Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen (part 3 of a 3 part series continued)

When it comes to dealing with pain, I'm a novice really.  I'm just trying to figure it out, so I turn to the pros.  People who have been there and done that, who have not only survived adversity but thrived.  They have much to teach us. 

The first important thing I've learned is that we must recognize that there is always a choice.  Viktor Frankl, a survivor of on of our world's most horrid injustices, a Nazi concentration camp, said, "A human being is not one thing among others; things determine each other, but man is ultimately self-determining. What he becomes - within the limits of endowment and environment- he has made out of himself. In the concentration camps, for example, in this living laboratory and on this testing ground, we watched and witnessed some of our comrades behave like swine while others behaved like saints. Man has both potentialities within himself; which one is actualized depends on decisions but not on conditions...We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."


Here he teaches that a great stumbling block in the path of every human being is to blame the results of our lives on their circumstances.  In doing so we fictitiously relieve ourselves of responsibility--which can never really be--but simultaneously, we also remove our free will, making ourselves victims of those circumstances which we blame.  It is a powerless position, and we, who chose agency in the very beginning, don't like the way it feels.  It is miserable. 

I turn to an anonymous teacher, one who chose not to be identified in an article entitled "The Journey to Healing" in the September 1997 issue of Ensign magazine.  She said this: "I am a survivor of childhood physical, emotional, and sexual abuse.  I no longer view myself as a victim.  The change has come from inside of me--my attitude.  I do not need to destroy myself with anger and hate.  I don't need to entertain thoughts of revenge.  My Savior knows what happened.  He will be just.  I will leave it in His hands.  I will not be judged for what happened to me, but I will be judged by how I let it affect my life.  I am responsible for my actions and what I do with my knowledge.  I am not to blame for what happened to me as a child.  I cannot change the past.  But I can change the future.  I have chosen to heal myself and pass on to my children what I have learned.  The ripples in my pond will spread though future generations."

She has taken back her power through the powerful tool of forgiveness, a much misunderstood topic.  Forgiveness isn't so much for the offender as it is for the offended.  Forgiveness means giving up the anger, frustration, resentment, blame, and guilt of what is past so that it no longer can affect the present negatively.  It means we trust in a God who can and will make things right, that justice will be done, and that we can have peace now.  There are things we must all forgive, and the sooner we can do it, the more happy, peaceful, and productive our lives will be.

There also seems to be a connection in her story to finding meaning in the suffering one has undergone.  To hearken back to the wisdom of Viktor Frankl, he has said, "“In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice...If there is meaning in life at all, then there must be meaning in suffering.”  The anonymous woman, though I'm sure she would trade her past circumstances, may not trade the wisdom, insight, empathy, and self-worth she has gained because of them.  Could one exist without the other?  Could she have gained those same characteristics any other way?  I don't know, but what I do know is that God is capable of taking the ugliest, most painful situations of our lives and using them as our best teachers.  This particular woman has given her suffering meaning by becoming an agent for change and a teacher for future generations.  She provides a living example of another one of Frankl's resounding truths: "To give light one must endure burning."

Next, in one of the great ironies of life, we must use our agency to submit our will to the Fathers.  No where is there a better example of this than in the life of our Savior.  A every turn he communicated, "Not my will, but thine."   As Robert D. Hales says, "By His perfect life, He taught us that when we choose to do the will of our Heavenly Father, our agency is preserved, our opportunities increase, and we progress."  Our agency, the first gift of our Father to us, is truly the only thing that is uniquely ours to give because it is this agency that allows us to choose God or not.  He has given it to us knowing that we can wield it to turn away from Him, but if we will lay it on the alter and like Jesus say, "Thy will be done," we are trusting in a creator who dreams bigger dreams for us than we do for ourselves.  We rely on the Master who knows more than we know, even about ourselves. 

In painful circumstances, we must remember that we are always valuable, that God always loves us and believes in us, and that He will provide every needful thing.  In the LDS religion we are taught, "Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their won free will, and bring to pass much righteousness.  FOR THE POWER IS IN THEM, wherein they are agents unto themselves.  And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward" (Doctrine and Covenants 58:27-28).  What is that power He is talking about?  It must be, at least in great part, the power to choose--to choose Him, to choose His Son, to choose happiness, to choose the right, to choose a better way of living. 

Life has a way, sometimes through adversity, of questioning us.  That, I think, was always God's intent.  In response to life's questioning we get to choose, and what we choose to do determines who we will become; that is our final answer. 

In Mosiah 8:18 we read, "Thus God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles; therefore he becometh a great benefit to his fellow beings."  I still believe in a God that can work miracles, and I might be a little closer to understanding the real miracle of living.  I've come to a place that can dash my heart to pieces, it's true; but through my faith in our Savior's atonement it can be repaired, and while it is being sewn up again I gain patience, and wisdom, and generosity, and empathy, and understanding, and kindness, and forgiveness, a benefit not only to me but those in my circle of influence...Isn't that the miracle?  And if the miracle I seek is for him to keep my heart whole in the first place won't I miss what He is really trying to do for me?  Won't I miss the miracle altogether?

So I'm grateful for my life--all of it!  The mess, the hurt, the worry, the sorrow, as well as all the good stuff that goes along with it.  I'm grateful for the miracle that is living and for a wise Father who allows me to experience all of it and who has lovingly provided His Son to make sure I can find my way back home.  I certainly don't seek adversity, but I am beginning to understand its needful place in answering this vital question:  "Who will I be even when things go wrong?"

Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen (part 3 of a 3 part series)

I'm trying to answer these questions for no one but myself, but if you are interested in reading my first two essays, you can find them here and here.

