Driver's Seat

Driver's Seat

3/7/12

My life was like an RC car

Which other hands controlled

To drive some course, used well or ill,

And race to win them gold.

But I am not an RC car

To handle or control

My life: my course; not race or fight,

None else dictate my goal.

I may not take the route you'd take

Nor choose your sights to see

If, gypsy wander, so I seem

That, too, is my right to be.

For driver's seat I boldly claim -

I've OnStar with the Lord

And back-seat drivers mind your place -

I'll drive to my accord.

Share friendly smiles and honked 'hellos'

Post warning signs at need

But please respect my driver's seat

And I'll respect your tweed.

The Wind Will Blow

The Wind Will Blow

(Written 11/2008)

All this way the wind once blew -
Through snow cloaked trees and dusky blue,
O'er heathered fields, past shady glen,
To mountain cave from humid fen,
In sea-storm gale and lover's breath -
But then to die at kiss of death
That stilled the free-flown life of youth
And perished in that mortal truth.


Yet hope there is of breath once more
If one could find that open door
'Twixt death and life, that promised way,
To call forth light to sacred day -


E'en so it stands, the way is clear -
The price was high, the cost so dear.
Now portal'd death that reaches still
Shall hold no more its empty kill.
For time will come when time will cease,
When all held breaths will know release,
And all this way the wind will blow,
And eyes will see, and hearts will know
From Whom this gift and whence it came
Confessing e'er His holy name. 

Open Minded

"Don't be so open-minded that your brains fall out."

"You religious types are SO closed-minded!"

****

I have had this post stewing in the back of my mind for over a year. It's as though the various applicable pieces have arrived at various times and now I must figure out how to lay them out for your understanding. But perhaps you will understand, even if I just give you the pieces instead of trying to string them together.

****

Receiving a Testimony of Light and Truth

By President Dieter F. Uchtdorf

(EXCERPTS)

As telescopes became more sophisticated—including telescopes that could be launched into space—astronomers began to grasp a spectacular, almost incomprehensible truth: the universe is mind-bogglingly bigger than anyone had previously believed, and the heavens are filled with numberless galaxies, unimaginably far away from us, each containing hundreds of billions of stars.³

In a very short period of time, our understanding of the universe changed forever.

Today we can see some of these distant galaxies.⁴

We know that they are there.

They have been there for a very long time.

But before mankind had instruments powerful enough to gather celestial light and bring these galaxies into visibility, we did not believe such a thing was possible.

The immensity of the universe didn’t suddenly change, but our ability to see and understand this truth changed dramatically. And with that greater light, mankind was introduced to glorious vistas we had never before imagined.

It Is Hard for Us to Believe What We Cannot See

Suppose you were able to travel back in time and have a conversation with people who lived a thousand or even a hundred years ago. Imagine trying to describe to them some of the modern technologies that you and I take for granted today. For example, what might these people think of us if we told them stories of jumbo jets, microwave ovens, handheld devices that contain vast digital libraries, and videos of our grandchildren that we instantly share with millions of people around the world?

Some might believe us. Most would ridicule, oppose, or perhaps even seek to silence or harm us. Some might attempt to apply logic, reason, and facts as they know them to show that we are misguided, foolish, or even dangerous. They might condemn us for attempting to mislead others.

But of course, these people would be completely mistaken. They might be well-meaning and sincere. They might feel absolutely positive of their opinion. But they simply would not be able to see clearly because they had not yet received the more complete light of truth.

...

The Things of the Spirit Can Be Understood Only by the Spirit

Scientists were struggling to understand the breadth of the universe until instruments became sophisticated enough to gather in greater light so they could understand a more complete truth.

The Apostle Paul taught a parallel principle regarding spiritual knowledge. “The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God,” he wrote to the Corinthians, “for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.”¹²

In other words, if you want to recognize spiritual truth, you have to use the right instruments. You can’t come to an understanding of spiritual truth with instruments that are unable to detect it.

****

Years ago, I worked with a couple kids fresh out of high school, neither religious, in a predominantly Mormon city. I often worked near them and we'd talk, and joke, and were friends as far as I was concerned, and as far as they were, too, I believe. But I was obviously Mormon which contained all their suppositions as ones who were not.

One day I came in to work and the girl told me she had just started studying palmistry. She wanted to look at my palm, because, according to her, the distance between the two main lines indicates 'open vs closed mindedness'. The wider, the more open, the closer, the more closed. She was certain that because I was clearly Mormon, there would be almost no space between the lines on my palms. So I showed her and she compared to her own, and her friend's hand as well. They were both a bit dumb-founded to find my lines were wider apart than either of theirs.

****

I've written before about my abstracted thinking patterns and how I am very spacial. One of my chosen mind metaphors is similar the Sherlock's noted mind palace, but my metaphor is not bound to memory and location. It is rather a sort of museum wherein new information either catalogs as part of existing exhibits or combines with previously disparate information to create a new exhibit. For me, learning is very much a sense of opening, of expansion.

