Camazotz, Here I Come?

Many years ago, I read Madeleine l’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. I was fascinated by the idea of the tesseract and identified with Charles Wallace's empathy and intuition. I was terrified by IT, ruler of the planet on which their father had been held for so long. At the time, I interpreted the enforced order on that planet, Camazotz by name, as a metaphor for the Communist regimes like the Soviet Union or East Germany that I was taught threatened the American way of life. It was the 1980’s after all, the era of Reagan and renewed flag waving and the last big run of the nuclear arms race. It was only as I got older and pondered on the novel that I saw it as the epitome of any repressive system that squashed individuality and stifled personal liberty. Those systems are everywhere, especially in places that say they grant freedom. Who wants to live like that?

Apparently these days, I do. I’m finding myself longing to live on Camazotz.

This recent realization of a longing for order shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I’ve always thought I believed in individuality and championed the cause of liberty. I’ve always stood for the oppressed and the marginalized. I’ve always fought for people to be who they wanted to be and do what they wanted to do...up to a point.

Being raised LDS, there’s liberty and then there’s liberty. What I thought was liberty as a child seems much less so when viewed through more experienced eyes. And yet, reality is subjective, and within that youthful reality, there was a lot of room to breathe as long as one didn’t push past the limits, the boundaries explicit and implicit. In so many ways, I flourished in that structure. It allowed parts of me to grow straight, tall, and upright. But, as anyone who has read this blog knows, I was also severely bruised by that structure. Why would I crave it again?

This is a time of political and personal turmoil, when people steal books from libraries and cheese doodles sporting bad hair are in serious contention for the presidency of the United States, when All Lives Matter even though they don’t really seem to. This is a time when people steal your kidneys in public parks, when men are becoming women and vice versa and other people are taking advantage of the uncertainty this has caused society to push their own agendas. This is a time where people don’t push in their chairs and don’t ask if you’re available before they start barraging you with demands. They don’t say “please” and “thank you”, or “excuse me, do you have a moment?” Breaking “the rules” is now the norm. Whatever happened to everyone following the rules instead of being the exception? (Was there really ever such a time?) Where are the unquestionably good cowboys, the ones with the white hats that Paula Cole sang about in the ‘90’s? Where is the freakin’ Lone Ranger?

I think my own rule breaking has something to do with this longing. This summer, I married Chris, breaking one of the biggest rules taught me about life. I permanently put myself outside the protective ideological circle that once supported me and I’ve never felt more vulnerable, more precarious. It permanently altered my relationships with people I care deeply about. My entire world has changed and now I’m looking to find any vestiges of the order I knew. When they don’t materialize, I get angry, sometimes even hostile. I become the tyrant I say I despise. I think mean things about people, straying far from the Christian ideals I endeavor to espouse. It’s harder than ever to let people be who they are and to love them regardless. I should be grateful for the spiritual exercise, but I’m just tired. Tired of difference and division. Tired of discussion. Tired of variation and diversity. I want us all to walk lock step according to the stride I set forth.

I guess you could say I’m the devil.

I hope to come through this with an increased ability to love unconditionally. I also hope the world will wake up and realize we need both liberty and liege, freedom and restraint, if we are to cohere as a society of siblings, children of whatever lord of light we choose to acknowledge. Because really, who wants a giant, pulsating brain taking the choice away from us? Or my mediocre, sometimes active one calling everyone names when it doesn’t have its way?

Prophets Are People, Too

The apostle Paul and I disagree on a few things: the length of a man's hair, keeping women silent in churches, celibacy of priests, and so on. It seems to me the ways and thought patterns of the Pharisees didn't completely desert him after his conversion. Perhaps I'm judging his first-century teachings with a twenty-first century eye, but many of his words have led to strange rules about who is accepted of God and who is not. Only certain right-behaving people can belong to the God club, you know. (Many of these patriarchal, appearance-careful rules can be found among Latter-Day Saints behind the Zion Curtain.)

It is for that reason I was pleasantly surprised a couple of days ago while choosing music for upcoming services at Trinity to find a new and very helpful insight in the 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians. Easily dubbed "The Charity Chapter," Paul proclaims that charity, or pure love, is everlasting and the only thing that really matters. This idea is a "golden thread" of truth to which I cling and is not new to me. What I'd never really seen before now was one of the things that Paul said would not last.

In the eighth verse, according to the King James version, Paul says that "whether there be prophecies, they shall fail..." The Jerusalem Bible translates this passage "if there are gifts of prophecy, the time will come when they must fail..." He then goes on to call all human gifts of knowledge or foreknowledge imperfect and fallible; the limited perceptive abilities of humans make all our knowledge fallible.

Why was this such a gift? In light of recent events, especially Elder Russell M. Nelson's address to the LDS church, it was a reminder that prophets are people. They see through a glass darkly, perhaps not as darkly as others but their vision is still limited and distorted by their humanity. Fasting and prayer can alter the normal human state, but it is debatable whether this actually brings more clarity or just changes the lens.