In the middle of our infertility issues, I remember wondering which of all the terrible things I had ever done had caused this to happen, for surely this was some kind of punishment.  After all, I believe in a God of miracles.  I know that He and His Son can cure any affliction.  Clearly, I was unworthy of such a blessing.  Or maybe I was just so stubborn that God had to teach me the hard way.  Or maybe I just didn't have the kind of faith necessary to call forth such a miracle.  Whatever it was, whether in my past or present, obviously the problem was due to some deficiency in me, and God was just going to have to punish it out of me.  That was the conversation in my head on the bad days, even though I knew better. 

I don't, in fact, believe in a wrathful, angry, vengeful God, but when things go wrong, it's only human nature to find a reason for it, and sometimes when there is no good explanation, the one we grasp at is that our suffering must be a sign of God's displeasure.  Suddenly, God no longer resembles a loving father, but looks more like Zeus, grabbing that lightening bolt of his in rage and pointing it right at my back.  And so it was that in my late 20's I began to question the nature of God, His plan, His purposes, and my place within all of it.  Who was He, really?  And who was I to Him?  Once so sure of the answers--at least when the questions were much more simple--I was now floundering in deeper waters.

Then one day, as I turned to John, I read, "And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth.  And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?  Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him" (John 9:1-3).  Never before had this particular passage spoken to personally to me.  It looked like I was asking an age old question, and there was peace in Christ's answer...but there were more questions, too.  Like, what exactly are the works of God?  And how, exactly, were they going to be made manifest in our infertility?  I still didn't have the whole answers for those.

As I have come to believe, the true answer, I think, begins in the lesson of the third of the host of heaven who in their premortal existence followed Satan and his plan for forced salvation.  Elder Robert D. Hales taught that, "Those who followed Satan lost the opportunity to receive a mortal body, live on Earth, and progress.  Because of the way they used their agency, they lost their agency."  What I find fascinating in that teaching is the connection between progress and agency.  Because they do not have the opportunity to experience mortal life, in all it's imperfection, they can not progress.  There is a direct correlation there, and it hints, I believe, at what the works of God actually entail.

His goal does not seem to be to provide a perfect life for each of us, but rather to give us life so that we might become perfected.  He doesn't seem to be so interested in clearing our path but far moreso in clarifying our hearts.  Like a good parent, He knows that what is best for us isn't that we are always just happy.  If that were the case He would give us everything we want the very minute we want it.  He would protect us from natural consequences.  He would shield us from pain.  Every real life parent knows how well that would turn out, right?  Though we want our children to be happy, we know that focusing primarily on giving them only happiness will actually end in misery.  God knows that real happiness--progression, salvation, and eternal life--come with certain costs.  Costs that seem necessary in some larger way.  In making those payments we have to opportunity to reap gread dividends, but He also knows that it is how we manage those payments that will make all the difference.

Our use of agency in responding to pain determines the outcome.  Pain does not have to embitter us.  Pain does not have to ruin us.  I absolutely know that there is a way to encounter pain so that it can be our best teacher.

(to be continued...because although I have deep thoughts, I have a life that gets in the way of writing them down.)

Maybe I'm not Crazy

An aquaintance of mine, Tina,  posted this on her blog  just  yesterday.  She called it "Occupation":

[My husband] and I were at the post office a few weeks ago jumping through the necessary hoops in order to get a U.S. Passport. We had our photos taken, and then sat across a table from our "interviewer". We had previously filled out the appropriate forms and just needed to turn in the suggested personal identification and have the "interviewer" sign the paperwork. Since we had filled out the forms on the Internet, each blank space required some sort of filler. [My husband] had no problem filling his out, but when I came to the blank space that read: Occupation I tabbed over it, only to find out that Occupation required filling. In a rush I typed Stay At Home Mom. As the "interviewer" looked over my paper work she said to me, "Stay at home mom? Wow."

It wasn't, "WOW!!" It was more like, "wow." with an accompanying, but ever so slight, eye roll.

Feeling embarrassed I added, "It wouldn't let me leave the space blank." In which she responded, "I think it's great. I respect that," which I knew was a complete lie due to the slight eye roll just moments before.

It's been bothering me ever since that day. But what's bothering me isn't what she said, but that I was embarrassed about my answer. I am in no way embarrassed that I'm a stay at home mom. Not at all. So why did I let her get to me like that?

I wanted to post about it, but couldn't, and still can't, find the words to articulate how I feel about it. Amazingly, Laurel (at The Tea Party Place--and the mother of a beautiful 8 year old girl that [my son]has a teeny, tiny crush on) addressed this exact subject on her blog. I'm going to post the links for you to read because they say exactly what I would have, had I been able to put the thoughts into words.

First of all, thank you, Tina, for your kind regards.  That experience makes me feel like these latest posts aren't just crazy rants.  That there are, in fact, real life events that point to a cultural attitude that needs adjusting. 
 
Those eye rolls and empty spaces are loud voices of disapproval. They ring over and over again in our ears, and if I can be a voice of opposition for women like Tina,  for women like me, then I am glad for it. 

No woman should be made to feel "less-than" because she chooses to stay home and mother her children.

Ever.

Choosing Motherhood (part 2 of a 3 part essay)

Choosing.  The older I get, the more I think that choosing is one of the trickiest part of living.  Here's why:  The most important choices we have to make are made when we have the least amount of experience to make them.  That's another reason why Gilbert's philosophy bothers me.  It just seems a little short sighted. 

See, I had a grandmother, as well.  Two to be exact.  Like Gilbert's grandmother, my Grandma Doty cut up a lot of things, too: Scraps of fabric were made into quilts for beds; old clothes were revamped and resized as needed; cardboard was cut to shelter feet where soles of shoes had worn through.  It was the depression.  It was hard, and it was heavy, but it would be a great assumption on my part to say that she was unhappy.  I was a spectator of her later years.  Much of her life is a mystery to me, and so I wonder:  Is Ms. Gilbert's grandmother's unhappiness a fact?  Or is it her own personal bias talking? 

