Pro-Life vs Pro-Choice.
This was the subject of the day in my Ethics class at the Marriott School of Management in the fall of 1997.
One can imagine that a discussion regarding this sticky subject at Brigham Young University would not be much of a debate.
Brigham Young University is a private, religious institution. The vast majority of her students are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. (Mormons.)
Life is a sacred gift not to be taken lightly. Life is not to be disposed of when one deems it inconvenient.
I sat in a class of approximately 75 students. I yawned and toyed with the buttons on my emerald green silk blouse.
I thought about how after this class I would walk down the street to Wendy's and have a baked potato with green peas and ranch dressing on top.
I wrote "I love Mr. Pistol" with a heart around it in my notebook next to the word "Ethics". I was a newlywed then.
I checked the clock every few minutes. I sighed and drummed my fingers lightly.
The conversation was very ho-hum.
Everyone had the same opinion to share.
We were all Pro-Life, of course.
The powers of procreation are of the greatest powers given to man and woman on this earth. We are meant to guard our virtue until, within the bonds of marriage, we share sexual intimacy only with our spouse.
As sober students at BYU we all understood the same scriptural concepts.
As God's children we are commanded to multiply and replenish the earth. We know our Heavenly Father's precious spirits will inhabit the physical temple of the body. When we procreate we allow a body to come to be.
Parents (a man and a woman) are to nurture and care for their children in love and righteousness.
Student after student shared testimonies of faith in God's plan of Happiness.
Our professor threw us a curve ball.
"What if a woman is raped? ...What then? ...How do you justify your anti-abortion stance then?"
I woke up.
How would my fellow classmates handle this jarring question?
I looked within myself. Despite all my previous faith, I felt unsure of my stance.
How could I defend such a thing?
How can a young woman who has been RAPED come to terms with KEEPING that child?
Could I do it?
For a moment the classroom was silent. We were uncomfortable. How does one answer such a question at BYU?
A handsome young man with a missionary hair cut and a starched shirt tucked neatly into his slacks raised his hand.
"My mother was very young when she was raped," he said. "I am the result of the rape. I am eternally grateful to her for having the faith to let me live."
You could have heard a pin drop.
I now knew my stance without a shadow of a doubt.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
I REFUSE to talk politics *cough* ROMNEY RULES*cough*
Do I dare discuss politics?
Nah.
I don't want to alienate my readers. I want everybody to like me and love me.
I will keep myself to myself so far as presidential candidates are concerned.
Yup.
I will tell ya that I watched the Monday night debate though. (I also watched the latest episode of that Kardashian mess. I can't get ENOUGH of that trash!)
I may even subliminally infer I have a slight preference regarding who should win Republican candidate and the whole enchilada, for that matter.
(ROMNEY FOR PRESIDENT!)
I have no intention of being an immature mudslinger.
(Newt's private life and personal history gross me out. His voice is unpleasant, like nails on a chalkboard or like the stench of eye of Newt in a wicked witches brew. Very smelly. And he is very selfish to keep all that thick white hair on his head for himself and not share when there are so many bald men with cold heads in the world.)
It's pretty cool I live in a country in which I can say whatever I want about politicians without fear of punishment.
It's pretty cool that there is a black president in a country that not so very long ago would not allow black children to attend the same schools as white children.
My dad was telling me just the other day how he remembers the very first time black children were allowed to ride on the same bus as he and his classmates in South Carolina.
He remembers how strange it was. And how scared the new passengers seemed that day. How his daddy (my Pops) had warned that morning, "Now, you don't look at them and they won't look at you!"
Black children have no need to be scared now, do they?
White kids can look at black kids. Black kids can look at white kids. They can even be friends. Imagine that.
We have a black president. We have come so far.
Guess what else is cool.
It's pretty cool that a Mormon is running for president. He is doing well.
Not so long ago an extermination order was put out by a certain Governor Boggs allowing people to shoot Mormons in cold blood. Just because they were... Mormons.
We are no strangers to persecution.
But now look! Mitt Romney is a Mormon dude and he is doing quite well for his little Mormon self!
I must admit I like Romney largely because he is Mormon. I know what he stands for. I stand for the same things. He is a good man. With a good family.
He's one of my peeps, Romney is.
Guess what bums me out though.
People are afraid of Mormons. People think we have weird beliefs.
True.
We do. Have weird beliefs.
But so does everybody else.
Other Christian sects think our Book of Mormon is bizarre and false. They preach against us in their places of worship. They think there is no way an angel could have appeared to a young boy and told him where to find ancient scripture in the form of gold plates hidden in the ground on a hill in upstate New York.
Putting it that way I guess I agree it is a strange belief.
Know what else are strange beliefs?
A talking donkey.
Noah filling an ark, constructed by he and his sons, with every animal, male and female, on the earth right before a flood came and drowned the entire human population not on that boat.
Sampson cutting off his hair and losing all his strength.
Hungry lions not eating Daniel.
The garden of Eden.
A virgin giving birth to the Savior of the world.
Those things are all in the Bible. I believe the Bible is the word of God. As do all my Mormon pals the world over.
And what about people who believe God is sort of an essence. A cloud. A fluffy, fuzzy presence that is nowhere, yet everywhere... That's pretty weird.
Buddhists believe peculiar stuff too. Let's not leave them out.
So you see, my friend, we are all a peculiar people.
Perhaps the key to demolishing fear is education. Knowledge is power.
Got any questions about Mormons and our beliefs? Ask away. I'm ready.
PS I wish Kim Kardashian had held out just a few more days in her marriage to Chris. I'm just not ready to see their train wreck relationship end yet! There is only one more episode until splizville! I also wish I had professionals to do my makeup like Kim's everyday. She looks very Kardashian Barbie.
Nah.
I don't want to alienate my readers. I want everybody to like me and love me.
I will keep myself to myself so far as presidential candidates are concerned.
Yup.
I will tell ya that I watched the Monday night debate though. (I also watched the latest episode of that Kardashian mess. I can't get ENOUGH of that trash!)
I may even subliminally infer I have a slight preference regarding who should win Republican candidate and the whole enchilada, for that matter.
(ROMNEY FOR PRESIDENT!)
I have no intention of being an immature mudslinger.
(Newt's private life and personal history gross me out. His voice is unpleasant, like nails on a chalkboard or like the stench of eye of Newt in a wicked witches brew. Very smelly. And he is very selfish to keep all that thick white hair on his head for himself and not share when there are so many bald men with cold heads in the world.)
It's pretty cool I live in a country in which I can say whatever I want about politicians without fear of punishment.
It's pretty cool that there is a black president in a country that not so very long ago would not allow black children to attend the same schools as white children.
My dad was telling me just the other day how he remembers the very first time black children were allowed to ride on the same bus as he and his classmates in South Carolina.
He remembers how strange it was. And how scared the new passengers seemed that day. How his daddy (my Pops) had warned that morning, "Now, you don't look at them and they won't look at you!"
Black children have no need to be scared now, do they?
White kids can look at black kids. Black kids can look at white kids. They can even be friends. Imagine that.
We have a black president. We have come so far.
Guess what else is cool.
It's pretty cool that a Mormon is running for president. He is doing well.
Not so long ago an extermination order was put out by a certain Governor Boggs allowing people to shoot Mormons in cold blood. Just because they were... Mormons.
We are no strangers to persecution.
But now look! Mitt Romney is a Mormon dude and he is doing quite well for his little Mormon self!
I must admit I like Romney largely because he is Mormon. I know what he stands for. I stand for the same things. He is a good man. With a good family.
He's one of my peeps, Romney is.
Guess what bums me out though.
People are afraid of Mormons. People think we have weird beliefs.
True.
We do. Have weird beliefs.
But so does everybody else.
Other Christian sects think our Book of Mormon is bizarre and false. They preach against us in their places of worship. They think there is no way an angel could have appeared to a young boy and told him where to find ancient scripture in the form of gold plates hidden in the ground on a hill in upstate New York.
Putting it that way I guess I agree it is a strange belief.
Know what else are strange beliefs?
A talking donkey.
Noah filling an ark, constructed by he and his sons, with every animal, male and female, on the earth right before a flood came and drowned the entire human population not on that boat.
Sampson cutting off his hair and losing all his strength.
Hungry lions not eating Daniel.
The garden of Eden.
A virgin giving birth to the Savior of the world.
Those things are all in the Bible. I believe the Bible is the word of God. As do all my Mormon pals the world over.
And what about people who believe God is sort of an essence. A cloud. A fluffy, fuzzy presence that is nowhere, yet everywhere... That's pretty weird.
Buddhists believe peculiar stuff too. Let's not leave them out.
So you see, my friend, we are all a peculiar people.
Perhaps the key to demolishing fear is education. Knowledge is power.
Got any questions about Mormons and our beliefs? Ask away. I'm ready.
PS I wish Kim Kardashian had held out just a few more days in her marriage to Chris. I'm just not ready to see their train wreck relationship end yet! There is only one more episode until splizville! I also wish I had professionals to do my makeup like Kim's everyday. She looks very Kardashian Barbie.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
A Mighty Change of Heart
"There is nothing more we can do for him," the doctors said. "We will just have to wait and see. His heart is not doing well."