On a similar note, the ideal of Mormon achievement in the eternities is not simply to sit on clouds in Heaven, playing harps and singing praises. (forever?) Rather, it is to continue learning and growing to be as our Father in Heaven. This concept excites me far more than harps do, though I imagine I'll learn that, too, at some point. There is not enough time in mortality to learn all that interests me.

****

Perhaps these vignettes help you understand why I find the liberal claim of ownership on 'open-minded' and the reactive conservative Christian warning to not be too open-minded all sorts of backwards. To my view, the secular 'scientific' perspective, which only allows what the five senses can duplicate, is an incomplete model. I have seen it said that the best theories are the ones that take in and use the fullest amount of information to build an understanding. How can you say that billions of people's experiences are null and void if you are not even willing to honestly test for them with the appropriate methodology? How can you claim to have superior understanding when you deny evidence to suit your own preferred interpretation?

This is a frustration, but a minor one, because my model of understanding says they'll figure it out eventually and I still get to aim for the thrill of learning all those skills mortality didn't allow for and finally understanding the answers to SO many questions!

What questions are you waiting to have answered?

An Agricultural and Humanitarian View of the Word of Wisdom

It occurred to me sometime in the last year that there could be more than just the dietary view of the Word of Wisdom (WoW). It occurred that it could also indicate an issue of world-wide agriculture and the resulting effects on humanity. I have not yet sought the data proof for this idea, but I will lay the theory out in general here.

The concept occurred to me after a couple documentaries played within a week or so of each other. The first was about global disasters caused by changing weather patterns. It linked the 2009 drought in Russia caused by wind changes and then fires to the start, the final straw if you will, of the civil war in Syria, with the obvious current issue of the refugee crisis. After all of the internal troubles the Syrians had dealt with, the impossible rise in the price of bread (supply and demand where 60% of Russia's supply had perished) was simply too much. The people had had enough and war broke out.

The second (short) documentary I saw was about the economy in the area of Africa within view of Mount Kilimanjaro. (There is more than one country border in that area and Africa was the one section of geography I never quite mastered - and I simply have memory problems. I don't remember.) They showed how the economy actually was strong because the fertile lands were used for growing the coffee so many in Western culture is addicted to. (They also showed the local artistic style which I quite liked, but that's beside the point.)

After that second documentary, I was struck with the idea that the list of 'no's in the WoW - coffee, tea, alcohol, drugs,... - are all huge economic industries that use up lots of cropland to produce them. Land and water resources that could be used instead to grow food for the starving people in so many places around the world. The scriptures tell us there are enough resources in the world to sustain humanity if we will use them wisely. They do not say we might just be wasting a lot of those resources.

Consider, then, the injunction to use meat sparingly. By now, most 'first-world' students have heard that much ozone depletion occurs due to bovine flatulence. Whether that's even an issue is beyond my current understanding. But what about other things? What about how much water is needed to keep and feed the amount of animals required for such a carnivorous Western society? What about the living conditions those animals are forced to live in? How much healthier would humanity and animal-kind be if we stopped seeking meat at every meal? There are other sources of protein, and those living in temperate climates do have access to a broader diet than those in the Arctic reaches.  

What if the land used for supporting addictions and the people who thrive off supporting them went to actually growing healthful substances? How much would starvation go down? Especially since so much of that land is in the poorer countries where the baddies can take control more easily! Then the good food would be close to those who need it. Think how that could effect general health and overall well-being? How would that effect local economies, then education, then government and the sciences and the humanities? How many geniuses die with their incredible potential contributions because none of that was available? So not only are we wasting global physical resources, we end up wasting global human resources.

Like I said, I'm not getting into the dietary effect of the pattern recommended in the WoW. I do, however, hope that considering another potential layer of purpose to it might cause you to consider the world and the uses of it. Maybe you will even find some way to help better those uses.

Speak For Me

As much as I dislike the emotional hijackings of pretension I see too often in poetry, I've found myself writing in that form in spurts of collections over the years. The Junior High period (mostly church and people ponderings), the High School period (mostly assignments from creative writing), the Breaking from Home period (fighting my way through abuse to hope), and the Sporadic period (where I write less often, at random, of late). This post is to introduce my opening of a new blog to start sharing the Breaking from Home collection, which I titled Speak for Me.

I wrote these over a period of about four years, from mid 2005 to early 2009. This covers the period from shortly after my mom died, through moving, paternal re-marriage, moving away from home, breaking from home, and moving even farther away from home. It covers a lot of emotions as the ones I couldn't write out in my normal journals would crescendo until they came out in poetry form. They express frustrations, trying to hold on, feeling trapped, mad at feeling scared, and almost always work through till I can find a way to keep hoping for a better time.

Some of the poems have easily shareable themes. Just One Day is the first that comes to mind, and I've already shared that on this blog. They are all very personal and I've been conflicted between pulling it all into a presentable form and resisting actually presenting it. I'm still scared to open this up because a lot of people were oblivious to this part of me and even more people resent the idea that a person can be so extremely traumatized without the socially comprehended forms of physical and sexual abuse.