Perhaps it is just as possible that her grandmother, thinking she would never have the chance to marry and have children, was deeply fulfilled.  Maybe not in the way of foreign travel or exotic foods--those things that Ms. Gilbert values--but maybe in the way of a warm hearth, and Sunday dinners, and kisses goodnight.  I'm sure she wasn't happy all the time, but who is?  I can also safely say that I'm sure she wasn't unhappy all the time either.  And, besides that, who's to say that "happy" is the great guidepost of life, anyway?

Sometimes, what will make us happy in the short run, will not be what's best for us long term.  The question is:  How are we to know that when our experience is so limited?

One of the reasons I am devoutly religious is that it gives me perspective outside of myself through thousands of years of discovery regarding the human soul.  It is not possible for me to live long enough or to conduct enough personal experiments to attain the wisdom I find in religious tenet, and I find it interesting that almost every religious theory has some basic belief in sacrifice or selflessness.  In some way, they all teach that in living for something beyond ourselves our lives will be more meaningful and satisfying--a long term result that often has difficult beginnings.  It isn't easy to give up some of the things I want.  It isn't easy to consider someone else all the time.  It isn't easy to compromise.  What is easy is doing exactly what I want, when I want to do it. 

That seems to be the road Elizabeth Gilbert chose in her book, and you know what?  I'm okay with that.  It's her choice, and I don't have to agree with it.  But what bothers me is the thousands of women she has influenced in both obvious and subtle ways.  She writes a book about her perspective--her truth--and we laugh along with her and nod our heads and get all excited about girl power, and it changes us a bit.  After reading it, how does a girl view motherhood?  How does a young mother feel about her new calling?  Do I, as a mother, consider my life wasted because it doesn't drip with excitement and self exploration?

Elizabeth Gilbert can write what she wants; I just want to be a voice for motherhood.  I believe in it.  We need good, devoted, intentional mothers because the world of tomorrow is riding on the backs of the moms today.  For the most part we are not glamorous; we are not famous; but we are, simply, the life-blood of the future. 

Look, I learned something from my grandma, too, and it is this:  At the end of the very long road of her 102 years, it was not the places she had been or the things that she had done that gave her life meaning.  No.  It was her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren that meant the most.  She was surrounded and lifted up in our love, and while achievements will be forgotten, books will disinegrate, and careers will be ignored, my grandmother has left a living legacy that will never disappear.

Those are long-term results.  One's that aren't always evident in the short run of diaper changes, tantrums, or account balances.  I don't know if Ms. Gilbert is living with the end in mind, but I'm trying to.  Choices are a tricky thing.  Let's at least choose thoughtfully.

Female Thinking and the Nice Guy

Last night, between segments of Sports Center and when we got bored with the 50th repeat of the Yankees/Angels highlights, we flipped to Dateline.  Okay, I flipped to Dateline, and I didn't catch much, but what I did see was a woman who, after being married for 8 years to a man she thought was a retired rear admiral, not only found out he was none of the things he said he was, but was nearly killed by him with an ether soaked rag.  Wow. 

During the next flip, she related how she now thought that her car accident, fall down a flight of stairs, that glimpse of a gun in his briefcase, may all add up to attempts on her life.  Five attempts on her life to be exact.  Wowsy.

When we flipped back again, the interviewer said, "How did you feel when you got the news he had died?" 

And she said, "I cried."

"After all he had done to you, you cried when you heard he had died."

"Well, I loved him.  We had a lot of good times together.  It was like he was two different people.  There was the man that was good to me, that I loved, and there was the man that lied to me and tried to kill me."

Thomas and I gaped at each other.  Uhhhh...

I didn't watch the rest.  Sports Center was finally playing the football highlights, but Dateline is on loop in my brain, because sadly, I think that woman represents a lot of female thinking, albeit on a dramatically enlarged scale.  But if you boil it down, I bet we see this kind of thinking infect many relationships in a more subtle way.

For example:  A few years ago I was at my mom's house for a visit.  A number of us were playing cards late one night, and my niece, a freshman in college, was talking about her friend and her friend's on and off again boyfriend who had gotten her pregnant, deserted her, and was in and out of the picture.  I don't remember the details of the conversation, but I remember that she said, "I mean, he's a nice guy--"  I heard the brakes screech in my brain.

"No, he's not."  I interrupted none too politely.  "He is not a nice guy.  A guy who gets a girl pregnant, does nothing to help her, and deserts his child is NOT a nice guy.  Period."

Why do some women excuse bad behavior in the name of love?

The guy treats her badly around his friends, playing it cool, but "he's not that way when we're alone."  The guy lies to her, "but it was only that once."  The guy cheats on his wife/girlfriend, "but he'd never do that to me."  The guy is jealous and controlling, "but it's only because he loves me."

Somehow she seperates that bad behavior from everything she wants to see.  And she settles for potential rather than actuality.  She ignores all the red flags and hopes that it will be different later.  She wouldn't play those odds in Vegas, but she'll play them with her life. 

I want to tell every young girl this:  Please, let's not dishonor the real nice guys out there by ever using the phrase, "...but he's a nice guy" to excuse bad behavior.  Truly nice guys have it hard enough as it is.  They may not be exciting, and charasmatic, and king of the grand gesture, but they are good, and honest, and reliable.  They don't need to be divided and subdivided to make sense.  They don't keep you guessing.  They are straightforward and easy to read.  They are there when you need them.  Solid.  Good.  And nice.  Let's let them keep that title.  They actually deserve it.

Giving Up the Driver's Seat: Where Feminists Got it Wrong

May I begin by saying that I believe the women's movement was originally inspired. Anyone who knows me (and my mouth) would have no trouble envisioning me at the head of the suffragette movement.