The doctors were speaking of my mother's brother, Paco. Last night his heart was failing him. Our enormous family anxiously filled the waiting room with tear filled eyes and prayerful hearts.
My father arrived just in time to hear these words.
"There is something I can do," he said. "Where is Jose?"
My uncle Jose ( a former Mormon bishop) had been in the hospital waiting room all day and was heading home for the night. He tried to exit the hospital but all the doors he tried were locked. Despite every effort he could not exit the building. His phone rang.
"Where are you, Jose?" asked dad.
"I'm still in the hospital. I can't get out," he laughed.
"I need you back up here. There is a reason you can't get out."
My father called his brother-in-law back in order to administer a blessing on the head my sick uncle.
We Mormons believe in the Power of the Priesthood held by a worthy man. It is the very power of God. Great miracles can occur through this power.
My father and my uncle live their lives in such a way that the Lord can work miracles through them. They are men of God. Pure in heart.
They laid their hands upon the head of a sick man. They prayed. They called down the powers of heaven to heal their brother-in-law.
I was not there to hear the words that were uttered. But a loving and kind Heavenly Father was There. He heard their pleas. He answered.
Knock and it shall be opened unto you. Ask and ye shall receive.
Shortly after the blessing the doctors were baffled to discover my uncle had suddenly, inexplicably (so far as they were concerned) taken a turn for the better.
A miracle.
There are no coincidences in this life. There is a plan for each of us.
My uncle was not supposed to die last night.
There is a great lack of faith in this world. People are sad and feel hopeless and helpless. The helplessness drives them to eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.
But for those of us who Know, tomorrow we do not surely die. But we look forward in Faith with a brightness of Hope to everlasting life.
For those of us with Faith miracles occur and we accept them as such. We seek Joy in this journey. We are privy to a deep understanding of Life, True Love and the world to come.
I am grateful beyond measure for the Love of a gentle God who allows us all to be healed and come unto Him. I live for that Love and feel it course through me with every breath I take.
All broken hearts can be mended.
The doctors were speaking of my mother's brother, Paco. Last night his heart was failing him. Our enormous family anxiously filled the waiting room with tear filled eyes and prayerful hearts.
My father arrived just in time to hear these words.
"There is something I can do," he said. "Where is Jose?"
My uncle Jose ( a former Mormon bishop) had been in the hospital waiting room all day and was heading home for the night. He tried to exit the hospital but all the doors he tried were locked. Despite every effort he could not exit the building. His phone rang.
"Where are you, Jose?" asked dad.
"I'm still in the hospital. I can't get out," he laughed.
"I need you back up here. There is a reason you can't get out."
My father called his brother-in-law back in order to administer a blessing on the head my sick uncle.
We Mormons believe in the Power of the Priesthood held by a worthy man. It is the very power of God. Great miracles can occur through this power.
My father and my uncle live their lives in such a way that the Lord can work miracles through them. They are men of God. Pure in heart.
They laid their hands upon the head of a sick man. They prayed. They called down the powers of heaven to heal their brother-in-law.
I was not there to hear the words that were uttered. But a loving and kind Heavenly Father was There. He heard their pleas. He answered.
Knock and it shall be opened unto you. Ask and ye shall receive.
Shortly after the blessing the doctors were baffled to discover my uncle had suddenly, inexplicably (so far as they were concerned) taken a turn for the better.
A miracle.
There are no coincidences in this life. There is a plan for each of us.
My uncle was not supposed to die last night.
There is a great lack of faith in this world. People are sad and feel hopeless and helpless. The helplessness drives them to eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.
But for those of us who Know, tomorrow we do not surely die. But we look forward in Faith with a brightness of Hope to everlasting life.
For those of us with Faith miracles occur and we accept them as such. We seek Joy in this journey. We are privy to a deep understanding of Life, True Love and the world to come.
I am grateful beyond measure for the Love of a gentle God who allows us all to be healed and come unto Him. I live for that Love and feel it course through me with every breath I take.
All broken hearts can be mended.
Monday, August 29, 2011
As For Some Experiences I Will Remain A Virgin.
"There is nudity in that movie," said Coral absently from the kitchen.
I was loading a DVD. Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
I looked over at my sister. She was in the process of bleaching her black dread locks. In an effort to spare her clothes she had removed every stitch.
"There is nudity in THIS movie," I said gesturing to her bare everything.
We laughed. It had not occurred to her... It is simply how we do.
Coral knows I don't watch movies with nudity or excessive violence or vast amounts of foul language. These things upset me. Make me feel filthy with a strong desire for repentance and a hot bath.
But I today I felt rebellious. I am, after all, a grown woman! I can do whatever the hell I want! I can watch a movie with nudity if I so choose. Right? I am over the age of 18, for heaven's sake.
So I watched the movie. There was indeed nudity. Of the full frontal male variety.
"Oh! Ugh," I said.
I slapped my hand over my eyes. But it was too late. I felt just awful. The actor's junk was seared into my brain. You can't unsee junk, ya know. I am forever altered.
"I told you," said Coral.
Later that night she put clothes on and took me to a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
"Everyone should see it at least once," said my sister.
She drew a red "V" for virgin on my cheek as is the custom for newcomers to the show.
There were transvestites from every walk of life. There were pretty trannies and super scary cross dressers. Young men were dressed in sparkly gold spandex shorts. Young women donned crisp white bras and matching slips. There were wigs.
I had no idea what I was in for.
I watched the entire show. I tried to be brave.
"You okay?" Coral would whisper.
"Uh huh! Yup!"
Oh. But I wasn't. I wasn't okay at all. I began to feel ill. Actually physically ILL.
I can't say why exactly. I only know I felt offended. Too much swearing. Too much ick. Too much yuck. Too much muck.
I didn't want to be lame. I didn't want to be the dork in the Sunday School lesson who gets up and leaves with righteous purpose and shames everyone else.
I withstood the blows to my sensitive soul with an uneasy smile.
Our next stop was Vegas' Hard Rock Cafe Casino. There was a battle of pianos. I was in heaven. I stood up and danced the Ick away. I shook my backside until the muck slid from my sullied heart and mind and into a sticky mess on the floor before me. I danced like the world had fallen away. Earths collided. I didn't notice.
There was a time (quite recently) I would have been more than okay with the events of the day.
I was surprised at my discomfort. Could it be I was becoming... spiritually refined? Me?
I consider myself a Seeker. A Seeker of Truth and Light. I began Seeking More when I found myself in darkness. Lost. Alone. Devastated. I felt there was no one on this Earth to turn to. So I turned to God.
In so Seeking I have put off the Natural Woman to the best of my feeble abilities. I have prayed for Peace and Light. I have sought to see things as they truly are. We live in a confused and fallen world, my friends.
I love my Coral dearly. She is my best friend. I in no way fault her for having the stamina to take such sights and sounds into her arsenal of memories. She wishes to live and experience as much as she can. She wants Fire and Chaos and Passion. She is currently at Burning Man. I worry. But her life is her own. This is her mortal probation.
And this is yours. And this is mine.
I judge no one for where they stand spiritually in this darkened world. We have been thrown into a pressure cooker and are expected to Love.
I wish to live and experience peace. Peace comes at a high opportunity cost.
I was blind and (rote as it may sound) ...now I see.
I am shocked to discover it.
I was loading a DVD. Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
I looked over at my sister. She was in the process of bleaching her black dread locks. In an effort to spare her clothes she had removed every stitch.
"There is nudity in THIS movie," I said gesturing to her bare everything.
We laughed. It had not occurred to her... It is simply how we do.
Coral knows I don't watch movies with nudity or excessive violence or vast amounts of foul language. These things upset me. Make me feel filthy with a strong desire for repentance and a hot bath.
But I today I felt rebellious. I am, after all, a grown woman! I can do whatever the hell I want! I can watch a movie with nudity if I so choose. Right? I am over the age of 18, for heaven's sake.
So I watched the movie. There was indeed nudity. Of the full frontal male variety.
"Oh! Ugh," I said.
I slapped my hand over my eyes. But it was too late. I felt just awful. The actor's junk was seared into my brain. You can't unsee junk, ya know. I am forever altered.
"I told you," said Coral.
Later that night she put clothes on and took me to a showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
"Everyone should see it at least once," said my sister.
She drew a red "V" for virgin on my cheek as is the custom for newcomers to the show.
There were transvestites from every walk of life. There were pretty trannies and super scary cross dressers. Young men were dressed in sparkly gold spandex shorts. Young women donned crisp white bras and matching slips. There were wigs.
I had no idea what I was in for.
I watched the entire show. I tried to be brave.
"You okay?" Coral would whisper.
"Uh huh! Yup!"
Oh. But I wasn't. I wasn't okay at all. I began to feel ill. Actually physically ILL.
I can't say why exactly. I only know I felt offended. Too much swearing. Too much ick. Too much yuck. Too much muck.
I didn't want to be lame. I didn't want to be the dork in the Sunday School lesson who gets up and leaves with righteous purpose and shames everyone else.
I withstood the blows to my sensitive soul with an uneasy smile.