Sometimes I try to explain the effects of my experiences as brainwashing. Life was often an active battle to simply retain my identity, to not disappear into a mind-less, being-less, soulless slave. The Speak for Me collection is very much my active fighting to survive. PTSD is recognized as trauma that physically threatens ones life and thereby alters the body's reaction to stimulus which recalls the originating trauma. What I survived threatened to erase me, not just my physical body. I believe this kind of abuse is rampant. It is pernicious precisely because it isn't talked about and is ignored when outsiders catch a glimpse. "It's none of my business," is the usual thought response.

How often I wished someone had spoken up and told me I had a right to think what I think and feel what I feel. That what was happening was not ok and was not my fault. That an understanding haven would have been offered where I was wanted and welcome and understood. Instead, I hid in my car because I couldn't face going inside yet and had nowhere else to go. I had imaginary conversations with the closest things I had to friends to try to work through the craziness that was my life because everyone was too busy to want to be bothered by me. I hated looking in the mirror and seeing what I was taught was a disgusting person. I can face mirrors now. I can see me, now. But pictures still make me feel a bit sick. I was left alone, without family, with church as my only refuge, but resented and abandoned repeatedly by people who had no interest in slowing down enough to see that my unusual reactions had a terrible cause. Instead, they just saw them and me as unwanted irritation.

And so, even though I am nervous, I am sharing this because someone needs to start the conversation. Someone needs to say - these are the emotions. And those trapped in the nightmare I finally escaped need to know it can be done, even if no one else decides to notice, care, or try to help. I did it with God by my side, guiding my understanding until I was read to break from home and learn to feel safe in freedom. Speak for Me is my journey during this difficult time.

The scriptures that introduce each poem are almost all the very verses that helped me reach the poems' conclusions I needed to keep going. They were very much my life-line. The afterwords are reflections on the topic or the events which prompted the poems. The new blog can be found at:

hearthewordsunspoken.blogspot.com.

Parameters and Paradigms

I posted a tweet, recently, asking,

"Do your paradigms define your parameters,

or do your parameters define your paradigms?"

At some point during Jr High math, the concept of parameters was introduced which I found to be quite enlightening. I grew to see life and people in terms of individual parameters - that which defines boundaries of possible action such as values, circumstances, experience, personality, etc... While any number of possible actions could be a response to a given situation, an individual's parameters will identify which options are automatically excluded and which are most likely. (This is likely a large part of how I started noticing people's patterns and anticipating their responses.)

Paradigms are more like existing templates, usually of an external source. Politics, school of thought, nationality, ethnicity, science vs humanities, religion vs atheism, etc... This concept was brought to my attention in an anthropology class in which the liberal, feminist teacher liked to challenge and dismiss religion for its common sense of 'Tradition' (complete with singing and hands raised as known from Fiddle on the Roof). While I am not seeking to start a debate about which is 'right' - a ridiculous waste of energy, usually - I hope the evidence of the chosen paradigms is clear.

The point of my question is to consider whether your parameters are constricted to the boundaries of the paradigms you choose to accept or do you build your own boundaries, with what paradigm influences you choose, be they more or less evident?

Simple example.

American government has formed into a two party system. Other parties exist and people even run for office under those parties. But the strength of the democrat and republican parties is such that, without a major revolution of sorts, no other party will replace those two. The parties are the paradigms. To vote a person of a particular party means you ultimately vote for the whole party's platform. Does that mean you are obligated to therefore view the world and American issues according to that party's paradigm and only that paradigm? I sincerely hope not. 

Laying my thoughts out like this, it may well seem obvious, in the 'duh' kind of way, that people consciously would prefer to define their own parameters. In many ways, we all do. I would posit, however, that many are more rigid in their thought patterns than they might expect.

Wait, what do thought patterns have to do with this?

How do you think we define our parameters?

Food for thought.

On a side-note, if you can observe and discern another person's parameters - their motivations and principles, their character and so-forth - you can learn to anticipate the reactions and behaviors of those around you. This takes attention/observation and a certain level of active awareness. It also takes time, which may vary from person to person, influenced by many factors such as openness, self-awareness, how talkative they are, etc.

For example, one man I knew suggested at my speaking a need for help due to my illness that I should go back to the one he knew was my abuser rather than bothering people like him. Clearly troubling and upsetting. Months later, I heard him state his deep belief that under all the 'problems' a family might have, they are all actually good in the end. Suddenly, his dismissal (though still inappropriate) made much more sense.

I call it 'tipping the hand'. We all do it eventually. Some might feel threatened by that idea, but if you are introspective enough to be self-aware and honest about it, I think it would only feel threatening if you don't like what you find. If you know yourself, you might find that it makes things easier to simply be up front about things to begin with. Many don't understand why I am open and immediately so, but these very concepts are what help build my parameters.

What is Misery?

She said I must be miserable.
I said I'm not a miserable kind of person.
She said maybe not always, but it can't be helped with such difficulties in my life.
I told her misery is a choice I chose not to make.
I think she did not hear me.