I believe women are equal to men. I just don't believe we are the same as men, nor should we be; but sadly, somewhere along the line, our movement was hijacked by those who do. More ironic is the fact that these same women seem to despise men, blaming them for the ills and subordination of our sex; however, when it comes to asserting our rights they seem to think that requires giving up our feminine nature and playing the "men's game."

They insist that we are not only equal to the opposite sex, but, in fact, we are the same. Just look at a 1996 issue of Elle magazine that "urges us to 'deconstruct the stereotypes of gender,' reminding us that ''femininity is a social construct' and that 'men have defined femininity since its inception.' Since men have defined femininity since its inception, there is only one thing left for the liberated woman to do: become masculine, of course" (Shalit, 107).

This outrageous lie was made worse when combined with the sexual revolution. Now women are "free" from sexual mores of the past. Not only can we jump in and out of bed with whomever we choose, keeping score with notches on our own bedposts, but we are expected to. There must be "something wrong" with the "prudes" who insist on saving themselves for something special. As early as the late 1800's, early feminist Madame Celine Renooz called "sexual modesty 'an outrage to [the female] sex,' really just 'masculine shame attributed to woman'" (Shalit, 111).

Lucky for us we have shaken off those hideous shackels of sexual modesty! See, to be feminine and powerful in the culture of today means that we are instructed by Cosmo on the "203 Ways to Drive a Man Wild in Bed." We are taught how to "accept and love" our bodies by shortening our skirts and showing more skin ala Jennifer Lopez and even given guides on oral-sex how-tos at student health offices on college campuses. Oh, yes. We can be just as casual as men about sex. So casual, in fact that we require nothing of them and give them exactly what they want. We hook-up, split the check, and have sex with no strings attached. Tell me: Who's in the driver's seat now?

*Works Cited: Shalit, Wendy. A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue. Touchstone, 1999.

(Nope. Not done yet. Oh, what I wouldn't give for uninterrupted thinking time. But it's Griffin's turn on the computer apparently.)

What Are We Telling Our Girls?

Yesterday I read this article on msnbc. I know I'm supposed to find the results shocking. Sadly, I really do not. But I am shocked at the disconnect I see in the adult "professional" perspective on it. Can you see what I mean in the following excerpt?

By Laura T. Coffey
TODAYShow.com contributor
updated 7:04 a.m. MT, Fri., Nov. 14, 2008

On “The Tyra Banks Show” airing Friday, eight girls ranging in age from 14 to 17 discuss the survey findings and share their own personal experiences. Seven of the eight say they are sexually active; of those seven, just one says she uses protection when having sex.

“A lot of the guys, if I didn’t have unprotected sex with them, they would get mad at me and I still wanted that closeness with them,” one girl says during the show. “I was afraid if I didn’t do what they wanted, they wouldn’t be my friend.”
The same girl talks about how she tested positive for chlamydia twice and also contracted genital herpes.

“I’m ashamed that I have it, but it’s something I want other people to be aware of,” she says.

Another girl, a 17-year-old mother of a 7-month-old boy, says she lost her virginity on a school lunch break and deliberately planned her pregnancy by monitoring her menstrual cycle.

“I had helped teach a sex-ed class to a class of freshmen my sophomore year,” she explains. “We taught how … there’s a week [in] the month you are more likely to get pregnant than any other time of the month. I had calculated that out and I decided on two days I was most likely to get pregnant.”

Girls on the show also talk about experimenting with the drugs salvia and Ecstasy and getting into violent fights with other girls.

‘Adolescents need help’
Dr. Elizabeth Schroeder, executive director of Answer, a teen sex education program based at Rutgers University, said the survey results sound plausible and are consistent with other research on teen sexuality.

“This so clearly points to the need for comprehensive sexual education for kids,” Schroeder said. “An adolescent … is supposed to be making poor decisions. Developmentally this is the way they’re supposed to be behaving. They need help ....

“Parents need help talking with their kids about sexuality, and schools need to be talking to kids about sexuality.”

Not surprisingly the only solution, at least as Dr. Schroder sees it, seems to be more sexual education, but wasn't it clear that at least one of these girls not only participated in but taught a course on sex? Am I the only one that gleaned that little nugget from the article?

Now, I am not against educating our kids about sexuality. Let's get that straight right now. However, from where I stand, that is not the solution to the obvious underlying problem. These girls knew about condoms. They knew about menstrual cycles. They had all the pertinent information about sex. What they seem to lack is a sense of self and a sense of moral propriety.

But it is no wonder. Those are not qualities that our society teaches. No, we would rather throw condoms at them.

The truth is much harder to parse out. First we would have to admit that our society has taken some wrong turns that has "left the balance of power markedly tilted against girls," to quote Wendy Shalit, the author of one of my favorite books, A Return to Modesty.

Isn't it amazing, in this liberated age, that a young girl, thoroughly socialized by the feminist movement, would agree to unprotected sex that she didn't want just because the boy would "get mad and me...and wouldn't be my friend?" Shouldn't the women's movement have made girls more powerful than that?

Maybe it would have if it had not only ignored the vital differences between the sexes but emphatically denied that they exist...

(Now, since I do not have time to solve all of our social maladies today--laundry does call--I will have to post more on this topic tomorrow. Until then...Let's dicuss, shall we?)

Abstinence: What I Will Tell My Daughter

What with Sarah Pallin's pregnant 17 year old daughter, the media has been full of commentary on the failure of abstinence education. It doesn't work, they say. It's impossible, they say. Umm...(timidly raising her hand in class) I have something I would like to share. I know. It's personal, but here's my experience. Maybe it might add something to the discussion.

