Know what's cool? Being smart, and being a writer, and being a Jeopardy champion WITHOUT being a giant pretentious douchebag. Also, being a Mormon who doesn't make me cringe every time someone mentions his name (I'm looking at you, G. Beck).
Although I could be talking about my buddy Alison, currently I am talking about Ken Jennings, who is from the same general area where I now live and maybe was at Emerald City Comic Con when I was also there. I didn't see him, but I saw pictures later.
Ken Jennings did his crazy Jeopardy-defeating streak when I was a freshman in the dorms at BYU, and lemme tell you, we were FREAKING OUT. I was on the Honors Floor, though, so we were kind of nerds.
Anyway, Ken was on Reddit (which I infrequent) answering questions, and he was so charming and real and high-fiveable I just wanted to share some highlights. If you have lots of time you can read the whole cotton-pickin' thing here, but it's awfully long. It's worth it, but if you read the whole thing you may or may not be late for whatever you are doing next.
Here are some screenshots that are just funny:
Click to enlarge!
See how funny he is? In such a inclusive way. His humor has a little bit of something for everyone.
This bit, I think, was my most favorite, and summed up quite accurately how I feel about the disconnect I sometimes feel between being "a Mormon" and being myself.
Who could say it better? Only Jesus.
Here are some other choice Mormon jokes/comments. All well done.
This is the kind of stuff that should be on Mormon.org.
Lots of good things happened today, but that's not what I'm thinking about right now.
All throughout today, I kept thinking about how Eazy-E died. I don't know why his death was on my mind today in particular. He died in 1995.
If you don't know who Eazy-E was you can read a bit about his life here. He was an incredibly gifted rapper who rapped about what he knew best: dealing drugs, gang violence, and lonely sex.*
In February 1995, he went to the doctor because he hadn't been feeling well for a while. He thought it was asthma. It turned out to be AIDS. Not HIV. Full-blown AIDS. He died a month later. He was 31.
The more I think about it, the sadder it makes me. Not only that he died of a horrible disease at a time where no long-term treatment existed, but also that he had such a destructive relationship with his body that he didn't realize how sick he was until it was too late. He had such a sad, short life.
I like to think about Jesus hanging out with Eazy and Tupac and Notorious B.I.G. in Heaven. I think they would all have a good time. It's a lot less satisfying to picture Him with Abraham, Isaac, or Jacob. They had their turn earlier, right?
*I might be projecting there. But it always sounded lonely to me.
On Saturday, I road-tripped down to Portland with the lovely Erin. We were there for less than a day but were able to squeeze in eating Lebanese food, buying terrible movies at Deseret Book and being with the equally lovely Cassie as she went through the Temple for the first time.* It was, of course, unspeakably lovely, albeit a trifle whirlwind. But that's how I like to roll.
Erin and I were discussing some of the frustrations of life in a singles ward during the loooooong drive back, seeing as it was so rainy one could not drive at an acceptable speed. Whilst we were talking, ELC said something that stuck with me.
She said, "Some people come to church for external reasons."
The conversation went on from there, but I kept thinking about that sentence the next day during Sacrament Meeting.
I am not sure if everyone goes through this process like I do, but I have to talk myself out of leaving the Church on a fairly regular basis. It almost became a joke between me and some of my friends at BYU. "Hey, Wills, what are you doing later? Well, after you have dinner at your grandma's, would you mind talking me out of leaving the Church? Thanks, I appreciate it. Bye."
I have written before about my many intellectual struggles with the Church, which have only been made worse by my serving a mission (hilarious). Conversely, the more I struggle, the more I realize that if I leave the Church, it would all be for nothing. Well, not for nothing, but if I really wanted to leave, I would have done it already, right?
The fact is, I don't want to. And hopefully, because I don't want to, I never will.
Here's where the external vs. internal binary helped me out so much.
So, lots of people my age go to church for social reasons, to make their family happy, to find people to date, to have local support system, to have someone to go to for help when you move, etc. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, but it does kind of miss the point of worshipping Jesus Christ and serving others and all that idealistic Bible business. Those would be external motivators to be involved with the Church. They aren't bad, just motivated by things other than your own thoughts and feelings.
Internal motivators, on the other hand, would be introspective things like a love of God, a desire to improve, etc. Obviously, hypocrisy plays a role here as well, because some people go to Church with the goal of seeming pious when in fact they do whatever they want when no one's watching. That's more obnoxious than the kids who come to Church looking for friendly times. Thus, it is possible to have a seemingly internal motivator actually be an external one. But generally, I hope you get what I'm saying.
Here's the thing. I have NO external motivation to go to Church. I'm not crazy about most of the people there, bless their hearts. I would have a perfectly viable (and less arbitrary) social circle if I hung out with people I actually had things in common with besides belonging to the same church. My family doesn't care one bit whether or not I'm Mormon, in fact many of them would probably be delighted if I cut loose with them once in a while instead of being a Mormon stick-in-the-mud.**
In fact, most of the reasons I have for wanting to leave the Church are external ones. Get it? It's not like I don't believe in God or struggle with the possibility that the Church isn't true. When I want to leave the Church, it's because I feel so fed-up with some embarrassing policy or some obnoxious people that I feel like saying I GIVE UP. Jesus shouldn't have to put up with this crap and neither should I.
But the trouble is, He does. The trouble is, it's still true.
