand piano that took up 3/4ths of our living room.

I realize this 'memory' is probably a combination of many different evenings, but in my mind it is incredibly realistic and is many ways extremely reassuring. I discovered a lot of strengths and talents I didn't know I had while we lived in Hawaii - I think a significant amount of my growth as an adult occurred while there.




So Goblin King, you just rock.

At least for me.