I was an abstinence girl. And--most remarkably--my husband was an abstinence guy. It's the LDS (Mormon) expectation that one waits until they are married to have sex. Doesn't always happen. Physical attraction is powerful, I don't care who you are. But I'm grateful that I waited. And that doesn't mean that I didn't understand the mechanics of sex, or what a condom was, or where to get one, by the way. It also doesn't mean that I was sexually frustrated or that I am sexually inhibited as an adult or a plethora of other ridiculous accusations of the abstinence set. But it does mean a lot of other things.

I'm grateful I waited. And when I talk to my daughter, I'll tell her why. I'll tell her that not once in my life have I looked back and said, "Man! I really wish I would have given a part of myself to a bunch of guys that don't mean anything to me anymore." Nope. Not once.

I don't regret not sleeping with my high school boyfriend; like those waters needed to be any more muddy, right?

And I certainly don't regret not sleeping with the guy who broke up with me because I wouldn't sleep with him. I mean, if there is a sign of true love...putting my needs above his own, loving me mind, spirit, and body...yup. That's wasn't him.

I've never once regretted not having sex with the boy in college who ended up breaking up with me and telling me I was fat. (And that was with my clothes on!)

The guy who told me he broke up with his girlfriend, but in fact was dating me on the side--you guessed it. Not sorry I didn't give myself to him. He ended up making me feel badly enough about myself without taking my virginity.

And as to the many, many boys who wanted to date me, use me and still play the field...they didn't deserve me.

Then I met Mr. Wicke. And he proved himself. He was different from all the boys I had dated before. He thought I was fabulous. All of me, and he wasn't interested in settling for the body only. He wanted it all--my heart, mind, spirit and soul included. He was willing to sacrifice, to put off his immediate desires until I was ready to commit my entire being to him, and in the meantime he earned me: He was honest, true, kind, thoughtful, romantic, and gentlemanly. Oh, it was clear he wanted me. We did some truly great kissing, but we waited, together.

And then we were married, and that night when we were alone together, just the two of us? It really was just the two of us.

The thing is, when you meet the man you want to spend forever with, you won't want there to be anyone else, but the only way for that to happen is to wait for each other, without regrets.

That's what I'll tell my daughter.

If You Can't Join 'Em, Laugh at 'Em

So the other day, I was perusing the blogosphere (what else do you do when you're aimless?) Anywhoo, I came across a blog of someone who in all likelihood is a gorgeous woman. Probably the kind of woman I dream of being, but never will be unless God on the other side is interested in performing limb-lengthening miracles. She's probably all tall and willowy. (I love that word. In the short world we have no word to equal willowy.) She's probably a girl with long, sinewy, arms and legs, and I won't even mention her flat stomache and perky tea-cup sized breasts. It's too depressing.

This is all conjecture of course, but I assume as much because in one post she listed her favorite snacks. Ready? This is copied verbatim. Here it goes:

"A cup of tea with milk, frozen grapes, honey ice cream, olives, raw almonds, carrots, salt and pepper potato chips, half an avocado with balsamic vinegar, dark chocolate, cheeze-its, radishes with salt, blue cheese"

See what I mean? I am telling you, only a super skinny person would list these foods as snacks! Snacks are supposed to be the things we shouldn't eat so we sneak them between meals. C'mon! A radish?! A radish is no snack!

Or how about this: "Man, I am so depressed over that break-up. I know. I'll rent a bunch of chick flicks and eat a giant bowl of frozen grapes." Where is the comfort food, people?

Look, I don't mean to make fun of super health-conscious, skinny people--well, maybe just a little. It's just that I'll never understand them. In theory I'd like to be like them, but in real life I say, "Pass the chips and salsa, hand me some chocolate chip cookies, and let's have some fun!"

A Few Thoughts on Mr. Right

"So why do you want to marry him?" I've asked a few girls in my time.

Inevitably they say with a dewy look in their eye, "Because I love him."

I nod and smile...and then respond with "So?"

Honestly, I can't think of a worse reason to get married. I know they say that love is strong, but I find the emotion a little harder to pin down. Love can be strong. Certainly it's strong enough to provide some initial heat and make us a little crazy, but after that, love can be very fragile indeed. It can wither, and thin, and sometimes disappear altogether. I don't think you can really count on love alone.

Don't misunderstand. I love Mr. Wicke. But that funny little fluttering feeling that I had 16 years ago when we first met? It's long gone. It's been replaced by something better. Something safe, and peaceful, and solid, and deep. Really, really deep. Sometimes so deep that it nearly turns my stomach inside out. But it's taken a lot of work, patience, effort, forgiveness, compromise, and understanding to get there. Oh, and some love, too.

They also say that love is blind, and how true that seems to be, especially at the beginning of a relationship. That's why relying on love alone to make the most important decision of your life is just too dangerous. After all, you can be absolutely besotted with someone who is very bad for you.

Twenty-something women seem particularly prone to such poor judgement. In my early twenties, my friends and I were inexorably drawn to the charismatic charmer, the life of the party, the guy whom everyone wanted so he was ever so much harder to get. Whereas the good, solid, stable guy just seemed so boring. The problem with the life of the party, though, is that when life is no longer a party, he usually turns out to be far less charming. How sad it is to come out of that initial love haze to find that your partner is one you can not respect. I'll tell you what, now that my friends and I are in our thirties with a baby or three on our hip and our shoulders heavy with responsibilities, that boring, stable, rock-solid, noble man is absolutely dripping with sex appeal.

When I ask, "Why do you want to marry him," what I really want to hear is: "Because I love him, AND..." because I think you should marry for love. Just do yourself a favor and choose someone to love who is good and kind. Kindness can heal a lot of wounds the world will inflict. Choose someone who is loyal, faithful, and trustworthy--for your own good and your own peace of mind. Choose someone who brings out the best in you because no one will influence you more, for good or ill. Choose someone to love who shares your vision for life, unless, of course, you are looking to get far offtrack. Choose someone you would want to raise your children because he will. Choose someone you can live with just as they are; odds are he won't change that much. Choose someone who, in those moments when love is fragile, will be your friend and safe harbour.