Our next stop was Vegas' Hard Rock Cafe Casino. There was a battle of pianos. I was in heaven. I stood up and danced the Ick away. I shook my backside until the muck slid from my sullied heart and mind and into a sticky mess on the floor before me. I danced like the world had fallen away. Earths collided. I didn't notice.
There was a time (quite recently) I would have been more than okay with the events of the day.
I was surprised at my discomfort. Could it be I was becoming... spiritually refined? Me?
I consider myself a Seeker. A Seeker of Truth and Light. I began Seeking More when I found myself in darkness. Lost. Alone. Devastated. I felt there was no one on this Earth to turn to. So I turned to God.
In so Seeking I have put off the Natural Woman to the best of my feeble abilities. I have prayed for Peace and Light. I have sought to see things as they truly are. We live in a confused and fallen world, my friends.
I love my Coral dearly. She is my best friend. I in no way fault her for having the stamina to take such sights and sounds into her arsenal of memories. She wishes to live and experience as much as she can. She wants Fire and Chaos and Passion. She is currently at Burning Man. I worry. But her life is her own. This is her mortal probation.
And this is yours. And this is mine.
I judge no one for where they stand spiritually in this darkened world. We have been thrown into a pressure cooker and are expected to Love.
I wish to live and experience peace. Peace comes at a high opportunity cost.
I was blind and (rote as it may sound) ...now I see.
I am shocked to discover it.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Conference of Mormons
Saint.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I am referred to as a Saint.
Makes me uncomfortable. I, my friends, am no Saint.
Daily I do, say and think things that require repentance.
Mormons all over the world gathered together this weekend to take part in our annual General Conference.
For 8 hours we were instructed. The hours were divided into two hour sessions.
My husband and I gathered our children together in our living room for that amount of time and tuned into the BYU channel.
We listened to talks given by the leaders of our Church, including President Thomas S. Monson. (He is our prophet. I super duper love that guy.)
I did my best to soak up the spirit of each message as it was intended.
At times I would feel overcome with the emotion that sometimes comes of spiritual uplift. Immediatly my thoughts would be interrupted by one of my younguns,
"Is it almost done?"
"That guy has a double chin."
"Why does that guy smack his lips after every sentence?"
"How many more minutes?"
"Can we go to the park?"
Then one of them would irreverently pass gas and laugh loudly.
"Whoops! Slipped out! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!"
You've got to be KIDDING ME! I thought. How can I possibly feel The Sweet Spirit of Love in the midst of noxious gas?
How can I be a Saint in Zion with all these rambunctious CHILDREN wreaking havoc and bedlam?! HUH? (One of the speakers affectionately referred to little children as "Bedlam-ites". I dig it.)
How can I be a SAINT when there is FARTING going on?
My heart was hard. So I prayed.
Please help me to feel what I am supposed to feel. Help me to not freak out. Help me to know how I can be better.
A story was told moments later by an apostle of The Church. Elder Richard G. Scott.
He told of the time his little son had cried in the night, as he was wont to do. Elder Scott took mercy on his wife and let her sleep as he got up and gathered the child in his arms.
The child had thrown up. His little heart raced.
Elder Scott changed the boy's bed sheets and clothes. He held his small child tenderly until his heartbeat returned to normal.
He did not know that a few months later his young boy would die.
He told us how he never forgot the night he comforted his baby boy. He told us how grateful he was for that experience.
When he and his wife left the hospital the night their son passed away they pulled over to the side of the road and prayed together. They thanked their Heavenly Father for the years they had spent with him. They thanked him for the knowledge they would see him again.
My eyes welled with tears. I was filled with gratitude as I looked around my living room and saw Maya and Tyson hiding under the coffee table playing with plastic horses and action figures. My heart swelled as I saw my older girls giggling and poking each other in the eye as a way of passing the time.
In that moment I understood the term Saint is a description of who I am striving to become.
One day (a million years from now, after a great deal of refinement) I may actually feel worthy of the term.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I am referred to as a Saint.
Makes me uncomfortable. I, my friends, am no Saint.
Daily I do, say and think things that require repentance.
Mormons all over the world gathered together this weekend to take part in our annual General Conference.
For 8 hours we were instructed. The hours were divided into two hour sessions.
My husband and I gathered our children together in our living room for that amount of time and tuned into the BYU channel.
We listened to talks given by the leaders of our Church, including President Thomas S. Monson. (He is our prophet. I super duper love that guy.)
I did my best to soak up the spirit of each message as it was intended.
At times I would feel overcome with the emotion that sometimes comes of spiritual uplift. Immediatly my thoughts would be interrupted by one of my younguns,
"Is it almost done?"
"That guy has a double chin."
"Why does that guy smack his lips after every sentence?"
"How many more minutes?"
"Can we go to the park?"
Then one of them would irreverently pass gas and laugh loudly.
"Whoops! Slipped out! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!"
You've got to be KIDDING ME! I thought. How can I possibly feel The Sweet Spirit of Love in the midst of noxious gas?
How can I be a Saint in Zion with all these rambunctious CHILDREN wreaking havoc and bedlam?! HUH? (One of the speakers affectionately referred to little children as "Bedlam-ites". I dig it.)
How can I be a SAINT when there is FARTING going on?
My heart was hard. So I prayed.
Please help me to feel what I am supposed to feel. Help me to not freak out. Help me to know how I can be better.
A story was told moments later by an apostle of The Church. Elder Richard G. Scott.
He told of the time his little son had cried in the night, as he was wont to do. Elder Scott took mercy on his wife and let her sleep as he got up and gathered the child in his arms.
The child had thrown up. His little heart raced.
Elder Scott changed the boy's bed sheets and clothes. He held his small child tenderly until his heartbeat returned to normal.
He did not know that a few months later his young boy would die.
He told us how he never forgot the night he comforted his baby boy. He told us how grateful he was for that experience.
When he and his wife left the hospital the night their son passed away they pulled over to the side of the road and prayed together. They thanked their Heavenly Father for the years they had spent with him. They thanked him for the knowledge they would see him again.
My eyes welled with tears. I was filled with gratitude as I looked around my living room and saw Maya and Tyson hiding under the coffee table playing with plastic horses and action figures. My heart swelled as I saw my older girls giggling and poking each other in the eye as a way of passing the time.
In that moment I understood the term Saint is a description of who I am striving to become.
One day (a million years from now, after a great deal of refinement) I may actually feel worthy of the term.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Little Mormon
My son is officially a little Mormon now.
He entered the waters of baptism with a splash.
"Oops! I tripped," he lied as he swam about in the font.
The adults gasped in disapproval. I laughed out loud. He's an 8 year old boy for crying out loud. I would have been concerned had he NOT jumped in and stressed his father.
The fib about "tripping" into the font was presently washed away along with all his other sinful infractions today as he was immersed.
The white lie was washed down the drain.
Prior to the baptism I asked him,
"Do you WANT to get baptised? It's a lot of responsibility."
"Yeah. I want to."
"Why? You don't HAVE to."
"Because...then I will do what Heavenly Father wants me to do."
Of course, at this age he really doesn't have much of a choice, does he? He chose to get baptised because that is what was expected of him by his parents and grandparents and the entire Mormon Community which surrounds him.
In addition, He badly wants to be an obedient, true, good boy.
I badly want him to grow up and be an strong, obedient, good Man. Obedient to God. True to his eternal Self.
It's quite a responsibility to raise a child in this world. I need constant Faith and Hope and Prayer to stay afloat.
So many people I love are Lost. Depressed. Lonely. Anxious. Addicted. Confused. I watch them suffer. My heart bleeds.
I've been there. I've questioned everything and everyone. I've kicked against the pricks and returned bruised, battered and starving for light.
I don't want a life of confusion and depression/anxiety associated with The Existential Dilemma.
I don't want The World to teach my son happiness is found in instant-gratification, addictive substances and degrading pornography.
And so the gift I instill in him is a gift of Power. This Power is acquired through Faith, Self Control, Right Choices and a Pure Heart.
I like Big, Powerful Men. I want my son to be a Big, Powerful Man. Powerful in the Eyes of God and Men. He will rise up and be a leader in this world of confusion. He will lead people for good and they will follow.
I have no career to call my own. My work and my glory are my children. I live my life as their teacher and mentor in this game of life. I will do whatever it takes to help them become the most highly evolved versions of themselves possible.
PS I'm freakin exhausted! I've been cookin and cleaning and slavin' and plus I ran 10 miles yesterday! But did I get to rest after my run? NOOOOO! I had to scrub toilets and chop salsa and fuit platters and veggie trays. and once upon a time, last year, I would have these events catered! and I wouldn't have to piant my very own toes and nails and then the cleaning ladies would come....
I got everything all ready to host a post baptism lunch for friends and fam. We had a good time. Im BEAT! And hungry for junk. Im tempted to go downstairs and sneak a huge bowl of nachos and some cake. But then I'll get obese.
Will you still love me when I'm obese?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Treasure
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
~Matthew 6:21
My Mother taught me this scripture in her thick Mexican accent before I could form the words myself.
"My treasure is my God and my Family. In that order," she said often.
