My "other" blog

New post on my other blog today--the one I don't mind people other than friends and family reading. At least that's the idea. I only made it public today. Check it out. I write about feminism and the new age requirement for sister missionaries.

sometimes in september . . .

you realize 

there is almost nothing left of the chocolate you bought 

in Germany in May

and it's sad

like the end of summer

but worse

because instead of the consolation of fall--

crisp and lovely, full of soup and tea and sweaters--

you have only
empty wrappers

holds upon happiness

“What beautiful hyacinths! I have just learnt to love a hyacinth.”

“And how might you learn? By accident or argument?”

“Your sister taught me; I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allen used to take pains, year after year, to make me like them; but I never could, till I saw them the other day in Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferent about flowers.”

“But now you love a hyacinth. So much the better. You have gained a new source of enjoyment, and it is well to have as many holds upon happiness as possible."

--Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey

Some things that I love doing are . . .

Having tea time with my roommate Michelle and anyone else who decides to join us.

Cleaning a room.

Eating chocolate. Or ice cream. Or guacamole with lime chips. Or salsa with lime chips. Or Thai food. Food brings me lots and lots of happiness.

Teaching at BYU.

Meeting with students to discuss their concerns about class and life.

Reading. I've long loved reading novels, but recent years have taught me to love reading poetry, compositional and rheotrical theory, nonfiction, and the news (especially opinion pieces).

Listening to NPR, the Mormon Channel, and other podcasts.

Sitting outside in the hour before sunset.

Being awake in the still of the early morning.

Talking with my family.

Sitting in the Celestial Room of any temple.

Emailing and receiving emails from my family (oh those delightful family email chains . . . ).

Visiting cemeteries. (I learned this one over the summer while visiting cemeteries in Massachusetts, Europe, and small Utah towns. Thanks, Sam.)

Writing journal entries, lists, thank you notes, blog posts, and, yes, even assignment sheets.

Getting absorbed in a meaningful conversation.

Laughing with good friends.

Listening in on strangers' conversations.

Browsing through books in a bookstore, touching the spines and feeling the pages, hmmming and smiling over the excerpts I read.

To me, each of these things is about an experience of calm. All of them cause me to slow down and reflect on how rich and good my life actually is and how kind and wonderful the people are around me really are and how numerous and personal my gifts from God have been. And maybe that's what happiness is? The experience of stopping to see the reality of the good God has woven into your life?

This e. e. cummings' poem captures my gratitude for these experiences well:

i thank You God for most this amazing 

day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees 

and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything 

which is natural which is infinite which is yes 

Yes.

a furious wind

In my scripture study today, I read in Ether 6 and the following verses stood out in a way they haven't before:

5 And it came to pass that the Lord God caused that there should be a furious wind blow upon the face of the waters, towards the promised land; and thus they were tossed upon the waves of the sea before the wind.
 6 And it came to pass that they were many times buried in the depths of the sea, because of the mountain waves which broke upon them, and also the great and terrible tempests which were caused by the fierceness of the wind.
 7 And it came to pass that when they were buried in the deep there was no water that could hurt them, their vessels being tight like unto a dish, and also they were tight like unto the ark of Noah; therefore when they were encompassed about by many waters they did cry unto the Lord, and he did bring them forth again upon the top of the waters.
 8 And it came to pass that the wind did never cease to blow towards the promised land while they were upon the waters; and thus they were driven forth before the wind.
 9 And they did sing praises unto the Lord; yea, the brother of Jared did sing praises unto the Lord, and he did thank and praise the Lord all the day long; and when the night came, they did not cease to praise the Lord.
 10 And thus they were driven forth; and no monster of the sea could break them, neither whale that could mar them; and they did have light continually, whether it was above the water or under the water. (emphasis added)

 As I read this, it struck me that the wind is described as "furious" and "fierce"--how uncomfortable it must have been in those barges, being pushed by the wind and tossed and turned in the waves. And yet, it is the very furiousness of the wind that takes them towards the promised land and takes them there more quickly. We can think of our trials as being like this--they don't need to be obstacles that block us from arriving at our destination (although I think they can be obstacles depending on how we react to them). Instead of obstacles, trials and difficulties can be the very means of arriving at our destination. If our goal in mortality is to become like God--to follow Christ's example and emulate his attributes--then what better way to arrive than experience tempests and difficulties that test our patience, brotherly kindness, humility, and other Christlike attributes?

I'm also impressed by the fact that, despite the furious wind, these people were protected--no water could hurt them, no monster of the sea could break them, neither whale could mar them. Instead, they had light continually. As a result of preparing for their journey, these people were ready to meet the storms. God gave them a secure ship and light to live by.

He gives me the same.

charity, self-esteem, and shared identity

Recently, I read Falling to Heaven by James L. Farrell. I've previously read Farrell's The Peacegiver and The Holy Secret. I'm always impressed by his insights into the gospel. Most of what he writes is so common sense and it's all scripturally based, but some of the insights still take me by surprise.

In the introduction (or is it the first chapter?) of Falling to Heaven, Farrell makes a point that has fundamentally changed the way I think about charity. He shares an experience about sitting in a sacrament meeting talk one day where the speaker was emphasizing the importance of loving ourselves. He asked himself where in the scriptures we are encouraged to love ourselves. He also spent a lot of time post-hearing-this-talk looking for references in the scriptures to Christ's self-love.

He couldn't find any.

The only scripture he found that could be read as referring to self-love was the oft-repeated commandment to love others as we love ourselves (the implication being that we must love ourselves if we're going to love others). Farrell suggests that Christ wasn't at all concerned with loving himself, but only with loving His Father and with loving us. When the scriptures talk about loving others as we love ourselves, it's referring to the fact that we must see others' pain as our own and celebrate others' accomplishments as our own--not that we need to focus on self-love. In other words, we need to seek to be so unified with the people around us--have our hearts knit together so closely with theirs--that there isn't a difference between what happens to them and what happens to us. This is what God's love for us is about: He fully experiences our pain as His own pain. His sense of self is broad enough to include all others--it looks outward, not inward.

Now, being the rhetoric nerd that I am, this concept immediately brought to mind Kenneth Burke's concept of identification. Burke writes that identification is about seeing what is alike between yourself and another person or an entire group of people. There is one major obstacle to identification, however, according to Burke: “[A]lthough I as a person may sympathetically identify myself with other people’s pleasures and pains, in my nature as a sheer body the pleasures of my food and the pains of my toothache are experienced by me alone” ("The Rhetorical Situation," Communication: Ethical and Moral Issues, 265-66). Because we inhabit separate bodies, we can't fully identify with one another. This is one of challenges of living in mortality in a physical body.

But the miracle of the Atonement is that one separate, individual body (the body of Christ) was able to fully inhabit and experience the separate, individual pains of billions of people. Christ bridged the gap of the inability of one body to connect with another body. He is one with the Father and Holy Ghost, and He can be one with us, as he prayed for in his intercessory prayer, if we will follow His example and receive His love.

How do we receive? I think we have to be willing to love as He did. We have to live the two great commandments. We have to lose ourselves in loving and serving God and others in order to find ourselves. This is why Moroni writes so urgently that we need to pray with all energy of heart for the love of Christ. Charity helps us to find better versions of ourselves. In loving others and following Christ, we become the children of Christ--part of his family. We take upon ourselves His identity--quite literally: we take upon ourselves His name--and in so doing we become one with Him and the Father. It's this perfect and complete connection with God and those around us that constitutes true charity. It's also what I believe heaven will be all about.