Inconcievable

Yesterday, I tried a little experiment. 

Usually, when I listen to my iPod, if a song isn’t one of the chosen few of the moment, I skip right past in to one of my favorites. I don’t even give it the time of day. 

But last night, I decided that as long as I didn’t absolutely hate the song, I was going to listen to it and give it a shot. It was quite enjoyable. 

I’ve also been doing the same with thoughts. Instead of just pushing away everything that didn’t fit into my pre-concieved, narrowly defined paradigm, I entertained thoughts that often leave me uncomfortable. 

A lot of these thoughts have to do with God and divinity in general. I’ve been questioning my conception of God, and where I fit in the scheme of things in a much different way lately. 

In the past, God was just GOD and I was just this completely insignificant, unworthy creation who would simply never be worthy–Atonement or no Atonement. 

And I’ve come to some conclusions that many in my life, culture, and religion would find completely disturbing. But this is my journey and my struggle. My path to enlightenment is simply going to be different than yours, but that’s okay. 

Now that I’ve accepted that, my next post on the nature of God and the inconcievibilty of sin will be much easier to write.

Hope for the Hopeless?

It’s difficult to capture poignant moments in words and tell stories about them, when there aren’t really stories to tell, just moments and insights that one doesn’t really know how to share.

A single moment of an ordinary day can change a life, so long as the potential changee doesn’t lose the lesson in the hustle of building a life.

It breaks my heart that we live in a world overrun by destructive moments; that callousness seems to be the order of the day, and that I often help callousness on its way.

 It reminds me of when Elder Holland gave a talk in General Conference about Speaking with the Tongues of Angels. I remember how convicted I felt, because I am nothing if not biting and sarcastic.

How do I reconcile my cynicism with my quest for Christianity? It causes such cognitive dissonance that I often despair.

How can I decry the cruelty of the world, when everyday, in some way, I contribute to it?

It almost makes life feel vain. What is the point of lofty goals and pretty creeds, if not accompanied by integrity and character?

No wonder we need the Atonment; if only I could cast off pride, let go of doubt and surrender.

The Work and the Worry

I’ve always been fascinated with Jewish culture, especially Orthodox Judaism, most probably because adherents demonstrate a discipline and devotion that I never will.

The Gift of Asher Lev has been on my mind for a few days now. I read it fairly quickly–perhaps too quickly. It wasn’t until two days after reading it, while trying to fall asleep, that I finally understood what his gift truly was. There’s something mystical about books that good. I want to be the writer of books that good.

My relationship with my own faith community is mentally exhausting and frustrating. I feel continually judged, and at the same time condemned, because I just don’t fit, but still I can’t let go.

While I find many other faiths beautiful and fascinating, I find my own convincing and necessary. The God I worship is decidedly Mormon, but the life I lead is not.

I wonder what to do with myself. The more I ponder it, the more I know that I believe the Gospel to be true, but I don’t believe in the perfection of the Church. This is why it irks me when I hear testimonies that begin with “I know the Church is True.” I don’t know that and perhaps I am merely jealous.

I seem to draw much from multimedia these days. Monday nights are Big Love nights. Every week I tune in, and not just for the polygamy. The Henricksons, Bill especially, are a family who live out their faith in the best way they know how. They don’t rely on a structure to hold them together. They have a specific belief and they live it, despite all of the problems that entails.

I’m not sure what I expect of myself. I don’t want to go back to pretending a belief in something, just because believing it would make my faith easier and less complicated.

I worry that I am simply rationalizing my behavior. That I want the belief without the work.

But then, this feels like work to me.

Doors Closing and Doors Opening

Finally, tomorrow, I am a free woman.

Tomorrow I begin running my own shifts. I’ve already begun being paid as a manager, so that isn’t the perk I am most looking forward to. It’s the extra day off. Shift Supervisors work four ten hour shifts, and I already have so much planned for those three remaining days.

Today, after the annual trip to the Strawberry Festival, which takes place in the town in which I was raised, I drove home, falling asleep by the time I hit Millville. It was a 45 minute struggle, but I made it home in one piece.

As soon as I passed the threshold, the sleepiness evaporated, so I began to tidy the apartment. Week One of Three Days Off will involve Project Clean House. And my little OCD heart is so happy for it.

____

This morning, I managed to make it to church, and the ceiling didn’t even cave on my head.

Karlo and Lori are headed off to California, which was enough to completely dissolve me. Why is it that all the good families move away?

At least Bret and Kora came back.