Some people think I should not be effected by my difficulties. That being effected means choosing misery.
I disagree.
Misery is having no hope of hope.
Misery is a house of lies because truth is misunderstood and downright ignored.
Misery is being convinced our existence is a shameful audacity and therefore punished for it.
Misery is the terror that lies in unbecoming.
Misery was the home that is no home. The home where misery is.

But misery did not last.

Because God is greater than misery.

He taught me He did not hate me like they did.
He taught me life is not constricted to the falseness that was home.
He taught me to respect myself even if the would not.
He taught me to imagine safety.
He taught me to imagine life and beauty and hope.
He taught me to recognize myself.
He taught me to enjoy and recognize value in my uniqueness.
He taught me to expect good things to come.

My body does not work as most do,
My life is not like the one I first imagined.
Sometimes the weariness brings forth tears of exhaustion and discouragement.
They pass.
I rest.
I still hope because I have been taught to by my Father.
This life of illness is hard, but it is not the hardest thing I have lived.

That life left scars that ache and disturb in stormy circumstances.
That is part of life.
It also complicates my life in ways confusing to many I have met.
But while it is a recurring reminder of horror and misery that was, it is also a reminder that the wounds are healing.

So I do not understand when people assume my life must be misery.
I did not choose that home.
I did choose to turn away, towards the loving, healing, comforting, patient embrace of God.
I chose hope.

Misery is not a failing body, a failing relationship, a failing career.
Dreams and hopes are not limited to mortality.
Misery is blinders that block the brightness of life, of joy, of pain endured and overcome, of growth, of love, of hope.
If you will let Him, God can take those blinders away.

(written 3/8/15)

The Confidence Doctor

Earlier this week I had a repeat of a conversation with a particular pretend mom that circled back to the ever present difficulty I have with feeling guilty at the drop of a hat. She said we needed to find a 'Guilt Doctor' so that we could schedule me for a 'guiltectomy'. My gut reaction was that I had already mastered guilt so a 'Guilt Doctor' would be of no help. Instead I would need a Doctor that focused on whatever the opposite of guilt might be. She laughed like it was an unexpected, clever comment and the conversation moved on to Hawaii. I did not think of it again until just a little bit ago, today.

I realized that my opposite focus assumption was a surprise because when we think of having heart problems, we go to a heart doctor. And so on and so forth. Her thinking followed that logic pattern. And it is logical. But my brain has a tendency to jump to alternative logic patterns that I then must determine how or why it did so. I just realized that I was thinking along the basis of emotional/spiritual principles which would indicate that if one has a problem with excess pride, one would then need to learn from another who understands humility. Procrastination from diligence, To overcome the excessive leanings in one direction, we must learn to restore the balance by strengthening the counter condition. It is not actually an opposite so much as the flip-side, but I think you get the idea.

Which brings me back to guilt. The first definition of guilt is that the person or entity IS in the wrong, but the next one is, "feelings of culpability especially for imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy." As I had been stressing and worrying that I am not inclined by nature to be effusive and that my chronic illness non-functioning on Christmas Day meant that I was guilty for not expressing hardly any emotional reaction to the gifts I had been given (I was truly barely functioning and therefore not really reacting to anything), you can see the pattern of my recurring guilt compulsion.

If you've followed this blog, you have a fair idea of the source of that compulsion. For me, it comes from a life being raised by a family that expected me to be responsible for anything they decided they weren't happy about. It comes from being held to a higher standard of expectations and demands and perfection yet condemned and criticized only. I was trained to feel guilty because that made it easier to control me. I've done much to overcome the years of abuse, but this part seems to still need healing.

Which is, of course, the desire she was conveying in wishing for a guiltectomy. Only we can't look to 'guilt' for the answer. I realized, when I started thinking about this, that a recent project had already given me the answer.

My latest set of scriptures is about ten years old and is well worn and marked, but even though I was gifted a fresh set years ago, I haven't been able to let go of this set. It got me through the nightmare years. It has all the markings and the personalized indexing of the thoughts, ideas, scriptures, encouragements, promises, commiserations, understandings, ... that I don't want to lose. Last week it occurred to me to start transferring them into the online scriptures account that can save and sync with any device logged onto that account. Which would actually make them even easier to search out and find and cross-reference. I have finished the Old Testament (admittedly has far fewer markings than the rest, but also some of the most profound) and haven't started on the New Testament yet, but I discovered that some of the non-indexed markings actually followed the theme of confidence - confidence in God, and therefore in the future and in myself.

It occurs to me that I've been slowly working toward this idea for the past year. Another conversation (with my Institute teacher friend) almost a year ago impressed me with the idea of posting notes around my place that says simple, 'Trust Yourself'. Bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, front door. Most of the time, I don't even consciously process it, but I'd noticed that consistently seeing a message on another occasion had helped me break through the barriers that made it hard for me to take it in. And so they are posted still as a sporadic reminder whenever I happen to notice them.