Oh, yes. Marry for love. Just be smart about it. Life is full of twists and turns. Like I said, I wouldn't count on love alone.

I Have Some Quetions, People; And One Big Opinion (Yes. Another One.)

There's this little thing at the bottom of my blog called a site meter. Maybe you've noticed it; maybe you haven't. Basically it means that I can pretty much find out how many people visit my site, how long they stayed, their referring URL, where they live, how many children they have, and their hobbies and interests. (Okay, I'm joking about the last two.) Does that freak you out a little? Well, it does me because I am left with a lot of questions. Like who in Suwanee, Georgia is visiting me every day. (Whoever it is may have choked on her Wheaties just now.) Because I'd like to know a little bit about her...and pretty much everyone else. I'm just curious that way.

I can also see what google searches lead people to my blog, and I always feel a bit sorry for those who are, in reality, looking for information about actual tea parties. They must be severely disappointed to stumble onto me. Sorry. I don't actually know much about tea parties or tea party invitations, but I can tell you a great story about poop and my four year old's birthday. No? Okay, I understand.

My top two google searches include: 1) my recipe for snickerdoodle cookies. That I get, and I can proudly hold my head up there.

But number two confuses me. #2) is my list of 37 reasons why I love Mr. Wicke. Many people are going to google and typing in "reasons i love him" to generate a search, and then they come to see me and probably many others. (As it turns out a lot of people are making such lists.)

Here's my question, though. What is the searcher's motivation? What is he/she looking for exactly? Is she trying to determine whether she is truly in love herself? Is she holding her significant other up for comparison? Or maybe she is trying to figure out what she should be looking for in a companion.

If that's the case I have something significant to say on the matter, and this is it: Love alone is the worst possible reason to commit completely to another human being. Yeah, you read that right. And tomorrow I'll tell you why.

Today, tell me whether you agree or disagree. Yeah, I'm talking to you Suwanee, Georgia. (Tee hee. I love doing that!)

As My Next Witness, I Call David McCullough to the Stand

Some bloggers have run into resistance about our hobby, or at least that is what I've gleaned from reading a few posts about the topic. There seems to be a notion that blogging can be a waste of time, unlike basketball, or scrapbooking, or movie watching, gardening, game playing or reading, which are more constructive pastimes...I guess? I mean who is the judge and jury who decides which diversions are more worthwhile than others?

Today I listened to an interview with David McCullough, one of our premiere historians and the author of 1776, who hit on a very interesting point. While discussing his study of the personal letters and diaries of historical figures that make up the majority of his research, he said:

"We don't write letters much anymore, and we don't keep diaries. No politician in our lifetime, I don't think, will ever keep a diary again. And they would really pour themselves out on paper. They would uncover their innermost feelings, their thoughts, worries, anxieties, ambitions, animosities, and particularly if they were writing to someone they particularly cared about or trusted totally. They also were doing something very important which we don't do much anymore, at least among family through correspondence of this kind, and that is the old expression: They were working their thoughts out on paper. We've all had that experience; we're writing a report, or a memo, or a letter, or a book, and suddenly you have an idea, you have an insight that you never would have had if you weren't putting those words down on paper, and that is why it was not just important that they communicate to someone else what they were thinking or feeling, but why it was so important--that act of writing helped them to clarify their thoughts."

That is one of the primary reasons I love blogging. It can be a great form of pondering and meditation. As I struggle to communicate the stresses, struggles, passions, concerns, and feelings regarding a variety of topics, I begin to see them more clearly. I do gain insights into the personal circumstances of my life.

It is too easy in our day and age to run from one activity to the next, full of noise and hurry, without really thinking and examining what is going on around us. Writing gives me time for that.

Even in my silly posts about the nonsense of daily life, documenting those moments makes me more aware of the life I am living. It helps bring what is important to me into focus. As I relive happy moments, I appreciate them more deeply, and as I find a way to laugh at the difficulties, it minimizes them.

Writing is exercise for the brain and food for the soul. I know I am better off because of it. And so to the pastime judge and jury: I rest my case.

Choosing Happiness

My blogger friend EKB posted a question the other day that got my mind churning. She asked, "What do you do when life doesn't turn out the way you plan?"

It's an important question given its universality. While considering just my immediate friends and family there are: people who wish they were married and are not, did marry only to later divorce, want children and can't bear them, had a child who died, had a child who made poor decisions, had a child with a handicap, lost a spouse, live in a dissatisfying marriage, struggle with depression, face ill health, watch someone they love suffer, grew up with a lousy parent, grew up without a parent, settled for a less than dreamy job so they could be a more involved parent, work their dream job but don't make enough money, make a lot of money but hate their job...okay, okay, you get the idea. And that is just people I know. The list of heartbreaking and challenging circumstances in the world is endless.

The realization that life rarely turns out the way we plan seems to be the baptism into adulthood. The question then becomes: If the vast majority of us are living among the shards of shattered dreams, is it possible to be happy given the debris? I believe the answer is a resounding yes!

First of all, let's get one thing straight. Suffering has important purposes. Among its predominant blessings are greater wisdom, empathy, humility, and character. If we floated through life, unopposed by circumstances, always getting our way, wouldn't we remain childish in our scope of vision and character developement? Yes, and so God in his great wisdom put into motion a world that, by its very nature, would be unfair. Not to torment us, but to be the making of us, depending upon our reactions to the disappoints we endure. That is the tipping point. Often so much of our energy and focus is on the trial--"Why did this have to happen? It isn't fair. Why me?"--when the trial is not the point. Quite frankly, if it wasn't one thing it would be another. No, it is not the trial but our reaction to it that will determine our life satisfaction.