And then I moved away.

____

It is a strange thing to have a full and bright testimony of the Gospel, but still not feel moved to action.

I know Joseph was a prophet and the Book of Mormon is surely scripture, but I have no desire to attend Church meetings.

And who will believe my insistance that I do not have a testimony problem, or any hidden sin? That I am not a project in need of fixing?

Such is the paradox of a powerful testimony with no faith to back it up.

Now, how do I slam this revolving door?

Heresy?

Here’s a mini post that comes from a comment I made on that other blog I write for.

I believe that everything God does is about us, and nothing he does is about him.

Narcisistic? Maybe. But there is a scripture in Mormonism that I believe backs this theory up:

For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”

And I think that perhaps when we view this at the macro level (e.g., mankind) instead of the micro level (ME ME ME ME), it doesn’t have any narcisistic tendencies. It’s all about Community. What I do to further God’s work isn’t important because I am saving myself, or making God happy (he’s already there), but because I am helping to further the work of the Kingdom, which is just a fancy way to say that I am helping everyone in the community.

It isn’t about getting to the Celestial Kingdom (or Heaven); when our faith in Christ is sure, we already know we will reach that goal. It’s about how many people we can take with us.

16 He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep.

17 He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.

The Murky Middle

Terms like liberal and conservative are all relative. To some I sound liberal, but in saying the following, I am going to come off sounding more conservative than I’d like.

I just finished watching Jesus Camp.

And…

I’m dissapointed. I thought it would be outrageous and controversal.

But I’m just left with a feeling of…

eh.

A bunch of Fundamentalist Evangelicals are raising their kinds to be–get this–Fundamentalist Evangelicals. They are teaching their kids to be soldiers for Christ, to stand up for righteousness. To stand up to people who tell them that God doesn’t have a place in their everyday lives, nor a place in their government.

Now, I admit that I felt a little funny watching them pray over the electrical equipment, telling Satan in Jesus’ name that he has no power over the Power Point program. The pastor lady kind of creeped me out, too.

But the people in this video are only different from me by degrees and by devotion.

I don’t have that level of devotion to God; I only wish it were so.

I don’t walk around a room and demand that Satan depart from the microphones, but I do get down on my knees and pray that nothing will go wrong, that the Spirit will attend, and that each person will learn what it is that God would have us learn.

I don’t think that the Church should govern, but I do pray that our leaders will be guided by the Light of Christ to make righteous, godly decisions.

I don’t witness to people in bowling alleys, but the pertinant question isn’t why do these children do it, but rather, why don’t I?

Mormons aren’t Evangelical, but we are supposed to be evangelical.

I’m not saying I wish to be more Evangelical, but I’m not not saying it, either.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate

“…so full was I of slumber at that point where I abandoned the true way.”

I shlepped up the stairs almost an hour and a half ago, sending the boy on his way, insisting I was so tired I would collapse on the bed and sleep the dreamless sleep that only the truly exhausted enjoy.

But the writer in me needs to unwind.

This blog is the only place in my life where I ever talk about, or even think about, myself as a writer.  What has brought me to this place, where I am suddenly the sum of my paycheck and my gpa?

I don’t read for fun anymore. I don’t write for the enjoyment, and I don’t worship for the ecstasy anymore.

Life is just one long checklist of things to do, people to please, and phone calls to make. That’s why I haven’t called you back in days, weeks, or even months–I am completely exhausted. Phone calls take emotional energy, as well as physical, and my well is just empty.

Even studying has lost its luster.

You know, I love econ, and I’m a geek through and through. I understand it with such clarity, and it all fits together for me, but damn it, I’m not a social scientist.

I’m a humanities person. If I were male, I’d wear tweed jackets and horn-rimmed glasses, smoke a pipe of high end tobacco, while sitting at a big oak desk, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books.

I liked Adam Smith better when he was a Scottish philosopher instead of a classical economist; when his name was connected with Hume and Bentham and Mill, instead of John Maynard Keynes.

This will always be the battle between my mind and my heart, and being the person that I am, I will do the practical thing. I’ll sacrifice my love for my livelyhood, trading what I long to do for what I should do.

I’m much too young to feel trapped by my choices.

And yet I do.

Growing Young

My standard operating procedure is that every day I insist I will be going to bed early. I have to be up at six, so I shot for ten tonight. It’s now quarter past twelve. My bad.

But I’ve neglected blogging, and the thoughts are all swirling around in my head with no outlet.