And that is the answer. I was trained to feel responsible for any possible negative emotion anyone had. I was also trained to not trust myself. Confidence, rather than guilt, is what must be strengthened. (Perhaps I need to add a sign that I am not responsible for how others feel.) Learning that I can have faith that doing whatever my best happens to be at any given moment is enough, even if it's not perfect, or even as good as I could do in better circumstances. And learning that some people really are patient and caring enough that they're not going to hold it against me when I can't manage ideal.

Likewise, I need to master consistency at allowing them the same grace. (I mostly do ok with it, but I tend to slip when I'm having trouble with the ptsd.) But this will also help me as I've long noticed that I'm more likely to allow myself patience and acceptance and various graces when I can readily see/allow its application to others. (It's far easier for me to excuse others than it is myself, so when I can easily excuse a trait in others that I hold, it becomes easier to withhold condemnation for myself.)

I'm sure it will take many checkups and adjustments, but knowing the right doctor to go to makes all the difference.

Just One Day

Fear thou not; for I am with thee:

be not dismayed; for I am thy God:

I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee;

yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

Isaiah 41: 10

Hope can seem elusive
When the Evil One draws near
He'd have us focus far ahead
On all that we might fear.

For the future seems uncertain
When looked at from today
Each dream that we might hope for
Could go wrong in every way.

Thus he would entrap our minds
Held fast by fear's intent
That we might re-direct our lives
And, thus, our dreams prevent.

But the Lord gave us the answer
Spoken long ago
That shows how to hold onto
The dreams our hearts still know.

He said, "Take one day at a time
Don't borrow future fears
There's work enough to do right now
Don't waste those precious tears.

"Satan would have you think I can't
Do all I said I would -
I promised I would do the rest
Once you've done all you could.

"So don't worry about tomorrow
We'll get there as we will
There's no need to leap mountains
Just work on this day's hill.

"And as you walk on, day by day,
Though far your dreams appear
Have faith in me, walk by my side,
And soon all will be clear.

"Do not fear the Dark One
I'll show the way that's true
You see, I was here long ago -
I walked it once for you.

"So let the future wait for us
We'll get there as we may
For now there's just one moment
For now there's just one day."

(written 1/3/06)

Matt 6:34 ; 3 Nephi 13:34

I still find myself needing to remember this at times.

In Matthew 6:34 it states ,"Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

Sometimes we get so caught up in everything we're trying to work out just right, or anticipating any potential problem to avoid negative attention, or focusing on the magnitude of the mountain ahead of us that we can get paralyzed with the stress of it all. This scripture shows that today, now is what we need to concern ourselves with. It is well to plan and prepare, but don't waste the now on the future. We have enough things to care about today without adding tomorrow's burdens on top of it. Even better is the 3 Nephi version where it ends, "sufficient is the day unto the evil thereof." Now, not only can we stay focused, we also have the assurances that we'll be able to handle it even if it's just a day at a time

Past the Classroom

I know I frequently fall outside of the general norms so this may fall into that same category, but for many years I have found myself reflecting on past education - various classes, assignments, and teachers' critical teachings efforts. Sometimes this means I wish I could go back and add better insights to papers long since graded and forgotten. Sometimes it means I finally understand what the professor was getting at and I wish I could go back and tell them so.

The desire, the drive, to learn, to understand more fully, has always been core to my personality. I had not realized quite how much until a conversation with my grandmother during which she related a memory of when they came to visit. Her relayed memory was one shared to her by my grandfather. I was 6. We had been outside - he working to fix the window of their vehicle, and me keeping company. Apparently I had been a standard child and was asking questions about everything. This does not surprise me. In exasperation, he returned with, "Will you stop asking so many questions?!" I burst into giggles of delight when my grandmother relayed my reply. "But how am I supposed to learn anything if I can't ask questions?"

I would, admittedly, be perfectly happy being a career student. My bank account disagrees with tuition prices and my dysautonomia disagrees with pretty much everything, so the Bachelor's Degree I worked so hard to attain may well prove the top limit to my formalized education. That does not mean, however, that it is the end of my learning. There are many resources readily available to those who open themselves to the idea that there is always more you can learn. I have noticed that many opportunities don't appear as learning opportunities, but I think you will be surprised if you start watching for them. It could be in observing how someone performs a skill. It could be a random tidbit of information hidden in a conversation. It could be a link on social media to something you don't know much about. It is often found simply by being interested in life, people, and the world around you.

All knowledge gained fills in the great abstract construct that is my understanding which allows comprehending of further truth and the applications of truths and the ability to intuit patterns even before they are fully expressed. Others have skill for memorization which gives them direct recall to important information. Skills come in many forms: physical, theoretical, applied, creative, social, organizational, motivational, educational, etc... I challenge you to consider yourself past the classroom. Bring that learning with you, but add to it and find out more about people around you and how the world works. Let your mind pick at thoughts as they come and go and consider new applications to them. Allow the excitement of new discover sink deep and you will find that life is far from the 'boring' that so many think it to be.