The picture of our life is first determined by the brush we choose to paint it with. Happiness is a choice.

So, my question to you today is: How do YOU choose to be happy despite life's disappointments?

Just Stuff

Some things I need to get off my chest:

1. I was put out with Bob on The Biggest Loser for stacking his team. And then he had the audacity to say that the ONLY reason he chose the grey team was because being around one of them made him feel homesick. Right!...It had nothing to do with the fact that they are both male, or that they consistently drop big numbers, or that they've never been below the yellow line. Right....it was the homesickness thing. Please!

2. The judges got it wrong on Miss America. When Miss Michigan came out in her "evening gown" I actually said out loud, "Hoochie!" They said they were going for a new look, but please! We have enough of those in Hollywood, don't we?

3. And why does coloring my hair have to cost $100?! For that amount of money it had better overshadow some of these wrinkles I'm starting to sport. Seriously!

Guess that's it. I feel better now.

Oh...and if you have differing opinions, don't be afraid. Get it off your chest.

My Must See Pick of the Year

Why hasn't this movie found its audience? It's a slam dunk for me. Steve Carell is brilliant: vulnerable and sweet and still a little funny. But the whole movie deserves a standing ovation as far as I'm concerned. Have you seen it? What did you think?

And if not, well, get going if you can still find it. It's worth the $9.50, I swear!

The Price of Peace

A few days ago I read an article in the East Valley Tribune about a church's youth group who provided a service to our community by painting over graffiti. What they did was creative and positive, changing swastikas into signs of peace. I love kids who are willing to be proactive and positive, so the story caught my eye, but so did something else. Something a bit troubling that I can't get off my mind.

The story ended with this:
Church spokeswoman Sue Nee said graffiti itself is so commonplace. She said gangs have been hanging out in the area and police have been involved in curbing that.

The Rev. Julianne Lewis, senior pastor, explained that reporting it to police “wouldn’t be something we would do. That is not an action we would take for something like that because the important thing is to have peace.”

"The important thing is to have peace." Wow. That sounds really terrifically Christian on the surface. I mean who can argue with peace? Christ did say, "Blessed are the peacemakers," but in doing so did He condone lawlessness? Did He approve of criminal activity?

If "the important thing is to have peace," I have to ask: At what cost? Is our society to turn a blind eye to social depravity in the name of peace?

And there is the part that troubles me most. In this age, where religion may very well be the last bastion of moral education, please tell me that our churches are not teaching our children to accept evil, turn a blind eye, or just cover it up because "the important thing is to have peace." That would be a terrible misunderstanding of Christ's mission. The important thing is to do what is right though it may cause agitation.

Do I believe that I should be an example of peace? Absolutely. And I believe that a phone call to the authorities could have been a step in bringing a lot of peace to that neighborhood. We send His peace out into the world when we speak out for what is right, when we recognize evil for what it is and refuse to accept it.

What do you think? Should peace be all important? Or is the standard of keeping the peace no standard at all? Is it a moving line that will ultimately serve to let wickedness infringe upon our lives?

The Gift of the Abundant Heart

I have certainly appreciated every one's thoughts on the topic of gossip. Clearly there are many particulars of the topic that deserve thought and reflection. My reflection on gossip these past few weeks has been surrounding this scripture in the New Testament:

Luke 6:45
A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil; for of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaketh.

The last part, regarding the abundance of heart, is what really got me thinking.

I am not a fan of gossip, and the best lesson I learned about gossip came when I had the privilege of meeting and becoming friends with a couple of women with whom it is impossible to gossip. They just won't take the bait. They have an amazing way of turning the conversation to something more positive or relevant without ever calling out the offender. Wow! I so want to be them when I grow up; therefore, I have been watching them carefully.

What I have learned is that they have something else to say. Something positive and edifying. That doesn't happen accidentally. In fact just the other day I heard about a study that put men and women in rooms alone for long periods of time with nothing to occupy them. Unlike most men, most women reported having spent the time recalling and reliving conversations.

What this reaffirms to me is that a major portion of our nature is this heavy importance on relationships. That is not all bad, but it is not all good either, and I think we need to channel that tendency in a positive direction. That is the process of the abundance of the heart on which I have been reflecting.

Sometimes our lives as women becomes relatively small, and I don't mean that in sense of importance. Mothering, in my book, is the most important job in the world. I mean small in the sense that we spend a lot of time at home, doing a lot of mundane chores, surrounded by a lot of little people who, as much as we love them, aren't intellectually stimulating yet. We see the same people, do the same things; am I the only one who has experienced cabin fever? Or am I the only one to find myself living in a deep, deep rut?

Perhaps it is that routine that makes it so easy for gossip to slip into our dialogue. What else do we have to say? Where is the abundance of our heart?

If nothing else, this scripture encourages me to fill my heart with edifying and intellectually stimulating thoughts and information, and then when I converse I have something relevant and thought-provoking to share.

I have found that it can be done relatively easily. Even when our lives don't give us a lot of alone time, we can find a few moments here and there: A good magazine in the bathroom--no joke; it may be the only quiet moments I enjoy all day. A podcast to listen to as I clean. Reading the paper over breakfast. Scripture study before bed. Joining a book club. These few activities give me something to think about during my day besides "She said what?" and "Who did that?"

They help me lift my head out of the mundane and see something with a bigger purpose or higher meaning. Hopefully, it is filling my heart with a positive abundance, and I am becoming convinced that an abundant heart may be the best gift we can give our family, our friends, and our little corner of the world.

Ladies Unite!!!