I've been reading a short biography of Joseph Smith written by a noted biographer and non-member, Robert Vincent Remini. It makes a good attempt at interpreting the available facts fairly, giving the prophet the benefit of the doubt where many merely condemn. What has become clearer through this is that for all of his notable qualities and actions, Joseph Smith was a man, and a fallible one, who was likely seeking for something divine while dealing with his very human nature. I do not doubt he had experiences of a transcendent nature, and I do believe he encountered God. It was really only with the advent of Brigham Young's presidency that he was canonized as some kind of perfect saint, unquestionable and infallible.

So many prophecies have not come to pass; so many policies have proven changeable. Does that make the quest for the divine ridiculous? Does it make the search for the mind of God a quixotic endeavor? Not entirely, because amongst all the attempts to know the mind of God, the many prophecies made and the visions reported, there is one golden thread that weaves through the fabric, the one Paul wove into his first Corinthian epistle: love is what lasts. Love is what matters. Choosing to love will be our salvation in the end. Jesus's message of peace through love, even when filtered through the millennia, gleams golden and it's okay for everything else to crumble away. No need to be afraid or angry that Elder Nelson made that speech in Hawaii. No need to throw my love of friends or family away to mock or ridicule those that are still members. No need to bring the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to its knees by trying to keep their guest artists from performing with them. Love is what matters because love is what lasts. When one is love, all the attributes of love Paul mentions are in evidence and there is, ultimately, peace.

In my own personal page of revelation, given long ago when I was a teenager, I was told that the devil would tempt and try me in insidious ways, desirous to take me for his own. That meant he was going to be sneaky about how he led me away from the fold; if I wanted to stay faithful and maintain access to the atoning gift of the Savior, I needed to cling to the words of the prophets, being as obedient and subservient as I could. I needed to question any other idea or voice with deep suspicion of the motives behind it. Thus, my entire mission was one big offering of as perfect an obedience as I could muster. I worked very hard to burn away sinful thoughts and impulses with the fire of the Holy Ghost. It became clear after my mission that I just couldn't stay away from the tree of knowledge and it's corrupting fruit. I was miserable.

I understand now that what I had really been doing was putting my trust in the arm of flesh. It has taken me a long time to arrive at the point I occupy now, largely due to my extreme caution that I not be led astray. It could be argued that the devil has won, but I don't think so. Little by little, my trust has shifted from the arm of flesh to the heart of love, and with all due respect to the brethren, I think that's where God can really be found.

Did You Think to Pray?

The last week has been a gathering storm full of blackening skies and threatening winds. The consequences of my foibles have boomeranged back to me in various ways and seemed to outweigh anything I might have to offer in compensation. Yesterday was so intensely dark, it was physically hard to breathe.

Felicitously, Chris and I had a counseling session last night and light broke through to displace the gloom. Of the many things we discussed, our counselor suggested we include a daily mutual meditative ritual to help us get in sync whenever we settle in together at the end of the day, or in other words, that we pray together.

I used to pray on a regular, regimented basis. I would have been one of those Athenians Paul addressed when he told them that in all things they were too superstitious. Religiosity pervaded my life, draining the vitality from spiritually-centering rituals, and I struggled to find my spiritual self. Many potentially helpful acts were abandoned. The counselor’s suggestion last night was the equivalent of reminding me I needed a spiritual V-8. Cautious hope stirred.

This morning, before I left to go running, Chris and I knelt down to pray. The sweet relief that flooded my soul from our simple prayer was immediate and profound, soothing my life-scalded consciousness like sweet salve. Tranquility distilled upon the both of us and, in that moment, concerns we expressed last night lost their urgency. As this day progresses, peace centers my soul and forgiveness for myself and others lightens my heart. Amazing grace, indeed.

“Ere you left your room this morning, did you think to pray?” queries a hymn from my youth. “In the name of Christ, our Savior, did you sue for loving favor as a shield today?...

When your heart was filled with anger, did you think to pray? Did you plead for grace, my brother, that you might forgive another who had crossed your way?...

When sore trials came upon you, did you think to pray? When your soul was full of sorrow, Balm of Gilead did you borrow at the gates of day?

Oh, how praying rests the weary! Prayer will change the night to day. So when life gets dark and dreary, don’t forget to pray.”

Day of the Dead was Yesterday!

You're a day late. Ghosts are supposed to be back in their graves by now. Your voice on the phone is untimely. Why is it that every single freakin' time I hear your voice my being responds like it's been hit with an electric charge? It takes me hours to calm back down and forget again.

Yet, you are never gone. You color everything - my thoughts, my decisions, my feelings. I was reborn through you and then you left me to fend for myself. There are times now that I want to see you again and say and do all the things I had repressed in the hopes of getting you back. I wonder if you would still haunt me like you do if I had gone ahead and purged you like everyone told me to. It's only in moments like these that I become aware of how bitter I am. I chose not to hate you so my soul wouldn't be cankered with your betrayal but the feelings are still there regardless of my ignorance.

Go away now. Sleep now. Leave me with my hollow peace.