My reasons for leaving are external, but the things that keep me from doing so are all internal. I believe in God. I love the Book of Mormon. I love the Temple. These people are crazy, but most of them mean well. Abandoning my internal motivations for external reasons is just as immoral as doing things for external reasons when no internal motivation exists.***
Additionally, the things that I love the most about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are some of the most internally focused. Take family history work. If the doctrine about eternal families isn't true, do I gain anything from doing it? Nope. Don't make any friends or meet any hotties at the Fam. Hist. Library, I can promise you that.
Ditto with the temple. If this is all a gigantic hoax, no one has been hurt by the things we've done in the Temple. But no one has really been helped, either. Either these things mean nothing, or they mean EVERYTHING. Those are the things that I feel the strongest attraction to.
Here's to doing things because they're right, and not because anybody cares except God, assuming He exists.
I feel that He does.
I'm not giving up yet.
*Erin was actually going through the temple with a separate friend at a different time. But saying it up there would have messed up the narrative.
**Except then who would be the Designated Driver?
***Which isn't ALWAYS immoral. But that's a post for another day.
I haven't decided exactly what I want to do with this week's theme--if it should be a reflection on a specific example or a list, or just a free-write. So, in the seat-of-my-pants spirit that birthed blogging back in the '90s, I am just going to start writing and see what comes of it.
I think I am about as greedy as the average American. I don't care as much about having nice things as some people, but I would like, for example, an iPhone. I don't even know why. Wait! Yes I do! Because of the Google Maps app. Anyway, I also buy clothes at thrift stores even when I probably shouldn't.
Right now I cannot afford to be greedy because I have lots and lots of medical bills. However, that did not stop me from buying a six-dollar book today. I shan't tell you what book it was.
Greedy also has a non-acquisition connotation, I suppose. Of all the Deadly Sins, Greed is the only one that relates directly to coveting, which is one of the Ten Commandments. Or rather, NOT coveting is one of the Ten Commandments. That makes sense because if you want something but don't want to earn it for yourself, that might cause you to break other commandments like "Thou Shalt Not Kill" or "Thou Shalt Not Use Credit Cards."
Wait a second! Coveting is more related to envy than greed, isn't it? Eh, it's kind of a toss-up.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am PISSED that I no longer have access to the OED through the BYU library. That should have been a lifelong perk, for crying out loud! Was that a greedy thing to say? Shut up.
Anyway, the markedly inferior Merriam-Webster dictionary defines Greed thusly:
"A selfish desire for more of something than is needed."
That makes sense. So if I want an iPhone, that's not greed, but rather coveting, but if I want TWO iPhones for some strange reason, that's greed.
I don't want two iPhones, so I guess I'm solid. Next.
Just kidding! I don't know if I have anything else to say about Greed, though. Except I didn't know it was a backformation from the adjective "greedy." I thought it was the other way around. Who knows if the stupid Merriam-Websters even know what they're talking about, though. I SERIOUSLY CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THE OED.
I think the only thing that I genuinely want more of than I need is food. Which we'll save for Day Five.
Photo by Carl De Keyzer, copyright 1990, Magnum Photos, from Slate.com
On March 21st of this year, I wrote the following in my journal during a particularly unsettling Sacrament Meeting. The girl who spoke about obedience and prophets, bless her heart, almost certainly has no idea how close I came to leaving the Church because of my thought process that stemmed from her talk.
"The line between thinking for yourself and becoming your own prophet is a confusing one. 'We are false prophets to ourselves.' Wait, what? I wish I had no brain. I wish I didn't have to think about everything so much."
I can't blame this girl entirely, I don't even know her name. But ever since that day, my downward spiral into serious doubt and the personal crisis of faith I experienced in the foyer outside Multipurpose Room One, I have been struggling.
Sometimes I wish I had not served a mission for this very reason. Don't get me wrong, it was the greatest, most important experience of my life. But by the same token, I think I would be simpler, more credulous, and therefore happier if I had not gone. It would be easier for me to believe without questioning. Ignorance is bliss etc.
Before my mission, I was happy to obey rules for their own sake: not always, but more often than not. I recall one time when I wore a pair of athletic shorts to the grocery store because I didn't feel like getting dressed. Wearing shorts above the knee is against the stringent BYU Honor Code, of course, and it technically applies on campus or off--you know, all of the time. I was talking to a friend on the phone while I was walking home that night, and laughingly mentioned that I was "breaking the Honor Code" because of my outfit. Rather than laughing with me as I expected, she responded with horror. "How could you do something like that? You promised you wouldn't."
That sentence, "You promised you wouldn't," is a fairly apt summary of almost the entire Honor Code at BYU. We were asked to kick boys out after midnight and not dye our hair unusual colors not because those things were against the Commandments or even inherently wrong, but because we had been asked not to. Before I was a missionary, that actually worked for me. If someone said to me, "Hey! That's against the Honor Code," I would blanch with embarrassment. It was that easy. Even though I knew in my heart that most of the rules were arbitrary and silly, I still obeyed them.
Lots of people argue that BYU standards or standards like unto them are helpful because they keep you so far from sinning that it never even becomes an issue. Like, if breaking the Law of Chastity is a tree, the Honor Code is a fence around the said tree. I would argue that it's an electric fence and plenty of people who aren't even meaning to get near that tree are regularly and consistently burned by it. Anyway.
When I was a missionary, my distaste for rules took on horrifying new proportions. I was a good missionary, for the record. I worked hard and loved the people and helped my companions. But the idea of "Perfect Obedience" was never my priority. Lots of missionaries would run down the sidewalk in order to make it back to their apartments by 9PM. I walked. I sometimes wore t-shirts with my skirts instead of the requisite blouses. One time, I kissed a 90 year-old man on the cheek. So you see, I may have lived on the edge by mission standards, but I was still a good person. Obeying the rules to the point that I managed to, even, was exhausting. And don't worry, as a former Catholic, I beat myself up real bad about any indiscretions, real or imagined.