It's time to do something! Did you read my post about Mudflap Girl? If you want a prime example of that subtle sexual messaging of our young girls just take a drive through McDonalds. Madame Queen did. Read her post about it here.

I couldn't agree with her more, and I think we need to send a message. It's time to write a letter or two, ladies. We need to express our disgust and our outrage. We need to lend our voice to the protection of our baby girls who do not need to feed on the overt sexual garbage that is fed to them.

Will you do it? I'll try to find the appropriate addresses and post them, and then let's write. And let's get our friends to write. What let's not do is accept it. No! Let's stand strong and shout into the wind.

My 5 year old does not need to bring sexy back. Does yours?

We Gotta' Get Rid of this Chick--Forever

There are so many reasons that I hate this girl and everything for which she stands. Generally though, when I see her, she is attached to the back of some redneck/trucker's pickup or long haul trailer, and I just shake my head as I consider the source and send up a little prayer of gratitude that the men in my life are nothing like that. No, the men in my life see me as more than boobs and lipstick and have enough respect for womanhood that their idea of honor is far better than plastering our image on a mudflap, which so clearly smacks of dragging us through the mud that no woman should have anything to do with a man who insists on said behaviour. In any way. Ever.

But the other day was a new experience altogether. While waiting in line to pick up my sweet daughter from kindergarten, I pulled behind a red Malibu and quickly noticed the silver truckergirl license plate holder: two faceless women on either side, on their knees, butts and breasts jutting out, head thrown back, long hair flowing. My blood started to boil, and not because I'm against sex in general. I even consider myself a little sexy, but I am not dumb enough to think that that is all I have to offer the world. What that license plate holder and every trucker girl mudflap says to me is that women are nameless, faceless, objects without meaning beyond their physicality. And that is why I was mortified to realize that the license plate holder in question did not belong to the usual redneck guy, but rather to a woman. And not only a woman, but a mother of at least two adorable little girls whom I've seen her pick up on two occasions now. That is what made me the sickest of all.

Because if that woman values the anonymous sex-kitten image enough to visually promote it to the world, I worry about the subtleties of gender issues she is teaching her girls every day. Will their value be measured by the size of their breasts or the number of men willing to bed them? Will they believe they have gifts of mind and spirit that can bless mankind or will they settle for being a great lay?

Do men suffer the same messaging regarding their sexuality? I don't think so. Chippendale's may be the closest we get, thankfully. I would hate to see a mudflap of a man in profile with a giant erect penis. Gross, right? And yet, that is the only correlation I can draw to the objectification of women we see so often.

There would be many, I guess, who would say I'm blowing this out of proportion, but I think not because women are surrounded by this kind of subtle messaging on every side, and if we don't recognize it, call it out, and name it, our girls will go on absorbing it, digesting it, and allowing it to define them in some way. That definition is dangerous and in some cases an absolute destroyer. If sex is all they are worth, then they will give themselves away a piece at a time hoping to find the love they have never felt for themselves.

I'm not denying the significance of sexuality in the human experience, but it is when we are defined by it that we disregard all of the qualities that give us meaning, that make us unique and worth loving in the first place. That is something the "mudflap girl" will never get.

Hey Paula, I Feel Sick

I am sorry to be posting about this again. I'm sure it is not even worth the ink--make that cyberspace--but I've got to get this off my chest. I promise this will be the last time, although I had my fingers crossed as I typed that. (A very difficult thing to do, by the way.)

Okay, my guilty pleasure of the last month or so has been watching "Hey Paula" which was accidental to begin with due to my avoidance issues that I have blogged about before. Anyway, what began as a guilty pleasure soon became a semi-scientific study of odd and narcissistic human behavior that makes me emotionally sick and grateful at the same time.

Here's why: It is sad to see an adult with the emotional maturity of a 15 year old. While she is busy lamenting that people "don't treat her like the gift she is," I pity her, and what I would really like to do is shake her and say, "You are destined to be miserable if you do not get with the program." Then I'd like to whisk her away from Tinseltown and train her how to live like a normal person. She can do her own packing ("Where are my sweatpants?!"), her own cooking ("I'm so hungry! M&M's..nah...I just need something to eat...No that doesn't look good. I'm starving! How dare you offer me that nasty gift basket!"), her own houscleaning (Maid, doggy pooped again! When you get that cleaned up, come here and I'll hug you."), her own decorating ("No painted bird cages in MY bedroom!!")...In short, she can learn to be responsible for her own little self, like normal grown up people do. I think this dose of reality would do a great deal to give her some empathy, some personal responsibility, and some much needed perspective. Who knows? She might end up learning to string complete sentences together. (Okay, that was downright catty! Sorry. But you have to admit that she don't talk too good, does she?)

Did you see when she stood her decorator up, never once met with her, turned the whole project over to someone else, and then turned her nose up (and I mean that literally) at the final product, a place, by the way, where most people would LOVE to live if only they could afford it? It totally came off was rude and spoiled. And this is only one example of many. I'm sorry to say this, but she deserved to trip over her dog. It's called karma. (Now, is that mean or simply an observation? I can't tell.)

Normal life-d people don't act like that as a general rule. They don't keep others waiting for hours. They take responsibility for their own choices. They don't depend on everyone else to cater to them and then throw a fit when their desired wishes aren't met by someone who can't read their mind. (Surprise!) Or if they do, they can't get away with it very long because they don't have enough cash to pay people to put up with their BS. You know, it's true what they say: Celebrities lives are not like ours, and for that I am truly grateful.

Ultimately, my final semi-scientific thesis is this: When life revolves around you, and you are surrounded by people who are not interested in telling you the truth, but rather sponging off of your success, life becomes very small, even when you are living big. Thank you, Lord, for my tiny, little tea party of a world. Frankly, I wouldn't trade places with a big life-d person for anything.