Blue Light Special

My first official relationship was really rocky. He pulled me out of the closet kicking and screaming, thinking I'd be grateful for the liberation he offered me. As he began to realize I wasn't going to give him what he wanted, he started saying things to me, trying to break me open - trying to break me, period. At one point, he called me 'damaged merchandise.' It was the first time I'd heard that expression, and the truth of it stung.

Like most of us walking around Battlefield Earth, I am indeed damaged, a screaming Kmart blue light special. This damage has left only pieces of me that are functional; I rarely function as a whole unit, especially when pushed to full throttle. I'm entertaining at times, but ultimately frustrating or deeply disappointing. Buyer beware!

The Lightning Scar

I have decided you are Voldemort and I am Harry Potter. Whenever I'm near you, the scar you left on my heart burns and I lose all composure. I can't think, my heart races, adrenaline courses through my body, and I start to sweat. I stammer and say stupid things. I'm incredibly self conscious and feel myself shrink in the estimation of your gaze.

It's been six years. I thought I was healed, and I am in a way. Love is all around me. I'm so lucky...so blessed...to have such amazing people to travel through life with. Especially Chris, who's so devoted, so loving. Yet, the memory of what I thought you and I had is buried inside me like a bullet, a shard, a splinter that works its way to the surface, pulled by your magnetism,  irritating everything in its course.

It's probably good you and I are no longer together. I would have done anything to please you, gone to any lengths to satisfy you. You were all that mattered. Family, friends, interests, commitments were all expendable when it came to you. It's good you left before I could complete the things I was doing to move everyone and everything out of the way for you. Had it gone on longer, there's no telling who and what I would have lost.

So, until the next time our paths cross, you enjoy whatever it is that puts that smug grin on your face. I'll go back to appreciating what I have and try to forget...again.

Pride and Proposals

The last two nights have been monumental for me. Saturday, February 14, I asked the love of my life to marry me and he said yes. Sunday, February 15, I told my family I was engaged. Because of their staunch LDS faith, this led to a discussion between my father and me about where this choice was taking me. It was a sincere, respectful conversation that left me in awe and gratitude at the amazing man I have been given for a father. (The rest of my family is pretty amazing, too.)

In the course of the discussion, my dad brought up the power of the teachings in Alma 5 in the Book of Mormon. I have to admit here that my views of the Book of Mormon have been dim as of late. I have been considering viewpoints that cast doubts on its provenance and its authenticity. Is it really the word of God?

This morning, since Presidents Lincoln and Washington allowed me a paid shift off from the library, I took a look at Alma 5. My father was right. Those words pack a wallop, and it’s because they’re true. They are true regardless of whether the Lamanites and Nephites really walked the American continent. They are true because of their powerful call to follow Christ. I am humbled by the words of Alma and, though my relationship with it might be a little different than it was before, I will not discount The Book of Mormon again.

This testimony isn’t the main reason I’m writing, however. I want to share what I found in Alma’s words and how I feel they relate to my current situation. The people that Alma was preaching to in the city of Zarahemla were descendants of the refugees from Noah’s kingdom. Wicked, fat King Noah (thank you, Arnold Freiburg) ruled his domain with the help of his priests who led the people to invest their hearts in riches and shallow relationships (“spending their strength with harlots” is how it’s phrased in the book). This allowed Noah to maintain his power and wealth. As long as the people didn’t turn to true religion, they supported his very lucrative form of idolatry. Enter Abinadai, whose powerful preaching converted one of King Noah’s priests, Alma, who in turn converted many others whose children and grandchildren eventually ended up in the city of Zarahemla.

Apparently, these children and grandchildren were falling into some of the ways of their forefathers because Alma’s son, Alma the Younger, hereafter referred to as Alma, felt the need to call the people to repentance. What were they guilty of? Verses 53 – 56 say they were “puffed up in the pride of [their] hearts” and persisted “in the wearing of costly apparel,” “setting [their] hearts upon the vain things of the world, upon [their] riches.” This pride led them to “persist in supposing that [they were] better than one another” and “in the persecution of [their] bretheren” who were humble and trying to follow Christ. These prideful people turned their backs upon the poor and needy, withholding their resources from those around them. Does any of this sound familiar? Isn’t this going on all around us right now?

So, it seems that Alma’s main concern was to get the people to swallow their pride and start caring about each other again. He wanted them to look past the blinding influence of materialism and heed the future Christ’s call to love one another as He loves us. (In regards to the harlotry in King Noah’s time, lest anyone accuse me of ‘slut shaming,’ this means we need to seek deeper relationships with those around us. It’s not so much about the casual sex as it is the fact that we’ve just treated someone like a Kleenex, which is so NOT how Christ loves people. It IS how we treat each other when we think we're better than them.)

For me, Alma’s words mean I need to stop spending so much money on entertaining myself, especially since I own more than I can ever watch or listen to. I need to support the Idaho Food Bank and stop ignoring the homeless man on the corner. I need to make sure I treat everyone with whom I come in contact as a child of God, loving them as purely as I am able. As far as Chris and I are concerned, Alma doesn’t really have much to say because as I told Chris Saturday night when I proposed, he teaches me to love every day.