Her "family" includes every soul in which she comes in contact.
Though I am tall and she is small I know I will never measure up to my tiny Mother. She is a giant. Mighty in her Gratitude. Strong in her Faith. Matchless in her Service.
My Mother came from dirt floors that were dampened and swept daily. My Mother came from scant portions of beans, coffee and stale tortillas. My Mother came from bare feet, thin sweaters in frigid winter and no education.
"God blessed me because my faith and Obedience," she often says. "There is a law irrevocably decreed in Heaven... upon which all blessings are predicated- ...when we obtain any blessing from God it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated".
This is the language she spoke to me by the time I was three years old. Sometimes she said "decreed-ed" instead of "decreed" because English was new to her. I understood with my tiny heart that what she taught came directly from her much bigger heart.
By the Grace of her God she came to the United States and joined the Army. She traveled the world. Married my father. Graduated from the U of A, which was top ten in the country for Nursing. Started a construction company by laying block with her father, brothers and her own tiny hands. I witnessed it myself. The company is now a multi-million dollar operation.
"The Lord knows He can bless with me money because I will help others," she reminds me regularly.
Lay not up for yourselves treasures on Earth... but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven... ~Matthew 6:19-20
For I was an hungered and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked and ye clothed me: I was sick and ye visited me: I was in prison and ye came to me.
.....Lord, WHEN saw we thee hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?.......
Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my bretheren, ye have done it unto me.
~Matthew 25:35-40
I had holes in my clothes as a child and teen. I never had a McDonald's Happy Meal. I did not taste a candy bar until I was 11 years old. We never ordered pizza. We never bought new toys.
"I don't have money for those things," said my Mother.
She instead had money to fill our little VW bug with loaves of bread, twinkies, toilet paper, boxes of cereal and used clothes to distribute to our destitute family in Mexico. She had money to bail loved ones out of jail. She had money to pay for funerals. She had money to pay rent for her siblings in financial difficulty.
I have watched my Mother write checks for thousands of dollars and simply give to those in need. No payment expected. I have witnessed her give away entire vehicles.
I have traveled far and wide with her to attended countless funerals in which she prepared vast quantities of food for those who suffered loss.
Mourn with those that mourn. Comfort those that stand in need of comfort.
There is no way to adequately express the Love and Respect I feel for my Mother. There are a million stories I could share that would only scratch the surface in revealing her beautiful Character.
I leave you with one.
Coral and I were ages 8 and 10, respectively. We had little girlfriends who were sisters, also 8 and 10 years of age. Anna and Angalee.
One day our little friends told us they were being sexually abused by their 20 year old step-brother with the knowledge of their step-mother. They explained to us in childish detail what was being done to them nightly. We were told not to tell.
Coral told our Mother immediatly.
My Mother jumped in the car that instant. Drove to their house. Collected those children. Fought the courts. Fought the world. Those little girls, who had only been casual friends of ours before, lived with us for two years. They called my mother Mom.
My Mother's Prada shoes are tiny. My feet are huge in comparison. I will never fill her shoes.
My prayer nightly is that God might use me, as he has used my Mother, as an instrument in His hands for good. I pray that I might use my body and mind as a tool to succor the weak and afflicted, mourn with those that mourn, comfort those that stand in need of comfort. I pray that He might trust me as He has trusted her. I pray that I might be worthy of that trust.
Happy 60th Birthday, Mom. I love you.
~Matthew 6:21
My Mother taught me this scripture in her thick Mexican accent before I could form the words myself.
"My treasure is my God and my Family. In that order," she said often.
Her "family" includes every soul in which she comes in contact.
Though I am tall and she is small I know I will never measure up to my tiny Mother. She is a giant. Mighty in her Gratitude. Strong in her Faith. Matchless in her Service.
My Mother came from dirt floors that were dampened and swept daily. My Mother came from scant portions of beans, coffee and stale tortillas. My Mother came from bare feet, thin sweaters in frigid winter and no education.
"God blessed me because my faith and Obedience," she often says. "There is a law irrevocably decreed in Heaven... upon which all blessings are predicated- ...when we obtain any blessing from God it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated".
This is the language she spoke to me by the time I was three years old. Sometimes she said "decreed-ed" instead of "decreed" because English was new to her. I understood with my tiny heart that what she taught came directly from her much bigger heart.
By the Grace of her God she came to the United States and joined the Army. She traveled the world. Married my father. Graduated from the U of A, which was top ten in the country for Nursing. Started a construction company by laying block with her father, brothers and her own tiny hands. I witnessed it myself. The company is now a multi-million dollar operation.
"The Lord knows He can bless with me money because I will help others," she reminds me regularly.
Lay not up for yourselves treasures on Earth... but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven... ~Matthew 6:19-20
For I was an hungered and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked and ye clothed me: I was sick and ye visited me: I was in prison and ye came to me.
.....Lord, WHEN saw we thee hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?.......
Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my bretheren, ye have done it unto me.
~Matthew 25:35-40
I had holes in my clothes as a child and teen. I never had a McDonald's Happy Meal. I did not taste a candy bar until I was 11 years old. We never ordered pizza. We never bought new toys.
"I don't have money for those things," said my Mother.
She instead had money to fill our little VW bug with loaves of bread, twinkies, toilet paper, boxes of cereal and used clothes to distribute to our destitute family in Mexico. She had money to bail loved ones out of jail. She had money to pay for funerals. She had money to pay rent for her siblings in financial difficulty.
I have watched my Mother write checks for thousands of dollars and simply give to those in need. No payment expected. I have witnessed her give away entire vehicles.
I have traveled far and wide with her to attended countless funerals in which she prepared vast quantities of food for those who suffered loss.
Mourn with those that mourn. Comfort those that stand in need of comfort.
There is no way to adequately express the Love and Respect I feel for my Mother. There are a million stories I could share that would only scratch the surface in revealing her beautiful Character.
I leave you with one.
Coral and I were ages 8 and 10, respectively. We had little girlfriends who were sisters, also 8 and 10 years of age. Anna and Angalee.
One day our little friends told us they were being sexually abused by their 20 year old step-brother with the knowledge of their step-mother. They explained to us in childish detail what was being done to them nightly. We were told not to tell.
Coral told our Mother immediatly.
My Mother jumped in the car that instant. Drove to their house. Collected those children. Fought the courts. Fought the world. Those little girls, who had only been casual friends of ours before, lived with us for two years. They called my mother Mom.
My Mother's Prada shoes are tiny. My feet are huge in comparison. I will never fill her shoes.
My prayer nightly is that God might use me, as he has used my Mother, as an instrument in His hands for good. I pray that I might use my body and mind as a tool to succor the weak and afflicted, mourn with those that mourn, comfort those that stand in need of comfort. I pray that He might trust me as He has trusted her. I pray that I might be worthy of that trust.
Happy 60th Birthday, Mom. I love you.
PS I hate it when I yawn really big and you stick your finger in my mouth.
Monday, January 31, 2011
The Gift of Autism: Julia Eve
"Be still and know that I am God."
My niece, Julia, is mildly autistic.
Recently my sister, Michelle, asked me to babysit Julia for several hours.
Julia had never been in the care of anyone but the adults that live in her home.
I didn't know what to expect.
In the past, her frustration and lack of vocabulary would cause her to scream and pound the floor with her tiny fists. My sister has always been the model of Love and Understanding with her child despite obvious difficulty.
The moment Michelle left her daughter with me for the night little Julia Eve began to cry. It was not the high pitched frustrated cry I had heard so many times before. She made no sound as she curled up on the couch with a bottle in her hand. Tears of sorrow streamed down her cheeks.
At first I felt anxious. My heart raced. I wanted to do something to quickly make her happy. I wanted to fix her now.
I pulled her onto my lap and offered her snacks and toys and warm milk. "NO!" she protested at every turn.
I had done everything I could on my own. I sent for reinforcements.
I prayed.
There was a stirring within me. Be still and know that I am God.
I suddenly knew if I had enough calm, peaceful Love in my heart she would feel it. If I stopped making it about me and what I thought I knew about children, she would have peace.
I knew if I prayed hard enough, with enough faith, our spirits would be able to communicate and she would be soothed.
So I did. I felt as though she and I were enveloped in a bubble of electric energy. There was something happening I could feel but not see.
She sat on my lap for almost 5 hours.
We watched Disney movies. Bolt. Robin Hood. Spirit.
I chattered throughout every movie as she silently cried on my lap.
"That's a VERY silly puppy!" I said.
or
"Look at that fat hamster in a rolling ball! He's SILLY! And FAT!"
or
"Robin hood and Little John are dressed like GIRLS!"
I continued praying intensely for her peace.
After hours of this we watched Spirit. A beautifully animated movie about a wild horse. The wild horse is captured and contained by various men, both white and brown. In the end, Spirit the Horse runs free.
"Look at the beautiful horsey, Julia!" I said. "He's running! He's running so fast with his mommy!"
Out of nowhere: A Miracle.
"Yes!" exclaimed my tiny Jewel. "The horsey is running in the water with his mommy! It's Julia Horse and Mommy Horse! And Daddy Horse and Joshy Horse!"