The Holiday Battle

It's that time of year again, when the trappings of Christmas appear ever earlier than the year just past. When the seasonal isle could leave one confused to which holiday comes next - is it Halloween? Or Thanksgiving? No, it's Christmas. When radio stations provide alternative channels for those who want to sneak in as much Christmas as possible. When the rants and despite appear against those who should know better than to mix their holidays.

Mostly, I just ignore the anger and judgment. Why spend my precious energy being upset about how someone else chooses to celebrate a holiday? Why turn my focus away from value and waste it on contentions that can only distract from the good I seek? Why attack traditions others embrace for not being as 'pure' as they should be? Why draw battle lines by stating 'you must stand in line, wait your turn, keep quiet, stop bothering us!'?

How much hubris is it to state that celebrating Christ's birth and all that means for the world can and should only happen in the manner you feel fitting? What? Is this: My way or the highway? Everyone knows that such an attitude only breeds antagonism and enmity. Why does this keep happening?

I actually asked a girl on twitter why she would choose to hate Christmas because other people aren't celebrating the right thing, in other words - celebrating wrong. It was an honest question, but she chose not to see it that way. She got mad that I dared question her and ended by claiming I was accusing her of being Marxist. What does Marxism have to do with this? Frankly, I haven't bothered looking it up to figure it out.

Part of the reason this is so troubling to me is because I am one who tends to be ready for Christmas earlier than most. I do not understand why this should be attacked. I have tried to express this conflict before (see post from last year - You Say, Sir, You Hate Christmas, inspired by the 'I Hate Christmas' song/refrain). Yet it never seems to translate to others. So I will try to explain, again, better, I hope, here.

I think I must have formed a different sort of relationship with the season of Christmas. This only occurred to me last month when discussing it with a friend. He has never had much connection with holidays in general and, as we talked, it appeared that as his family had never engaged much with holidays, he had no real emotional attachment. If anything, it seemed to me that everyone must appear to him as quite carried away by holidays all around.

Once I finally wrapped my head around the different perspective, I saw that my own is not only a reflection of my past, but very likely foreign to the perspectives of others. As I've seen the complaints and condemning, I have pondered how I can better express why I am so ready to embrace Christmas earlier than the average person on the street.

I have not hidden the fact that my years at home were far from ideal. Those issues are addressed in other posts. Simply stated - they were a time of what is known as hyper-vigilance, an uber-awareness that comes from long-term exposure to unfriendly/hostile environments. In many ways, home was a trap I could not escape, and deep in my sub-conscious was a fear that it would always be that way.

Except for Christmas.

It wasn't that home dynamics changed during Christmas. It was that the dynamics of the world change during the Christmas season. Unlike any other time of year, so many people open their hearts to love, to think of others, to give, to help, to spreading kindness and cheer. These are all characteristics of charity - the pure love of Christ. The event that inspires this is celebrating His birth. It is shown in music and lights and food and decorations and programs and even in fictive, festive characters. And this spirit envelopes the world and touches even the hearts of misers. Of course it would resonate so deeply with me.

Christmas has always been the time where I've felt peace and even a safety - like everything would work out. I crave that feeling. And Christmas lights in the tree help me feel it. I don't think of it so much as a tradition. It's like how a candle's glow is comforting, too. Only the lights are colored and they make pretty patterns on the walls as they gently fade in and out. They are a symbol of Christmas which is when things are better. And things are better because of Christ. Christmas is my lifeline to hope. And I cling to it.

Consider the bleakness in the world without Christ - a mortal world bound to Murphy's law, where nations destroy nations and only records are left, until, they, too, fall to dust. Where there is no reason to expect that anything done in life has meaning so why not give in to our baser natures? Why respect any other living being like unto ourselves? Perhaps when the emptiness and despair of such an outlook is comprehended can the depth of my yearning for the joy and light and peace and promise that Christ's birth brings.

Consider that it is a time when everyone gets the chance to be shown they matter. To us. To Him.
The child's delight at the special things possible this one time of year.
The deeper symbolism if paired with the pagan festival celebrating the successful passage once again past the longest night of the year.

Consider that His birth is the greatest promise ever made, fulfilled on Easter, and we get to share that light and truth and joy with others - that we are the 'lower lights' to His great beacon. Like in candles, and Christmas lights set under the star.

So, yes, my tree is up and has been for weeks. With so many dark things happening in the world, I wanted the comfort that the Christmas spirit brings. The spirit of promise and hope and love and peace and cleansing and healing. Even if it angers others, I will turn to those things which help me 'always remember Him' and keep His spirit to be with me. And I will welcome this season as early as I can.

Help Will Come

D & C 68: 6

Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you; and ye shall bear record of me, even Jesus  Christ, that I am the Son of the living God, that I was, that I am, and that I am to come.

Help Will Come

2/18/07

No matter how alone you feel

Or, in truth, you may well be

Or how you cry out in your soul

For one to trust continually.

No matter how you search and look

And still there is no-one

Have faith, be still, do not lose hope

For always, help will come.