The subject constantly on my mind is change. I feel my life and myself changing. I feel the tugging of the Spirit, in that small, still way. I say something, I do something, I think something, and if it isn’t what I know I should be doing, saying, or thinking, I feel a little tug in my heart and in my mind, a little jab, almost like guilt, pushing me to recognize these moments.

I’ve done a lot of talking to friends and pondering in my heart about the importance of becoming who I want to be, who I should be, who I must be, and I think that God is calling me out on the carpet in a way.

I think these little nudges are like the reminders that we sometimes ask our friends for when we are trying to change our behaviors. Or those little bits of unsolicited advice we sometimes get from said friends that we sometimes resent and then slowly embrace.

I think it’s time for embracing.

I feel emboldened in ways I’ve only wanted in the past.

I’ve spent the past few months thinking that I was so tired and so overburdened that I couldn’t be spiritual until I got some rest, but as I was walking across campus the other day, it hit me that my perspective was backwards.

My mind had distorted the order of things, much like those who refuse to take pills because only sick people take pills, so it must be that the pills cause the sickness.

I think that I must become a spiritual person if I ever want to find rest.

“For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.”  (Mosiah 3: 19)

I’ve always been pretty religious, but spirituality is uncharted territory for me. I kind of stumble around, trying to look like I know what I’m  doing, but most times, I don’t even know where to start.

But I did some thinking on this one, and I think I’ve found the place to start. The place that started it all for me. My initial interest in the Church was sparked by what I had heard about the Word of Wisdom. So, is it much surprise that I start at the beginning?

We humans are creatures of habit and so it is these words that give me the comfort I need tonight:

“18 And all saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments, shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones;

  19 And shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures;

  20 And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.

  21 And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angel shall pass by them, as the children of Israel, and not slay them. Amen.” (D&C 89)

Let Me Be Clear

In ten minutes I am going to bed.

Sunday is a day of rest, and if I hurry, I can still get some rest today.

I know that I am a bad blogger; I know that I have composed as many entries in my head as there have been days, but time has not permitted me to commit them to pixels.

I was forced to stay over my grandparents’ house last night under the threat of forcibly removing my car keys from my possession, so I gave in under the condition that we rent a movie.

We rented All the King’s Men. I’d love to tell you how the movie was, but after seven minutes I was out cold. I was awakened an hour into the movie and ordered to bed. I put up no defense, which is proof enough of exhaustion. I woke eight hours later, and as further proof of my exhaustion, was as tired when I awoke as I was when I feel to sleep.

But there were important things to be done today. Unfortunately, church just wasn’t one of those. I didn’t bring any change of clothes, and it’s an hour and a half drive to my place from the grandparents’, so that was a no go.

But there was Death by Chocolate, which was a fundraiser benefiting, come to find out, Rotarians. To be honest, it could have been Planned Parenthood, and I would have handed them my money, smiling all the way. If you ever want me to sell my soul, set the price in chocolate and it is all yours.

But none of this is the real point of this entry.

I need to do more research on this, but I have come to the conclusion that this life is all about me.

That’s right. My life ultimately has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do about me. That’s not to say I don’t welcome your presence in my life, or that I don’t love you almost more than life itself, but I am here to become something, and absent of that, everything else I do might as well have been in vain if I don’t become who I am supposed to be.

This isn’t a perfect theory, and I am much to tired to expound further, but the bare bones of it is that what I do for you is good in that it is service, and may help you become what you should (and how great is the joy of that man who brings but one soul unto the Father), but the reason I have this life and this body is that I must become. And the way I do that is to put God first and family second, and you probably rank third or fourth or fifth or sixth.

Don’t be offended. Be flattered that you even make the list, but don’t expect to cut in line, because it’s great that you are at the party, but this is my party and don’t you forget it.

The Saddest Christmas Song

Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me?
Little altar boy, for I have gone astray
What must I do to be holy like you?
Little altar boy, oh, let me hear you pray

Little altar boy, I wonder could you ask your Lord
Ask him, altar boy, to take my sins away
What must I do to be holy like you?
Little alter boy, oh, let me hear you pray

Lift up your voice and send a pray above
Help me rejoice and fill that prayer with love
Now I know my life has been all wrong
Lift my your voice and help a sinner be strong

Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me?
Could you tell our Lord I’m gonna change my ways today?
What must I do to be holy like you?
Little altar boy, oh, let me hear you pray
Little altar boy please let me hear you pray!

And yet, it resonates so well…