My heart threatened to burst!
Thank you, God! Thank you! was all I could think.
It was my turn to sit quietly with tears streaming down my face as she chattered.
Did you know prayers are answered? God is no respecter of persons. He hears and answers all His children according to their Faith and His Will.
I have pondered this experience with little Julia at length.
Julia is a goddess in that tiny body. The intelligence that emanates from her is Divine. She reads scripture at the age of four. She speaks 3 languages. She has the most vivid imagination of any child I've come across. (Example: The other day she lay in the Tucson, Az dirt and pretended to make a snow angel. :)
God sent Julia to my sister because He knew Michelle was just the right mother for this child. Michelle has a gift for nurturing others. A gift for gently seeking out what is virtuous, lovely and uplifting. She took this picture.
I'm constantly told in church God has a plan for me. I hear the words. Sort of.
But in relaying this story to you I can feel The Spirit of Truth. In seeing the beauty of God's creations in Michelle's photograph I see The Spirit of Light.
We are so much more than just our bodies or even our mortal minds. We are Spirits. Energy. Intelligence. Created before the world was. Eternal in nature.
We are like Spirit the Horse. Our bodies only contain us for a time. One day the blind will see. One day the lame will walk. One day...
My niece has been blessed with The Gift of Autism. I believe it brings her closer to God. She sees things as they really are. The superficial means nothing to her. She feels truth and Love in their truest forms.
Julia is an enormous blessing in my life. I was meant to read her silly stories about an elephant who sneezes too much. She was meant to teach me how to be more like the goddess I am to become.
Julia teaches through humble, trusting example...
Be still and know that I am God.
My niece, Julia, is mildly autistic.
Recently my sister, Michelle, asked me to babysit Julia for several hours.
Julia had never been in the care of anyone but the adults that live in her home.
I didn't know what to expect.
In the past, her frustration and lack of vocabulary would cause her to scream and pound the floor with her tiny fists. My sister has always been the model of Love and Understanding with her child despite obvious difficulty.
The moment Michelle left her daughter with me for the night little Julia Eve began to cry. It was not the high pitched frustrated cry I had heard so many times before. She made no sound as she curled up on the couch with a bottle in her hand. Tears of sorrow streamed down her cheeks.
At first I felt anxious. My heart raced. I wanted to do something to quickly make her happy. I wanted to fix her now.
I pulled her onto my lap and offered her snacks and toys and warm milk. "NO!" she protested at every turn.
I had done everything I could on my own. I sent for reinforcements.
I prayed.
There was a stirring within me. Be still and know that I am God.
I suddenly knew if I had enough calm, peaceful Love in my heart she would feel it. If I stopped making it about me and what I thought I knew about children, she would have peace.
I knew if I prayed hard enough, with enough faith, our spirits would be able to communicate and she would be soothed.
So I did. I felt as though she and I were enveloped in a bubble of electric energy. There was something happening I could feel but not see.
She sat on my lap for almost 5 hours.
We watched Disney movies. Bolt. Robin Hood. Spirit.
I chattered throughout every movie as she silently cried on my lap.
"That's a VERY silly puppy!" I said.
or
"Look at that fat hamster in a rolling ball! He's SILLY! And FAT!"
or
"Robin hood and Little John are dressed like GIRLS!"
I continued praying intensely for her peace.
After hours of this we watched Spirit. A beautifully animated movie about a wild horse. The wild horse is captured and contained by various men, both white and brown. In the end, Spirit the Horse runs free.
"Look at the beautiful horsey, Julia!" I said. "He's running! He's running so fast with his mommy!"
Out of nowhere: A Miracle.
"Yes!" exclaimed my tiny Jewel. "The horsey is running in the water with his mommy! It's Julia Horse and Mommy Horse! And Daddy Horse and Joshy Horse!"
My heart threatened to burst!
Thank you, God! Thank you! was all I could think.
It was my turn to sit quietly with tears streaming down my face as she chattered.
Did you know prayers are answered? God is no respecter of persons. He hears and answers all His children according to their Faith and His Will.
I have pondered this experience with little Julia at length.
Julia is a goddess in that tiny body. The intelligence that emanates from her is Divine. She reads scripture at the age of four. She speaks 3 languages. She has the most vivid imagination of any child I've come across. (Example: The other day she lay in the Tucson, Az dirt and pretended to make a snow angel. :)
God sent Julia to my sister because He knew Michelle was just the right mother for this child. Michelle has a gift for nurturing others. A gift for gently seeking out what is virtuous, lovely and uplifting. She took this picture.
I'm constantly told in church God has a plan for me. I hear the words. Sort of.
But in relaying this story to you I can feel The Spirit of Truth. In seeing the beauty of God's creations in Michelle's photograph I see The Spirit of Light.
We are so much more than just our bodies or even our mortal minds. We are Spirits. Energy. Intelligence. Created before the world was. Eternal in nature.
We are like Spirit the Horse. Our bodies only contain us for a time. One day the blind will see. One day the lame will walk. One day...
My niece has been blessed with The Gift of Autism. I believe it brings her closer to God. She sees things as they really are. The superficial means nothing to her. She feels truth and Love in their truest forms.
Julia is an enormous blessing in my life. I was meant to read her silly stories about an elephant who sneezes too much. She was meant to teach me how to be more like the goddess I am to become.
Julia teaches through humble, trusting example...
Be still and know that I am God.
Monday, December 20, 2010
True Christmas Miracle
Her children had joined a strange church with a strange new Bible.
"Today I will be baptized in the Mormon church," said her daughter, Martha.
"I will baptize you myself!" she said.
Catalina dumped a bucket of ice cold water on the head of her daughter and sent her away. She lit candles and prayed to The Virgin on behalf of her wayward children.
It seemed almost more than she could bare.
Catalina was a single mother. She worked on the other side of The Border washing and ironing the clothes of wealthy families.
There was never enough food. The house was freezing. Her children had no coats. She was alone and exhausted. Yet she continued to work long hours for meager pay and brought home what little she could for her family.
Her sister had died some years earlier leaving Catalina to raise her nieces and nephews as well.
The tiny house in Agua Prieta, Mexico was loud with the roar of empty stomachs and her own frustrated reprimands.
Her life seemed Hopeless.
Somtimes when I am in the middle of a sentence my mother will gasp and say, "Oh! You look so much like my mother right now! She looked just like this when she was your age."
The dress I wear here was fabricated at the time my Abuelita, was my age. She often wore simple black dresses with boatneck cuts . The shape and length of the dress is exactly what she would have worn to Mass.
(I purchased this Velvet dress for $16.50 and added the sash for a bit of Christmas flare. I hoped to resemble a Christmas Gift with an enormous gold bow as I conducted the Christmas music for the little ones yesterday at church . The bow is a bit off-center in this pic but you get the idea. :)
Catalina began to see changes in her daughters after they joined The Mormon church. She saw the darkness go out of them. Light beamed from their eyes. They smiled more. They laughed more.
The great change she saw was Hope. Her children had been as Hopeless as she. They had been hungry. Hungry for food. Hungry for Peace. Hungry for God.
Against her better judgment, Catalina began speaking with the Gringo Mormon missionaries her children so adored.
They spoke to her of Forever Families. They spoke to her of Christ coming to the Land of her Ancestors and ministering unto them. They spoke of Eternal Joy. They taught her the measure of her creation was to have Joy.
"Men are that they might have Joy."
Slowly Hope crept in. It filled her chest like the flame of a candle and soon became a raging fire.
Catalina was baptized.
Christmas was upon them. The Joy of a newfound faith, however, was not enough to fill the emptiness caused by extreme poverty in a single-parent home. There was a hole that needed desperatly to be filled.
She wrote a note to her estranged husband. They had been seperated for 7 years.
"Take this note to your father, Martha," she said.
My mother and her brother found their father having a social drink with his buddies in a local pub. He put out the cigarette in his hand and took the note.
The note informed him that if he did not return to The House by nightfall he would never be welcome there again.
He hid a tight-lipped smile. He knew this was her way of saying,
"I want us to be a family again. I love you. Please don't leave me lonely on Christmas."
My Abuelito returned to his family that night.
My mother and her siblings witnessed A CHRISTmas Miracle.
Love triumphed over all. They were filled with Hope and Food. There were gifts and hugs and warmth.
My grandfather also joined the strange Mormon church. He forsook his smoking habit, which he had aquired at the manly age of 14. He ceased drinking alcohol and even coffee.
He lived and died for his family.
On his deathbed he praised God for his children and his family. He had them all gather around his bed and sing a popular Mormon Hymn.
Sobs choked their throats as they sang,
When you look at others with their lands and gold
Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold
Count your many Blessings
Money Cannnot Buy
Your reward in Heaven, nor your Home on High.
The End
Monday, November 22, 2010
Expect Miracles
"I want my mom," I said aloud today. I was alone in my bed shivering with chills and moaning with body aches.
I stared at my phone.
It rang.
Mom.
I haven't talked to her in over a week. She had no idea I was sick. And yet the Power of Love connected us.
Baby miracle. Tender mercy.
"How long have you been sick like this?" she asked.