The source, each different, yet the same

The Lord works through the ones who will

Each help made equal to each need

Shows us the Lord is faithful still.

He sends one soul to listen well

Another to suggest

And when there's no-one to give hope

By His help we'll be blessed.

So though heart, faith and hope are tired

And still you have no-one

Have faith, be still, do not give up

And hope, for help will come.

Coming from the family problems that so dominated my life, I do not and have not had the family support that I watch so many others regularly fall back on. All the same, there has always been the help needed when something was beyond my own capabilities. Sometimes I could talk to one friend or another, sometimes I happened across a random reference that helped me understand, sometimes a random stranger appeared more than willing to help, sometimes  my dreams would give me perspective, sometimes it was simply a blessing of peace. But I was never left alone by Heavenly Father. And I promise that so long as you want Him there, He will never leave you alone either. He does not always give the answer we want as quickly as we want, but He will always be there to give us the help we need.

The Blind Men and the Elephant

The Blind Men and the Elephant
John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887)

It was six men of Indostan To learning much inclined, Who went to see the Elephant (Though all of them were blind), That each by observation Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant, And happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl: "God bless me! but the Elephant Is very like a WALL!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk, Cried, "Ho, what have we here, So very round and smooth and sharp? To me 'tis mighty clear This wonder of an Elephant Is very like a SPEAR!"

The Third approached the animal, And happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up and spake: "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant Is very like a SNAKE!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand, And felt about the knee "What most this wondrous beast is like Is mighty plain," quoth he: "'Tis clear enough the Elephant Is very like a TREE!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said: "E'en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most; Deny the fact who can, This marvel of an Elephant Is very like a FAN!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun About the beast to grope, Than seizing on the swinging tail That fell within his scope, "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant Is very like a ROPE!"

And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong!

As found at http://www.constitution.org/col/blind_men.htm

Post-Traumatic Allergies and Landmines

I've been pondering a blog post on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for almost a year. I am finally writing it.

When people hear PTSD mentioned, it is usually referencing war experiences, rape, terrorism, natural disasters, and significant violence episodes. Those are the angles talked on and researched and beginning to reach the public consciousness. I don't need to reinvent that wheel here.

What I do want to do here is clear up some misconceptions I have seen and parallel some examples I have recognized in various stories.

*

First off, some metaphors of how I could possibly have PTSD if I don't fall into the above scenarios.

Consider the phrase, "The straw the broke the camel's back."

There were times when I'd be upset, hurt, distressed over the latest incident, I'd often be rebuffed with, 'What's your problem? My family does stuff like that. It doesn't mean anything.' The event certainly didn't merit my over-reaction, from their point-of-view. It was a simple, measly straw. Nothing to get excited about. Unless you were the camel and the straws were only ever piled on and never relieved by also 'normal' things like love and appreciation and gratitude and help. When you are carrying thousands of straws, every straw adds to the barely bearable weight.

"Chinese" water-torture is also an apt parallel. A single drop of water falling on the forehead of a restrained individual doesn't sound like much, but the repetition, the inevitability, the sensitivity of the location landed, the inability to escape it are all elements of control, manipulation, and breaking a person down.

I didn't have to be beaten or raped. In fact, such actions would have propelled me to denounce the abuser because I would have known his actions were wrong. But mental abuse, emotional abuse, they leave no visible evidence. Only one experienced with the scars would recognize the cognitive/behavioral evidence in the non-psychotic victims. Could one have seen my spirit/soul, however, the image might just make one realize just how devastating such life-long abuse really is.

*

It is an automatic allergic reaction. Allergies are due to 'inappropriate' responses by the body to substances the body should be able to tolerate without adverse reaction. There are allergies of various levels and various causes - sometimes superficial responses, sometimes life (psyche) threatening anaphylactic responses.

It can come from the environment (situations, sounds, sights). It can come from ingested foods (philosophies and ideologies). It can come from safe locations (accidental triggers) or from malicious sources (people who refuse to accept your reality and seek to force/prove otherwise). It can come from sources that previously had never been a problem. Maybe it starts as hay-fever where sneezes short out your attention in a rush or it gets harder to see clearly because sight is obscured or perhaps it is a rash that won't stop itching and makes you jumpy. Or perhaps you are placed in the environment/situation that directly provides the dangerous trigger and it's all you can do to get to safety where you can breathe again.

There are certain things that can help allergies. Ways to try to deprogram the traps and neutralize the mines. Some think it's an easy, perfect remedy. Whether out of good-will or simple impatience, they have trouble comprehending that what took a life-time and specific circumstances to create requires the same to un-create.

Some people imagine that, so long as the events are no longer occurring, there is no cause for current problems because of past events. Just 'move on, already'. Wow. Such thinking betrays a solid lack of understanding of the concept of actions and consequences. It's like condemning a person with an old, 'healed' injury - war wound or sports injury - because the changing pressure systems of incoming weather makes the injury hurt again. It's like saying that because wars are in the past, that any landmines left over should automatically deactivate through wishful thinking.