My last few transfers in the country I was fed up. I was exhausted and was starting to feel that maybe I (or rather, my lack of obedience) wasn't the real problem here. I started looking at the rules and listening to what other missionaries said about obedience and I couldn't help thinking to myself, "That can't be right." There was a woman in my last area who was only a few years older than me, and she had three young children that I am positive she neglected most of the time. Her youngest son was six months old. I should note here that one of the highly emphasized rules for missionaries is that we are not supposed to hold babies or children. Anyway, one Sunday in my last transfer, I went out into the hallway during Sunday School and heard what sounded like a baby crying. Upon further investigation, I saw that this idiot woman had left her son in his stroller outside the building. In the snow. The baby was screaming his head off, and the other missionaries and I were the only ones in the hallway.
I said to one of the Elders, "Eff this" (or something to that effect) and brought the baby inside. I held him for the rest of the hour. And I'd do it again. So would Jesus, I can assure you.
Probably someone I don't know will comment on this entry and argue, "Well, WHAT IF something horrible had happened because you held that baby? The purpose of these rules is to keep bad things from happening, ever." My response to that is, just like with good things, if God wants a bad thing to happen or not happen, it is going to happen either way. I have spent many years trying to avoid becoming a sign-seeker, trying not to see God as a hallway monitor with a big sheet of paper on which he marks my pluses and minuses. I stubbed my toe? Must be because my prayers this morning were insufficient. That light turned green really fast! That is because I pay my tithing. God doesn't work that way. He is much cooler than that.
Part of me still wonders if maybe I have insufficient faith and that's why I have such a hard time being perfectly obedient. But I don't think so. Rather, I think the real problem here is that sometimes God says, "Thou Shalt Not Kill," and sometimes He says, "Take That Guy By The Hair And With His Own Sword Cut Off His Head." Sometimes the right thing to do is to tell the absolute truth and obey all orders without questioning, and sometimes the right thing to do is disobey the direct orders of a king and then lie to him about it (Thanks, James). I'm not saying that God is the problem here, for the record. But I am saying that trying to apply the same rule to every different situation in existence is oversimplifying. It doesn't work.
Here is my real problem. I can get away with holding the occasional baby or wearing a tank top to the beach (before I was endowed, obviously) but what about the big stuff? I'm still, for all intents and purposes, in favor of Gay Marriage, despite what has been said about it. I've prayed and studied and all that jazz but I still don't have a testimony of Thomas S. Monson, mostly because of Prop. 8, unfortunately. I don't think he's NOT a prophet, but I wouldn't follow him into the wilderness for 40 years, either.
I worry about talking about this with anyone because I feel the reaction would go one of two ways:
1. Horror that I have let my salvation be jeopardized so badly/concern that I am beset by sin so badly as to be beyond repair.
2. Shock that I have stayed in the Church this long and that maybe I should just abandon ship.
Fact: I am not leaving the Church anytime soon. I like it. I believe in God and I enjoy being religious. Also, I really really love going to the Temple and my understanding is that once you leave the Church you can't go to the Temple anymore. Also fact: I am unsure as to what to do next. People are going to tell me to pray. I do that. Study. I do that too. No, no, STUDY SOME MORE. Which seems to be the only thing left.
In that journal entry I mentioned earlier, I started very reasonably and methodically laying out what my life would be like if I did leave the Church. I would get my nose pierced, for one. And ... that was pretty much it. Even if I didn't belong to any organized religion, I would still believe in God. I believed in God before I was Mormon so it makes no sense to stop now. Additionally, I am pretty solid about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon being true, so even if I weren't participating actively in the Mormon Church, I would still believe in everything. It's the details of the doctrine that leave me floundering, not the doctrine itself. Ergo, it makes no sense whatsoever for me to stop being Mormon just because I have a few hang-ups about some very specific issues.
Even though I am solid about not leaving the Church now or ever, I am completely baffled re: what to do next. Luckily for me, I went to a Fireside last night and one of the speakers struck me as someone who might be a kindred spirit. She was a feminist doula who talked about sexuality and the Priesthood and all these cool things, and I decided I wanted her to be my friend. I talked to her very briefly and got her email address, so hopefully our conversations can shed some light on how one manages to be a thinking member of the Church without losing one's mind.
If that doesn't work, I suppose I will try something else.
There are a lot of things I do not know. I don't know why sand is opaque and glass is not. I don't know how cockroaches turn onto their backs when they die. I don't know why puppets can get away with saying or doing things I would never tolerate from a human being. I don't know how to make anything cordon bleu, and I don't know why anyone would want to live in Tacoma, Washington, where the paper factory smells awful and the glass museum's gift shop is nicer than the actual museum. I also don't know the ins and outs of the church I have belonged to for seventeen years. But that's OK.
Here is some stuff I do know.
3 He is adespised and rejected of men; a man of bsorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we cesteemed him not.
4 ¶ Surely he hath aborne our bgriefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.
5 But he wasawounded for our btransgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his cstripes we are dhealed.
6 All we like asheep have gone bastray; we have turned every one to his cown way; and the Lord hath laid on him the diniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53)
14 But Zion said, The Lord hath aforsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me.
15 Can a awoman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not bforget thee.
16 Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me. (Isaiah 49)
26 A anewbheart also will I cgive you, and a new dspirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony eheart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.
27 And I will put my aspirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them. (Ezekiel 36)
20 The soul that asinneth, it shall die. The son shall not bbear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the crighteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.