"Four days."
"Why did you not call us?!"
"I don't know."
But I DO know. I didn't call them because I don't want to humble myself and need anybody. I want to be The Giver. Not the The Weakened Taker.
(My husband has done a marvelous job of caring for me and my lil ones, which has inspired both gratitude and guilt. My internal dialogue insists, I should not be sick. I have failed in some way. I am not doing my job.)
My mother lives an hour away but immediately made me fresh chicken soup and had my father drive her to my home.
I felt safe and comforted to have my little family and my parents under one roof.
They left. My family is asleep.
I find myself searching my soul.
Why was I not surprised to have the prayer of my heart answered within 2 minutes? I knew she would repond.
I expect The Power of Love to bring miracles in her wake.
I expect miracles daily. Why?
Tonight I have discovered through quiet contemplation that I expect Miracles because I humbly have Faith in them. I have to ask "pretty, pretty please, God? Please don't keep me in the dark. I wanna KNOW. I wanna SEE."
I am the first to admit I am proud. I don't ask pretty, pretty please of ANYONE. Pft! Are you KIDDING ME? YOU ask pretty, pretty please and I'll think about it...
Clearly, humility is a skill I work on constantly.
I have come to understand miracles are merely the natural results of God's presence among man. They are absolutely everywhere. But the proud can't see them.
Miracles are visible manifestations of an invisible power. God's power.
Anyone can experience the Invisible Power of God. Anyone who dares awake from the sleep and forgetting of this life can be open to the grandeur of the Cosmos. Anyone who cleans up his life and gets on his knees in deepest humility can see The Unseen World. Anyone.
I believe as my Faith in The Divine increases I will experience greater miracles. I will see things poets witness in dreams. These things will be mine for the taking if I seek them humbly and diligently.
I went 4 whole days without my mother's fresh chicken soup because I did not want to humble myself and call her. I waited until she was prompted by my distressed energy and the power of Love.
I needed my parents. I wanted the comfort they could provide but I resisted.
I find I do the same with God. I resist Him. Resistance only makes me sad and miserable.
When I allow humility to take over and say, "Thy will be done," I am given everything my Spiritual Self can handle.
Humility is Chicken Soup For the Soul.
(Man, that the cheesiest ender I have ever come up with! Ack!)
Aside: I realize mommy blogs are supposed to be upbeat and silly. I clearly write whatever I want without worrying about appealing to a broad demographic. My spiritual musings are just as much a part of me as dancing with a toilet brush in my bathroom. I'm glad you're along for the ride. :) I'm always shocked to see how many of you read this stuff. Thanks for your support!
I stared at my phone.
It rang.
Mom.
I haven't talked to her in over a week. She had no idea I was sick. And yet the Power of Love connected us.
Baby miracle. Tender mercy.
"How long have you been sick like this?" she asked.
"Four days."
"Why did you not call us?!"
"I don't know."
But I DO know. I didn't call them because I don't want to humble myself and need anybody. I want to be The Giver. Not the The Weakened Taker.
(My husband has done a marvelous job of caring for me and my lil ones, which has inspired both gratitude and guilt. My internal dialogue insists, I should not be sick. I have failed in some way. I am not doing my job.)
My mother lives an hour away but immediately made me fresh chicken soup and had my father drive her to my home.
I felt safe and comforted to have my little family and my parents under one roof.
They left. My family is asleep.
I find myself searching my soul.
Why was I not surprised to have the prayer of my heart answered within 2 minutes? I knew she would repond.
I expect The Power of Love to bring miracles in her wake.
I expect miracles daily. Why?
Tonight I have discovered through quiet contemplation that I expect Miracles because I humbly have Faith in them. I have to ask "pretty, pretty please, God? Please don't keep me in the dark. I wanna KNOW. I wanna SEE."
I am the first to admit I am proud. I don't ask pretty, pretty please of ANYONE. Pft! Are you KIDDING ME? YOU ask pretty, pretty please and I'll think about it...
Clearly, humility is a skill I work on constantly.
I have come to understand miracles are merely the natural results of God's presence among man. They are absolutely everywhere. But the proud can't see them.
Miracles are visible manifestations of an invisible power. God's power.
Anyone can experience the Invisible Power of God. Anyone who dares awake from the sleep and forgetting of this life can be open to the grandeur of the Cosmos. Anyone who cleans up his life and gets on his knees in deepest humility can see The Unseen World. Anyone.
I believe as my Faith in The Divine increases I will experience greater miracles. I will see things poets witness in dreams. These things will be mine for the taking if I seek them humbly and diligently.
I went 4 whole days without my mother's fresh chicken soup because I did not want to humble myself and call her. I waited until she was prompted by my distressed energy and the power of Love.
I needed my parents. I wanted the comfort they could provide but I resisted.
I find I do the same with God. I resist Him. Resistance only makes me sad and miserable.
When I allow humility to take over and say, "Thy will be done," I am given everything my Spiritual Self can handle.
Humility is Chicken Soup For the Soul.
(Man, that the cheesiest ender I have ever come up with! Ack!)
Aside: I realize mommy blogs are supposed to be upbeat and silly. I clearly write whatever I want without worrying about appealing to a broad demographic. My spiritual musings are just as much a part of me as dancing with a toilet brush in my bathroom. I'm glad you're along for the ride. :) I'm always shocked to see how many of you read this stuff. Thanks for your support!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Spiritual Freedom
"You look different. Your energy is different," said a friend last night. "There is a light in your eyes I haven't seen in you before. I want that. How can I get that?"
"You have to follow The Rules," I said.
She rolled her eyes. "What rules? Your MORMON rules?" she asked.
"No," I responded. "THE Rules. The Rules of Engagement. The Rules of The Universe. The Rules The Gods must abide."
She stared at me blankly.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean," I said. "You know exactly what I'm saying."
She agreed that there are indeed rules that must be followed in order to recieve more Light and Knowledge. Everyone on this Earth innately knows these rules.
"Following those rules is hard. I don't want to. I'm fine as I am," she said. "I can't be confined like that."
I've thought/prayed long and hard about our conversation.
I understand not wanting to be confined.
I started running away from home when I was five because I wanted to expand my horizons. My mother was terrified to take a shower because there was a good chance I would escape and be found an hour later wandering the crime ridden streets of South Tucson, perfectly content, with my thumb in my mouth.
I value freedom. I crave adventure and excitement. I have always been a free spirit. I have always wanted to see more than what lay before me.
My life as a Mormon mother and wife seems to be the most confining job I could have possibly chosen. There are SOOOO many RULES!
I've prayed and asked God, Why?. Why was I born into a religion that expects so much? Why do other people do horrible things and emerge visibly unscathed while my guilty conscience devours me whole for mistakes I make?
I still don't know.
I do, however, have a great deal of Faith. Faith is my Power.
This religion has been given to me and my moral code won't let me rest unless I live it fully. I have faith there is a reason for all things and people in which I come in contact.
I need what I will experience and have experienced in this life to progress. I can feel the truth of that statement in my very soul.
I have heard people talk in church and say "Following rules is True Freedom." It always made me roll my eyes and bite my lip.
I have prayed not only to read and hear the truth of those words but to feel them.
Suddenly, I do.
Suddenly I see a vision before me of drug and porn addicts, pregnant teens, and alcoholics. I see the chains with which they are bound. Strong and unyeilding. I have been spared these sorrows.
On a higher level, I see a spiritual world that only exists for those with enough Faith to see. I feel bursts of Light that consume me during prayer and mediation. This is a gift given only to those who are obedient to the Will of God. They are new to me. I have never experienced this transcendence before. I have never tried so hard ot be obedient.
I am enjoying a Freedom of Spirit I never thought possible. I can see that so many around me are asleep. They walk in darkness at noon day. I remember what that was like. I have fought for the Spiritual Freedom I now enjoy. I intend to keep it.
"You have to follow The Rules," I said.
She rolled her eyes. "What rules? Your MORMON rules?" she asked.
"No," I responded. "THE Rules. The Rules of Engagement. The Rules of The Universe. The Rules The Gods must abide."
She stared at me blankly.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean," I said. "You know exactly what I'm saying."
She agreed that there are indeed rules that must be followed in order to recieve more Light and Knowledge. Everyone on this Earth innately knows these rules.
"Following those rules is hard. I don't want to. I'm fine as I am," she said. "I can't be confined like that."
I've thought/prayed long and hard about our conversation.
I understand not wanting to be confined.
I started running away from home when I was five because I wanted to expand my horizons. My mother was terrified to take a shower because there was a good chance I would escape and be found an hour later wandering the crime ridden streets of South Tucson, perfectly content, with my thumb in my mouth.
I value freedom. I crave adventure and excitement. I have always been a free spirit. I have always wanted to see more than what lay before me.
My life as a Mormon mother and wife seems to be the most confining job I could have possibly chosen. There are SOOOO many RULES!
I've prayed and asked God, Why?. Why was I born into a religion that expects so much? Why do other people do horrible things and emerge visibly unscathed while my guilty conscience devours me whole for mistakes I make?
I still don't know.
I do, however, have a great deal of Faith. Faith is my Power.