21 But if the wicked will aturn from all his sins that he hath committed, and keep all my statutes, and do that which is lawful and right, he shall surely live, he shall not die.
22 All his atransgressions that he hath committed, they shall not be mentioned unto him: in his righteousness that he hath done he shall live.
23 Have I any apleasure at all that the wicked should die? saith the Lord God: and not that he should return from his ways, and live? (Ezekiel 18)
44 But Alma said unto him: Thou hast had signs enough; will ye tempt your God? Will ye say, Show unto me a sign, when ye have the testimony of aall these thy brethren, and also all the holy prophets? The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and allthingsdenote there is a God; yea, even the bearth, and callthings that are upon the face of it, yea, and its dmotion, yea, and also all the eplanets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator. (Alma 30)
42 Behold, he who has arepented of his bsins, the same is cforgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more. (Doctrine and Covenants 58)
38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her. (Luke 1)
36 ¶ And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee’s house, and sat down to meat.
37 And, behold, a awoman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster bbox of ointment,
38 And stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and aanointedthem with the ointment.
39 Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner.
40 And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on.
41 There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred apence, and the other fifty.
42 And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly aforgave them both. bTell me therefore, which of them will love him most?
43 Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged.
44 And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for myfeet: but she hath washed myfeet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head.
45 Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kissmyfeet.
46 My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed myfeet with ointment.
47 Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are aforgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.
48 And he said unto her, Thy sins are aforgiven. (Luke 7)
I have a lot of questions, but the story above always makes me remember what is really important. On my mission, when I was often at my lowest and so sad I thought I would never recover, I found that story in my cheap Hungarian Bible with its tiny print, and I was overwhelmed for love for Jesus Christ and His love for me. I wanted to kiss Christ's feet. I still do.
Come celebrate His wond’rous birth, Alleluia! For Christ shall govern all the earth, Alleluia! With heart and mind and strength proclaim: Alleluia! For Wonderful shall be His name, Alleluia!
Our Counsellor, our mighty God, Alleluia! Our Father, our redeeming Lord, Alleluia! Come worship Christ, the Prince of Peace, Alleluia! May our rejoicing never cease, Alleluia!
--Marvin Gardner, one of my favorite professors at BYU.
Once upon a time I was working full-time as a nanny. I had just gotten back from my mission and I was deeply unhappy. My days were spent commuting in the snow, taking care of children and sitting in my room. I had no friends. This is starting to sound a lot more pathetic than it actually was, for although I was lonely and sad most of the time, that kind of solitude only makes one more appreciative of all the things one can do alone. I started working in the temple. I went for runs. Nobody pulled me out of that darkness. I pulled myself out. Then, fortunately, I made some of the best friends I have ever had, and that was incredible.
During the course of my pulling-myself-from-abyss time, I decided I wanted to buy a car. This is harder than it sounds when one is working off the books and lived in a foreign country without employment for the previous year or so. I talked to some people and they were sympathetic but ultimately unhelpful. I remember the following evening well. It was a weekday and I decided to pray about buying a car, which probably sounds ridiculous. Whatever. I totally did it anyway.
The prayer went a little something like this. It will sound quite casual and perhaps irreverent to your ears, but that's just how I pray.
"Hey, God. So I've been thinking I want to buy a car. I'm working now and I definitely think I can afford it. My commute is currently an hour and a half both ways and if I were to get a car it would probably only be about ten minutes. That would save me a lot of time and I have better things to do. At least, I'm pretty sure I do. Also, I promise if I had a car I would use it to serve others. I think people other than just me would benefit. And I could drive to church when the rest of my house is ready to leave and I am not instead of just staying home. Essentially, we would all win if I had a car. I have no idea how this could possibly happen since apparently I don't qualify for like a loan or anything because of my mission--thanks a lot for that, by the way ... just kidding!!! Anyway, I feel this would be a good thing but I can't make it happen on my own. Thanks for listening."
I kid you not, the NEXT DAY my father called me and said that my godmother was looking to sell her old car, and would I be interested in buying her old Kia?
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This solidified my belief that God listens to my prayers even though the things I say are often kind of stupid. This probably also explains why I frequently offered to lend my car to friends in need. It was part of the bargain.
My godmother smokes several packs a day, and I don't think my car ever REALLY stopped smelling like cigarettes. My friends claimed that they didn't notice, but I think they were just being kind. Also, another previous owner was a pothead who had driven the car into the ocean (true story) and so the engine had some pretty bizarre salt-water damage, which is worse than regular water damage. I spilled a big thing of grape juice on the passenger seat when I was trying to drive to a party for the kids in my Middle English class with the dog in the car (bad idea). And I scraped the passenger door pretty badly when I tried to back into the narrow driveway at my first house. I was out of practice, having not driven in several years + being blind in one eye has always made me a poor judge of distance.
However, this car was paid off by me. I OWNED it. It was the first grown-up thing of value that I actually owned. Which was a crazy feeling. I assumed that I would drive it until it died, or until I decided to move somewhere where owning a car would be practical, such as New York City, or anywhere abroad. Although it was a depreciating asset, I had an ASSET, for crying out loud. So even though it was kinda musty and full of dog hair and such, I did love that car.
And I suppose, technically, one could argue that I did in fact drive it until it died.
Poor baby car.
I don't remember exactly what happened. What I can remember is that I was driving my car on northbound I-5, and I looked down for a split second, then I looked up again, and there was a car right in front of me that appeared to be stopped. I later learned that it wasn't stopped, but that's physics for you. Anyway, there was a loud crash and then I heard nothing, and then through the smoke I saw the car in front of me drive away (in my shock, I thought that was because his car was completely undamaged, which of course wasn't true). I sat there for a minute and stared at my smoking hood, realizing that there was no way I would be able to drive my car even to the side of the road. So I reached for my phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Apparently, it's a big unusual to report your own accident, presumably because most people are either too injured or too disoriented to call anyone. Or they can't locate their phones. I thought about calling my dad after I got off the phone with the 911 operator, but that's a phone call nobody wants to make. "Hey, parents? I just crashed my car on the highway and I'm waiting for the ambulance to take me to the ER. There's not really anything you do at this point, though. Bye!" So I just sat there and waited and thought to myself, shit. My car is broken. And I crashed my car like a stupid teenager. This is so humiliating. And then I cried.
I did not cry because I was grateful to be alive. I want to make that perfectly clear. I cried because I had owned something that made me an adult and then ruined it in a very un-adult fashion. And because I was embarrassed. I really don't think I have ever felt so stupid. I should note, though, one thing I did that was not stupid was turn on my emergency flashers. Even though they were on, it is an absolute miracle that nobody hit me from behind while I was waiting for the ambulance to come.
An ambulance came. The EMT was about my age and asked if I knew what year it was. Then she asked who the president was. I laughed. A state trooper opened my passenger side door and asked me some more questions. Someone else strapped a neckbrace to my head. A firefighter asked if I had any allergies, seizures, blackouts, did I use drugs, was I on any medication. No, no, no. Just an idiot. They wouldn't let me walk to the ambulance. I had to be carried on one of those board things. Another firefighter taped my hair to the board.
In the back of the ambulance it was just me and the EMT who arrived first and asked me what year it was. A state trooper stepped in and informed me they would be issuing me a ticket. I almost said something rude but I held my tongue. We drove to Harborview without any sirens. While we were in route to the hospital, I started laughing hysterically, then crying again. It must have been kind of unnerving. The EMT kept telling me to take deep breaths, which was a bummer for her because I almost always hyperventilate when I cry. She put me on oxygen.
Triage at Harborview is always really crazy. I lay on the stretcher in the waiting room and signed consent forms. One of them asked about what religion I was. Then the rolled me into another room with some other people who also looked like they had been in car accidents. Lots of doctors. They kept poking me and asking me to evaluate my pain level on a scale of one to ten. Apparently, if I had exaggerated just a tiny bit, I could have gotten some cool narcotics. Oh well.
By this time I had figured out that I probably wasn't hurt very badly and I just wanted to go home. Oh yeah, and I called my dad from the bed. I had always thought that cell phone usage was forbidden inside hospitals. Not true! Anyway, they put me on an IV and did a bunch of CAT scans and X-rays. It wasn't painful except (TMI) after the IV was in for a while I had to pee really badly and learned how to use a bedpan. That was cool. Also, (MAJOR TOTAL TMI) did you know that one of the ways they determine whether there is any paralysis in the lower back is through a rectal exam? It's true.
They put some morphine into my IV and suddenly, I was very very grateful to be alive. I realized that had there just been a few more inches of intrusion into the car or if my airbag hadn't deployed properly, or if someone behind me had been as spacey as I had been, I would almost certainly be dead. What would have happened if I had died? I ruminated. It would have been sort of anticlimactic, I think. I haven't even done anything cool. But maybe the Dead Girl's Blog would have been published. That would be neat. But my parents would have cleaned out my room and found a lot of embarrassing things. These were my actual thoughts.
I don't think I need to be the one to tell you that the damage is irreparable. The damage to my car, that is. My body is surprisingly fine. Some bruises and soreness, but overall alive, well, un-paralyzed. Apparently I am some degree of invincible, because I got into a serious car accident on the highway and I DIDN'T DIE. Of course, one never knows when one has fulfilled all of one's destiny and can safely die in a fiery car crash, so I won't be pushing the "Invincible Elisa" thing too far, I promise you.
In case you were wondering, I talked to the guy I hit on Friday, and he is fine. He didn't even have to go to the hospital. His car is totaled as well, though his damage wasn't nearly as bad (it was an SUV, but an older one). He was gracious and understanding and my insurance seems to be taking pretty good care of him. Additionally, I am very grateful that his kids weren't in the back of the car on Thursday. I would never have forgiven myself for that.
I hate to reference specific companies on my blog because I don't receive revenue from anyone, but indulge me in saying that the people at Geico have been extremely kind, helpful and understanding. They are covering my medical expenses and giving me a small amount of money for a new crappy car. Bless their corporate hearts.
It's great to be alive, you guys.
This song is only sort of related. I just really like it.
At first I was all, "I'm going to write a deep and meaningful blog entry about my relationship with the religion of my ancestors and expound about the continual role Catholicism and its rituals play in my life and how I firmly believe they bring me closer to God and I am so grateful for my multicultural heritage and I see no contradiction between the religion I was raised in and the other one I eventually joined."
And then I was like, POLAROIDS!!!!!
Tuesday = Shrove Tuesday = pancakes.
Wednesday = Ash Wednesday = Hardcore ash cross on face.
NOTE: I'm going to be talking about several different things, then bring them together at the end. Keep up, now.
Here are several possible "800 hundred-dollar mistakes."
1. Getting a fairly large tattoo, one with multiple colors.
2. Getting your eyebrows lasered off, and maybe some other stuff, too.
3. Getting a first trimester abortion (Sorry, but apparently it's true).
4. Getting into a medium-bad car accident.
5. Buying a nonrefundable plane ticket and deciding at the last minute not to go.
Recently I made one of these 800 hundred-dollar mistakes. But first, some background.