This religion has been given to me and my moral code won't let me rest unless I live it fully. I have faith there is a reason for all things and people in which I come in contact.
I need what I will experience and have experienced in this life to progress. I can feel the truth of that statement in my very soul.
I have heard people talk in church and say "Following rules is True Freedom." It always made me roll my eyes and bite my lip.
I have prayed not only to read and hear the truth of those words but to feel them.
Suddenly, I do.
Suddenly I see a vision before me of drug and porn addicts, pregnant teens, and alcoholics. I see the chains with which they are bound. Strong and unyeilding. I have been spared these sorrows.
On a higher level, I see a spiritual world that only exists for those with enough Faith to see. I feel bursts of Light that consume me during prayer and mediation. This is a gift given only to those who are obedient to the Will of God. They are new to me. I have never experienced this transcendence before. I have never tried so hard ot be obedient.
I am enjoying a Freedom of Spirit I never thought possible. I can see that so many around me are asleep. They walk in darkness at noon day. I remember what that was like. I have fought for the Spiritual Freedom I now enjoy. I intend to keep it.
Monday, September 13, 2010
SPECTACULAR
"Why do you have a tear, Mama?" asked Maya an hour ago.
"I don't, honey," I lied.
"Yes. I can see it. Why?"
"I'm kinda sad. I'm gonna miss my mommy and daddy, Maya," I said. Tears flowed freely then. I felt ridiculous. "Is that silly?"
She nodded.
"I'm too old to miss my mommy and daddy, huh, baby?"
She giggled and nodded again.
I told ya'll I would write if something SPECTACULAR happened.
I'm moving out of my parent's house tomorrow. Today I pack my little boxes. Tomorrow I will be mistress of my own castle once again.
For those of you who missed my dramatic saga. I was once a princess with an enormous custom home and Gucci at her finger tips. Then the housing market went to crap and I had to sell my Royal Palace and move into the mansion inhabited by King Daddy and Queen Ama.
So why am I sad? Who is their right mind would WANT to live with her parents when she is 34 years old with a family of her own?
I'm rarely in my right mind. I don't even know what that means. Next!
I actually really LIKE my parents. Nuts, huh?
On broken nights, which were often, I would find myself at 2am at the piano with tears flowing like the Nile. Musical sorrow drifted through the house. My mother would find me and sit quietly listening on the cold slate steps.
She never mentioned the self-produced salt water on my face. Instead she would wait until I was exhausted and the pipes had stopped gushing.
"I need some tea," she would say.
And I would follow her to the kitchen and let her talk. I listened as she told me stories of Mexico and cowboys and magical dreams and God and The Devil. I listened as she recounted story after story of Apaches and brave defenders of their families. Of a woman who is my ancestor that carried a knife in her boot and rode horses with her skirts flying wildly behind her.
My mother healed me with these stories. These people she spoke of are strong people. They are my people. She Healed me with tea and Love and true stories.
On other nights when I felt empty and bruised and battered I would go to my Dad.
"Daddy, I need a blessing."
Even if you don't have faith in my religion how could anyone argue with a blessing of protection and Love upon the head of a wounded daughter by a caring father? What could be more beautiful? Or more real?
I believe in Miracles.
My dad would bless me with his prayer and again I let the tears fall as he spoke.
"You are easy to Love. God has an ease with you, Crystal. He loves you. I love you."
The greatest lie I have allowed myself to believe throughout my battle with depression is No One Loves You As You Are. They Only Love You For What You Give And How You Make Them Look.
Do you ever feel that way?
My daddy healed me with his prayers and his Faith. His faith in God and his Faith in Me.
Like a pathetic child who has spent almost a year mentally curled up in the fetal postition with her thumb in her mouth I don't want to leave this security.
I am a heart patient shakey from surgery.
I have healed for the most part.
My heart is in the right place. (There are times I have found it precariously lodged in my knee cap or elbow...)
I look forward to becoming whoever it is I am supposed to be. I look forward to becoming the best of both of those SPECTACULAR people I call parents.
I'm not done crying today. I will water the cardboard boxes I pack tonight and tomorrow I will ready myself for a new adventure.
I like adventures.
The possibilites are endless.
I like possibilities.
FORWARD MARCH!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Book Of Mormon Story
It’s not cool to be Mormon. You know it and I know it. I’m Mormon on purpose anyway. Why?
I realize I said I was done here but I feel inspired to set the record straight before I move on.
There is a story in the Book of Mormon about a people who had been a warring, murderous and wicked people but were brought to repentance through their belief in Jesus Christ.
They knew they had been forgiven for their sins and wished to never shed the blood of man again.
These people were on the brink of war with their enemies.
They knew their enemies were preparing to slaughter every last one of them.
These are the words spoken to them by their king,
“Let us stain our swords no more with the blood of our brethren… let us hide them away that they may be kept bright as a testimony to our God… that we have not stained our swords with the blood of our brethren…”
So they dug a huge hole in the ground and buried their weapons.
When their enemies came upon them they knelt before the sword wielding brutes on the ground and prayed.
At first their enemies had no mercy and slaughtered 1005 of them. But then they began to be filled with sorrow and “were STUNG for the murders which they had committed.”
That day the people of God were joined by their enemies and peace abounded.
The End.
Time and time again as I have written this blog there have been mean, vicious, senseless and hateful things written to me. I was not always perfect in my responses. (Ummmm… Crack kills….)
But my favorite answer when things came to a hurtful stand still was, “LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPON, MY FRIEND.”
Now WHERE in the world would I have come up with THAT in a world so thirsty for vengeance?
I have had a lot a negative things to say about the culture of my fellow Mormons and the harsh judgments I have felt, but I would be remiss if I did not make it clear that my faith in my religion itself is strong. No one is perfect. Not them. Not I.
When I read The Book of Mormon and The Bible I feel peace. I feel peace because they are the words of God. I believe that with all my heart and will teach my children to believe it too.
When my daddy, Joseph M Smith III, decided he would join the Mormon church at 19 years of age his family and friends thought he was crazy. (They STILL think his decision and way of life is strange.)
When my mother, Martha Duarte Lara, was a bare foot and muddy teenager in Mexico and the Mormon missionaries came to her adobe home she accepted their message immediately. On the day of her baptism my Abuelita dumped a bucket of ice water on her head and said, “There! NOW you are baptized!”
In spite of opposition from those they loved most they stuck to their guns. My parents are Pistols too. ;)
The greatest lessons they have taught me are to Love my Fellow Man, To Serve, To Give of my substance, To Trust in God.
As a result I AM FABULOUS! ;)
That’s all I have to say about that… ~Forrest Gump
Shameless plug: It’s pretty easy to get a hold of the Mormon missionaries if you care to know more. (You could do worse, ya know…) Do me a solid and buy those guys lunch or somethin’. They’ve got it rough!
We are officially called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
I realize I said I was done here but I feel inspired to set the record straight before I move on.
There is a story in the Book of Mormon about a people who had been a warring, murderous and wicked people but were brought to repentance through their belief in Jesus Christ.
They knew they had been forgiven for their sins and wished to never shed the blood of man again.
These people were on the brink of war with their enemies.
They knew their enemies were preparing to slaughter every last one of them.
These are the words spoken to them by their king,
“Let us stain our swords no more with the blood of our brethren… let us hide them away that they may be kept bright as a testimony to our God… that we have not stained our swords with the blood of our brethren…”
So they dug a huge hole in the ground and buried their weapons.
When their enemies came upon them they knelt before the sword wielding brutes on the ground and prayed.
At first their enemies had no mercy and slaughtered 1005 of them. But then they began to be filled with sorrow and “were STUNG for the murders which they had committed.”
That day the people of God were joined by their enemies and peace abounded.
The End.
Time and time again as I have written this blog there have been mean, vicious, senseless and hateful things written to me. I was not always perfect in my responses. (Ummmm… Crack kills….)
But my favorite answer when things came to a hurtful stand still was, “LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPON, MY FRIEND.”
Now WHERE in the world would I have come up with THAT in a world so thirsty for vengeance?
I have had a lot a negative things to say about the culture of my fellow Mormons and the harsh judgments I have felt, but I would be remiss if I did not make it clear that my faith in my religion itself is strong. No one is perfect. Not them. Not I.
When I read The Book of Mormon and The Bible I feel peace. I feel peace because they are the words of God. I believe that with all my heart and will teach my children to believe it too.
When my daddy, Joseph M Smith III, decided he would join the Mormon church at 19 years of age his family and friends thought he was crazy. (They STILL think his decision and way of life is strange.)
When my mother, Martha Duarte Lara, was a bare foot and muddy teenager in Mexico and the Mormon missionaries came to her adobe home she accepted their message immediately. On the day of her baptism my Abuelita dumped a bucket of ice water on her head and said, “There! NOW you are baptized!”
In spite of opposition from those they loved most they stuck to their guns. My parents are Pistols too. ;)
The greatest lessons they have taught me are to Love my Fellow Man, To Serve, To Give of my substance, To Trust in God.