I love me some adventuring. One of the highlights of the year 2009 for me was the post-finals backpacking trip with Greg, Gordon, Ashley and Katie. We hiked in the desert for days and it was gorgeous.
Totally.
Breathtaking, yeah? (Photos by Greg)
Anyway, I'm not going to pretend to be any sort of hardcore backpacker, because I'm not, not by any stretch of the imagination, but my point is that this backpacking trip was super fun, way more fun than car camping would have been. Except the part when we got lost in the basin without our packs just as the sun was setting. Or the time Gordon almost got bitten by a rattlesnake. Even those memories don't seem so bad, seven months later. We all came home just fine and we have some awesome stories.
Hanging out in Paris by myself was maybe one of the coolest things I've ever done, ever. I would recommend it to anyone. I love to travel. Granted, my short stay in Amsterdam after I left Paris was easily the SUCKIEST experience of 2009, but I also got some funny stories out of that. In my experience, it is better to have a bad experience and laugh about it later than never to try cool stuff at all.
My point is, I like to go on adventures. Travelling makes some people nervous or anxious, but I've never really had a problem with that.
So this summer I decided I wanted to give myself a graduation present that involved travelling somewhere. I considered trying to organize a trip to Brazil with Greg (and I would still like to at some point) but since he had to be in school for Winter Semester and I did not, that plan never came to fruition. Then I wondered if my dear friend Thelma would be interested in taking in a visitor from the States?
Yes indeed! She said. Just get yourself in a plane over here and I'll take care of the rest.
The plan was for me to stay with her in Thailand for a month and help her out with some small projects. I wanted to recreate the easygoing, naturalistic experience I had in Paris, where I wasn't rushing around frantically trying to see every attraction, but rather walking around and enjoying the idea of being present in a new place. Helping people even though I don't speak Thai or Burmese. And writing about it. Not only was hanging out with Thelma going to be a BLAST, but I would be making the world a better place and beefing up my grad school CV. Oooh, she went to Thailand? They would say. I assume.
It was an awesome plan. I felt great about it. And now, an abrupt change of subject.
NOTE: I promised this would all come together at the end. It still will. Be patient.
Amongst my friends who are practicing Christians, one of the most interesting things for me to hear about is how they perceive God communicates with them. I have one friend who feels that God, as a general rule, lets him do his own thing, but every once in a while he has a really Saul-of-Tarsus type of experience in which he hears a voice or has a very direct and undeniable personal prompting. Another one usually doesn't get clear answers unless she begs for them--sometimes for years. I had a mission companion who usually had ideas come to her while she was praying, and another who didn't get answers until she was out doing stuff. I don't think the individuality of anyone's relationship with God is an indication of wickedness or righteousness, it's just different for every person, just like every person's hand feels a little different when you're holding it.
I HOPE that this isn't an indication of excessive wickedness on my part, but for whatever reason God likes to meddle in my small decisions on a regular basis. Not to sound resentful, I just couldn't think of a better word. What I mean by the word "meddle" is that several times in my life I have received very clear promptings to either do something very insignificant or NOT do something very insignificant. More often than not the prompting is NOT to do something perfectly normal. I had a quote written in my PMG while I was a missionary (which I don't have on me so I am paraphrasing) that said, in essence, "When you feel prompted to do something that is against your personal preference, that is good evidence of authenticity." In my experience, this is very true.
STORY III
My dad and I recently had the following conversation on the phone.
Dad: Are you sure about this trip? It couldn't come at a worse time ... Me: Sure I'm sure. I already paid for the ticket and it's nonrefundable. Dad: Pray about it. Me: Ughhhhhh. Dad: I just don't feel good about it.
FACT: My dad is a serious worrywart.
Me: That's what you said about every trip I have taken since I turned 18. And my mission. And the job I took after my mission. Becoming a vegetarian. Driving downtown anytime between October and April. Need I go on? Dad: But I mean it this time! Me: Ughhhhhh.
Later that night, while I was praying:
Me: Yo, God. Thanks for everything. Just so you know, I am going to go to Thailand unless you EXPRESSLY tell me not to. Because if you really didn't want me to go, YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME BEFORE I BOUGHT THE TICKET. K thanks. Bye.
Note: Although this prayer sounds like a joke, it isn't very far off the mark.
STORY 4
Not too long ago, I was driving home from my class in Salt Lake, when I stopped for gas in a shady part of town. Not long after I left the gas station, I realized I couldn't find my phone. I recently got a new phone because the speaker on my old phone broke for no reason, and my current phone has no insurance because it's too expensive. I started to get really upset about losing my phone, which I really need, and like I often do, lapsed Catholic that I am, I started to wonder if this was punishment from God.
Here is the monologue I had with God in the car. Can you have a monologue WITH someone? Shut up. Sure I can.
Me: Where is my phone? Seriously, did you need to do that? SERIOUSLY? Are you mad? What'd I do? What did I do to upset you, huh? Is this about the Thailand thing? Do you not want me to go? .... Okay, fine. You know what? Have it your way. If I find my phone, I'm still going to Thailand. But if I don't, I'm gonna take that as a sign that I shouldn't go.
A few miles later ...
Me: Um, actually, I really want my phone back, so even if I DO find it, I will still consider not going, if that's what you want.
I found my phone. The nice lady at the shady gas station lent me her phone and once I called it I found it stashed it underneath my passenger seat.
Then some other stuff happened that is too personal to talk about, but in short: I am no longer going to Thailand. Thelma understood, because she is a peach. Also, I lost eight hundred dollars. That sucks. But if anything bad were to happen on the trip I felt I shouldn't have gone on, I never would have forgiven myself.
Which doesn't much detract from the fact that it totally sucks.
Several happenings contribute to my general feelings of impotence and despondency today. One, no response from the folks I wrote to yesterday re: getting some non-Mormon support for keeping the WRI open. I knew it was a long shot, but I guess they can't get involved with Mormons in any way, shape or form. Our respective missions are too disparate.
Two. Why does it have to be this way? Why do so many people believe that feminism and the gospel cannot possibly co-exist? I wrote this little guy (which is quite similar to the letter I wrote to Amplify, with a Mormon twist) for a blog I really love, one intended for Mormon feminists, which got some positive and some negative responses. A few accused me of not believing in or trusting the Prophet and Apostles, because they are the executive board of BYU, which logic I have always found completely ridiculous. I believe that Church leaders are inspired, but they don't fast and pray about whether or not to sell mint brownies in the Wilk, for crying out loud. Nor do most decisions about programs at BYU make it all the way up the freeway to Salt Lake. That's not how any university is run. The overarching board, especially if they're also preoccupied with running a worldwide church, hasn't the time to micromanage. This was the administration's decision alone. From what I understand, even the man Cecil himself didn't have much to do with the decision to close the WRI. It stemmed from an internal review board, and from what it sounds like, ended there as well.
Because of this post, I was quoted (As "Elise"--seriously, if you're going to go to the trouble of writing about something I said, double-check my name, yeah? Not that hard.) on this blog. The post wasn't too hard on me, but said a few things that hurt my feelings. Maybe I was being a little sensitive, but check this action out:
"What Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints does she belong to that believes in gender equality? The only Mormon church I am aware of makes it clear that women are not equal with men (unless you believe that two groups can be separate but equal, and that by denying women rights given to men, you are actually protecting them)."
Ouch. Not on my behalf, really, but on the Church's. And then it goes further:
"Here is the problem with her [my] analysis: the higher-ups in the bureaucracy that she [me] is railing against here are the General Authorities and the Quorum of the Twelve. You can’t say that when something of this magnitude is being done at 'The Lord’s University' (or less tongue-in-cheek, 'The University of the CoJCoLDS') [Note: I have no idea what that is referencing] that it isn’t reflective of the opinion of the Church as a whole towards women, women’s issues, and feminism. I remain baffled by women who can endure this sort of obvious second-class treatment at the Church authorities hands, while simultaneously arguing that they Church itself is not misogynist.
Although I understand that the author (and others like her) is trying to avoid cog dis, at some point these issues will be more than just academic.
Perhaps she will go to graduate school, and be questioned by her bishop – the authorized 'servant of God' for her salvation – about her 'intentions' with regards to having a family and fulfilling her divine calling of motherhood.
Perhaps she will desire to go on a mission, and her Stake President will restrict her, saying that because she has a (pseudo) boyfriend, that she should be thinking of getting married.
Perhaps she will consider getting a job at BYU, only to discover that her department of choice does not hire women of child-bearing age.
Perhaps she will realize that it is demeaning to women when her 12-year-old son (who still wets the bed) has more 'authority' to act in God’s name than she, as a 50 year old woman, will ever have."
Wh-oa (two syllables). First of all, see my above comments with regard to criticizing BYU = criticizing the Church leadership. If they can't be given credit for every little decision at this university, they can't be blamed for them either. I don't thank God every day for inspiring His servants on earth to build a glass building that looks exactly like a fishbowl, and I don't rail at God in my nightly prayers for not selling Diet Coke on campus either. BYU is owned by the Church, but it's its own institution, with its own unique rules and prerogatives. These, I have found, tend to stem from Mormon culture and not the gospel I know to be true.
I had a very interesting discussion with Brooke about this very topic earlier tonight. But before I get into that, I want to make one thing crystal clear.
Feminism is personal for me. My own mother was terrified at the prospect of me joining this Church because of the prevailing sexist attitudes she had noticed were held by many members of it. My father said that Mormons initially reminded him of a paramilitary group. My mother truly, honestly believed that I would be oppressed and mistreated by men in this institution, and so now, years later, I actually don't blame her for refusing to let me get baptized initially. It's a scary thing to lose your child to another religion, especially one that has such a huge affect on one's lifestyle. However, my mother told me, while I was on my mission, that to her great relief, everything she had taught me about feminism and being a strong, independent, intelligent woman did not get swallowed up in my new faith, but rather integrated into it.
Dang straight. Mormon culture may try to tell me what to do with my life, and possibly even how to do my hair, and members of this Church are as fallible as they were when it first started, but the gospel of Jesus Christ has done NOTHING but make me a better, stronger, happier woman and person. I have a testimony of this gospel. My testimony of this wacky Mormon culture is weak, but that doesn't matter because I don't need one! I deeply resent the assertion that feminism isn't personal for me.
To respond to the four hypotheticals:
"Perhaps she will go to graduate school, and be questioned by her bishop – the authorized 'servant of God' for her salvation – about her 'intentions' with regards to having a family and fulfilling her divine calling of motherhood."
You will recall me saying that sometimes my bishopric has a less than ideal attitude about how women (in my opinion) ought to behave. However, when I announced in Relief Society that I had been chosen for an internship with a linguistics company in Paris, the first counselor in the the Bishopric came up to me and congratulated me. I have never felt discouraged by any of my church leaders when it comes to my education. And particularly not by the higher-ups, who have taught for years that women need to be smart. And not just because stupid women are bad mothers, either, although that's true. Because intelligence is eternal, and so am I.