As a result I AM FABULOUS! ;)
That’s all I have to say about that… ~Forrest Gump
Shameless plug: It’s pretty easy to get a hold of the Mormon missionaries if you care to know more. (You could do worse, ya know…) Do me a solid and buy those guys lunch or somethin’. They’ve got it rough!
We are officially called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Sad Sad Bridal Gown
She is a sad, sad dress.
I found her at Savers yesterday. $12.99.
I am going to book group tonight. We read THE LAST LECTURE by Randy Pausch. Tragic. Touching. I cried and cried.
Creative Jenny opted for a dress up book group.
Disney Theme. What were your childhood dreams?
Nine year old Crys with frizzy hair and boney knees wanted to be Beautiful and Loved when she grew up. Nothing more.
So I went to Savers looking for a dress that would embody Happily Ever After. I wanted to represent Every Princess Wishing Upon A Star.
I was elated when I found her hanging there in all her beaded glory. Twelve Bucks?! YES!
At size 18W she is a tad large for me. And there are what seem to be Cheeto and chocolate stains on the bodice. (I sincerely HOPE they are chocolate stains. Could be ANYTHING, really…)
The bride who wore this was clearly pudgy and had a healthy relationship with Chester Cheetah and Peanut M&Ms.
Her groom was a Chubby Chaser, so everybody was happy and well fed.
WAS.
You can guess what happened to our portly Bride, right?
Her dreams of Happily Ever After were dashed by the wayside.
She wore this dress on the Eve of her Divorce one last time and tried to no avail to mend her broken heart with synthetic, orange chips and unsavory milk chocolate with a colorful candy shell. The tear stains have long since dried on this sad, sad bridal gown.
I walked out of Savers with a heavy heart.
Too many people I love are falling victim to the ravages of Divorce.
You can see it in their hollow, weather beaten eyes. You can feel it in the empty laughter of their children as they internally try to make sense of a suddenly collapsed Universe.
Tears stream down my face as I write this because of the utter tragedy involved in the destruction of families. The massacre of Dreams shattered and Hearts rent in twain.
How does it happen? How does ‘I DO’ become ‘I Don’t Anymore You Fat Cow’?
I believe that when a Love once carved in the cosmos dies the Angels in Heaven cannot be consoled and Demons in Hell applaud with gusto.
I am not standing atop a pedestal with a haughty pointed finger. Trust me. I am humbled here. And at a loss for understanding.
I was a 20 year old baby in white when I wed. My husband was a 21 year old man-child. We had dreams of Happily Ever After and abundant Sex Forevermore the day we exchanged vows.
We had no idea that marriage is THE most difficult thing that is asked of us in this life. I don’t care WHO you are. You are in for a bumpy ride.
No one tells you when you are a nine year old dreamer that there will be yelling and crying and power struggles and money issues and screaming children with filthy diapers at 3:54 am.
No one tells you how many “I’m sorry’s” will be offered nor how difficult humility will become.
My husband and I have essentially raised each other from childhood. We have both been fools and we have both been heroes. We have taken turns being the strong and the weak.
Having this year experienced THE WORST, MOST HORRIFIC YEAR OF MY LIFE, I have realized as of late that Happily Ever After with The One You Chose IS possible.
My man goes out into the world daily and slays dragons for his Queen and Royal Offspring. He carries the weight of the world on his enormous shoulders. He defends his castle against every manner of danger.
After a full day of dragon slaying he comes home famished for food and Love to a woman who does her best to provide both. I have never been perfect. I am flawed beyond comprehension. But I try. I have always tried.
He is a generous Lover and I a Slave Driver. “You’re gonna do it and do it until you get it RIGHT!“ I say. It seems to work out well for everyone involved.
I would take a bullet for him. He would take a thousand for me. So when the bullets of life fly from every conceivable direction, we are a united front.
I know nothing is sure in this world. People start out with the best of intentions and somewhere along the line things get muddled. The battle for clarity is never-ending.
Mists of darkness blind our eyes and we see only selfish desires. Everyone is guilty.
I have prayed to know what I can do to keep my marriage safe from destruction.
My whispered answers? LOVE. HOPE. FAITH. FORGIVENESS. FORGIVENESS. FORGIVENESS. FORGIVENESS EVERYDAY I LIVE. (In turn, I hope to be daily forgiven as well.)
So I will cling to The One I chose and FORGIVE his unrefined sense of humor, dirty socks and manly belching. I will LOVE him with all the strength of my soul. I will have FAITH that if we both try God will bless our union. I will HOPE for Joy in The Journey and Happily Ever After in Eternity.
And I will PRAY ALWAYS.
“Please, please, God. Please don’t ever let my wedding dress hang on a rack in the local Savers…”
PS I forgot to mention SERVICE. SERVICE is very important in a marriage. I SERVICE my man regularly to keep a smile on his face and hip in his hop...
I found her at Savers yesterday. $12.99.
I am going to book group tonight. We read THE LAST LECTURE by Randy Pausch. Tragic. Touching. I cried and cried.
Creative Jenny opted for a dress up book group.
Disney Theme. What were your childhood dreams?
Nine year old Crys with frizzy hair and boney knees wanted to be Beautiful and Loved when she grew up. Nothing more.
So I went to Savers looking for a dress that would embody Happily Ever After. I wanted to represent Every Princess Wishing Upon A Star.
I was elated when I found her hanging there in all her beaded glory. Twelve Bucks?! YES!
At size 18W she is a tad large for me. And there are what seem to be Cheeto and chocolate stains on the bodice. (I sincerely HOPE they are chocolate stains. Could be ANYTHING, really…)
The bride who wore this was clearly pudgy and had a healthy relationship with Chester Cheetah and Peanut M&Ms.
Her groom was a Chubby Chaser, so everybody was happy and well fed.
WAS.
You can guess what happened to our portly Bride, right?
Her dreams of Happily Ever After were dashed by the wayside.
She wore this dress on the Eve of her Divorce one last time and tried to no avail to mend her broken heart with synthetic, orange chips and unsavory milk chocolate with a colorful candy shell. The tear stains have long since dried on this sad, sad bridal gown.
I walked out of Savers with a heavy heart.
Too many people I love are falling victim to the ravages of Divorce.
You can see it in their hollow, weather beaten eyes. You can feel it in the empty laughter of their children as they internally try to make sense of a suddenly collapsed Universe.
Tears stream down my face as I write this because of the utter tragedy involved in the destruction of families. The massacre of Dreams shattered and Hearts rent in twain.
How does it happen? How does ‘I DO’ become ‘I Don’t Anymore You Fat Cow’?
I believe that when a Love once carved in the cosmos dies the Angels in Heaven cannot be consoled and Demons in Hell applaud with gusto.
I am not standing atop a pedestal with a haughty pointed finger. Trust me. I am humbled here. And at a loss for understanding.
I was a 20 year old baby in white when I wed. My husband was a 21 year old man-child. We had dreams of Happily Ever After and abundant Sex Forevermore the day we exchanged vows.
We had no idea that marriage is THE most difficult thing that is asked of us in this life. I don’t care WHO you are. You are in for a bumpy ride.
No one tells you when you are a nine year old dreamer that there will be yelling and crying and power struggles and money issues and screaming children with filthy diapers at 3:54 am.
No one tells you how many “I’m sorry’s” will be offered nor how difficult humility will become.
My husband and I have essentially raised each other from childhood. We have both been fools and we have both been heroes. We have taken turns being the strong and the weak.
Having this year experienced THE WORST, MOST HORRIFIC YEAR OF MY LIFE, I have realized as of late that Happily Ever After with The One You Chose IS possible.
 |
| Add caption |
My man goes out into the world daily and slays dragons for his Queen and Royal Offspring. He carries the weight of the world on his enormous shoulders. He defends his castle against every manner of danger.
After a full day of dragon slaying he comes home famished for food and Love to a woman who does her best to provide both. I have never been perfect. I am flawed beyond comprehension. But I try. I have always tried.
He is a generous Lover and I a Slave Driver. “You’re gonna do it and do it until you get it RIGHT!“ I say. It seems to work out well for everyone involved.
I would take a bullet for him. He would take a thousand for me. So when the bullets of life fly from every conceivable direction, we are a united front.
I know nothing is sure in this world. People start out with the best of intentions and somewhere along the line things get muddled. The battle for clarity is never-ending.
Mists of darkness blind our eyes and we see only selfish desires. Everyone is guilty.
I have prayed to know what I can do to keep my marriage safe from destruction.
My whispered answers? LOVE. HOPE. FAITH. FORGIVENESS. FORGIVENESS. FORGIVENESS. FORGIVENESS EVERYDAY I LIVE. (In turn, I hope to be daily forgiven as well.)
So I will cling to The One I chose and FORGIVE his unrefined sense of humor, dirty socks and manly belching. I will LOVE him with all the strength of my soul. I will have FAITH that if we both try God will bless our union. I will HOPE for Joy in The Journey and Happily Ever After in Eternity.
And I will PRAY ALWAYS.
“Please, please, God. Please don’t ever let my wedding dress hang on a rack in the local Savers…”
PS I forgot to mention SERVICE. SERVICE is very important in a marriage. I SERVICE my man regularly to keep a smile on his face and hip in his hop...
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