Additionally, it seems completely illogical to me to conclude that because sometimes a Bishop will say something old-fashioned or insensitive, that therefore the Church he represents cannot possibly be true. Mormons are humans, and humans can be idiots. Let's not hearken back to 14th-century Catholicism, shall we? (Just kidding, Mom!)
"Perhaps she will desire to go on a mission, and her Stake President will restrict her, saying that because she has a (pseudo) boyfriend, that she should be thinking of getting married."
As a matter of fact, I did serve a mission, and dumped a pseudo-boyfriend in order to do so. When I met with my bishop and told him about my desire to serve, he said to me (I will never forget this), "Now, some guys seem to not want to date female returned missionaries. But don't worry about that, because those guys are idiots." Well played, Bishop Sterling, well played. Granted, Church leaders do teach that a mission should not be used to escape from the obligation of finding a spouse. I served with some chicks were were there out of boredom, and it wasn't pretty. But if God tells me to serve a mission, who am I to argue? If he had told me to get married instead, believe me I would have listened.
And again, if imperfect people have no chance for salvation, I am screwed, and so are you. One stake president does not invalidate thousands of years of revelation. That's the beautiful thing about the Atonement: sometimes people make mistakes, and that's OK. The Church is still true.
"Perhaps she will consider getting a job at BYU, only to discover that her department of choice does not hire women of child-bearing age."
Two words should silence you here: Wendy Baker. Check out that CV! And if you're looking for women who aren't single, the WRI faculty has some choice gems for you. According to everyone, all those women will be moving departments rather than losing their jobs. Thanks, hiring freeze!
Perhaps she will realize that it is demeaning to women when her 12-year-old son (who still wets the bed) has more 'authority' to act in God’s name than she, as a 50 year old woman, will ever have.
My senior year of college, my parents and I went out for Indian food on my 18th birthday. I distinctly remember telling my parents about my decision to apply to BYU, which I had previously not even considered. My mother asked me if it would bother me to go to a "patriarchal university where I would have no power." I don't remember how I worded my response exactly, but the summary is this: Not having the Priesthood does not make me feel powerless. Being told that I should feel oppressed by my religion, however, does. The gospel is not demeaning to women, although some ignorant, short-sighted people can be. However, those people are recognizably departing from the truth when they exercise unrighteous dominion over anyone, male or female. The organization of the Church is demeaning to no one unless they choose to see all humans as automatons for whom God has the exact same plan. His desire for all His children is the same, but the way He brings about each child's life is wholly unique and individualized.
I'm not sure if I can articulate this properly. But here goes: it's not that I don't want the Priesthood. Some women say that, and I think it's a little disrespectful. The Priesthood is neat. I like helping people, which is what the Priesthood is all about. I imagine that theoretically, if the Priesthood did one day become available to women, it wouldn't bother me to participate in it. However, I don't need the Priesthood to feel powerful. I feel empowered for plenty of other reasons, many of them related to the potential I feel I have because of being a women, because of my body and my future, as-of-yet unrealized calling as a mother. I feel empowered because I know God made me female for a reason. I do not feel slighted because a twelve year-old boy can pass the Sacrament and I cannot. "Separate but equal" is a crude way of putting it, but to be honest, the notion doesn't bother me, in the same way that some people are ordained to be born in Peru and some are ordained to be born in Hungary. Nobody's challenges or responsibilities are better, they are all just different. I feel that saying that all human beings should have all the same experiences and callings is oversimplistic.
To return to my original point, I see no actual contradiction between feminism and the teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Yes, Mormon culture leans toward the conservative, and Mormon women do have a reputation of being a little bit ... plastic. But I am neither conservative nor plastic, and this is my Church too. I did my time as a missionary, I love Jesus Christ, and I live the teachings of this Church with every fiber of my being (little joke).
I don't see why Mormon women can't be everything feminism says women can be.
I love this talk. Joss Whedon is brilliant. And I want to be all of those adjectives he used to describe his mother and his wife. I long to be extraordinary, inspirational, tough, cool, sexy, and funny. I also choose to spend my time with men who, like his father and stepfather, "prize wit and resolve above all things in the women they [are] with." I can be strong and educated and interesting and still sustain President Monson with all my heart. I see no contradiction there. And so many women on both sides can't seem to get their heads around that. Some think I can't possibly be a faithful Latter-day Saint because of some of the opinions I hold. Others see no way of reconciling these aforementioned opinions with LDS dogma. But bless their hearts, Jesus was the ultimate champion of womanhood. His gospel is the greatest honor I can ascribe to. And if some jerk in my future ward thinks I'm a bad wife for not changing my name, that's his problem, not mine. And certainly not God's.
When Brooke and I talked, I asked her, "Would Jesus tell a woman not to get an education, because intelligence drives men away? Would He discourage women from serving missions? Would He call anyone inferior? No, of course He wouldn't."
The gospel of Jesus Christ, in its pure form, when you strip away the Republican party and the culturally ingrained misogyny practiced by some fringe idiots and the jello, is the best thing that could ever happen to any woman. Because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I know what I'm capable of, and it's a lot. I feel an even stronger desire to learn and improve and teach and fix everything bad in the world. I feel connected with everyone on the planet. I will never leave this church. It is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and I fought to be a part of it. I will fight to stay a part of it. I believe that the best women in the world are acting on Christ's behalf, whether they realize it or not. I believe in a religion that teaches the incredible potential of men and women, not just men with their wives hanging on their coattails.
And I would love to know with an absolute certainty that I am not the only woman who feels this way.
Who could say it better? Only Jesus. 
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