I knew a guy who showed me a trick he liked to pull on family members and thought to rig the church computers in the same manner. It seems there is some location where basic computer commands can be re-written to effect entirely different results. Some use this to make convenient short-cuts. He used it to tell the computer that whenever someone tried to use the internet, the whole computer would shut down. Having spent many years in written-paper heavy college courses, my dismay was automatic, and apparently unexpected to him. I've lost papers because the computer froze on me when I'd forgotten to save. The thought of doing a quick fact-check online while working on a paper and having that mean I lost all that work because some punk kid thought it would be a funny prank was not funny at all. When I presented that little scenario, he quickly restored the original settings.

PTSD is similar. It is landmines and control traps. It is a form of brain-washing. Pavlov training the dog to stimulus. It is an allergic response. And when the PTSD is from years of repeated and varied abuse, you can't just deprogram for a single function.

*

I've seen that people often consider the dementors in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban to be reflections of depression because they suck the happiness out of people. With my background, I see them as reflections of PTSD because they trap people by making them live their nightmares. The worse the nightmare, the stronger their hold. Harry's worst memories were far more concentrated than the average teen that fears social rejection due to acne. Therefore the dementors affect on him was far stronger than those with more docile lives. I found it appropriately telling that while Harry didn't have a 'happy memory' strong enough to combat them, he found the strength in the hope of what could be ahead of him.

The Avengers has a few spots relative to PTSD. When Tony Stark is talking to Bruce Banner about when he first hulked out, he states his belief that the anger and the hulk protected him from death - that the hulk was something positive rather than a monster. Banner could only see it as the monster that takes over, the one preventing him and others from living safe, normal lives. He tries to control the anger (supposedly by keeping it at a steady steam) to control the 'other guy'. Yet, to my view, the hulk doesn't appear because he 'gets angrier' but because Banner's life is in danger. To me, it looks like a defense mechanism. Sure, the hulk gets angry, but anger is a motivating emotion - it allows one to take actions that they might not otherwise take. In this case - fighting for his life. Once Banner sees that, he is able to accept that it happens and learn how to live with it and even use it to help others.

The other Avengers dual-parallel comes in the form of Hawkeye and Romanov. She had been raised in the spy-world (extrapolated from movie dialogue as I've never been comic-book inclined) and taught from child-hood to live for herself and her missions. Morality had nothing to do with it. At least not until Hawkeye gave her a chance, against orders, to try to fix her moral compass. She saw that event as her one chance at redemption and felt a debt beyond imagining to the man who let her future have a different story.

Then Loki comes along spouting the ideal that people shouldn't have minds or wills of their own. It just makes things messy and them unhappy. And he just so happens to have a means to enable such brain-washing, mind-wiping. Hawkeye targeted, all of his previous functions are over-written by Loki's demands and desires. Until Romanov manages to return the favor with 'cognitive re-calibration'. But when Hawkeye is finally coming out of it, he tells her she can't understand where his head is - 'Do you have any idea,' he asks, 'what it's like to have your mind ripped out and replaced with something else?' Her response is simple and the best one that can be given, 'You know I do.'

*

The truth is, most haven't experienced the terror of someone who has so much control over you that you can't even remember events, motives, thoughts contrary to that someone's dictates. "So it is written, so it is done" being able to over-write who you are, why you are, and what you can and 'should' be.

I have met two people that I can think of who have any experience with this. The first was like a breath of air to my suffocating self. Like me, she had distanced herself from the abuser. She was making the best she could out of what had happened and engaging her future with determination, but she also had a deeper wisdom and understanding of the darknesses hiding within people due to her experiences. I'll tell you what, though - she was an amazing teacher, with an energy and enthusiasm that drew everyone's attention and made everyone feel pulled into a grand embrace of charity and affection.

The other made a cursory effort to 'deal' with what happened but preferred denial to recognizing the parts that led to her abusive relationship. While she might be able to relate and support a fellow rape-victim, she has yet to recognize the patterns inherent among all abuse victims and is self-absorbed enough to not notice such behaviors in the first place. Someday, perhaps she will recognize what we have in common. Someday, perhaps she will stop condemning me for refusing to deny the landmines I try to dance the clueless around for continued friendly relations.

Zucchinis and Tomatoes

I've noticed a general dichotomy among people. It is the zucchini verses tomato dichotomy.

The first summer I planted my own garden, I did fairly well. I had three four foot long rows of corn, sweet peas, chives, tomatoes, and squash. I also tried cucumbers and some banana peppers but those didn't take. I had each veggie in its own section and used those water lines with pinholes - super easy and efficient. As the summer progressed the tomatoes were sluggish in growing so I dug trenches along the tomato plants so the water would soak the roots longer. The squash had little islands and the water generally fell around. Both did well, though I had some odd mixed-breeds of squash.

Last summer I planted another garden. Less space and no access to drip lines. All hand watered by hose and sprayer. I'd already learned that the tomatoes liked lots of water so I made sure all my plants got plenty. I learned another lesson. Due to the less space, the zucchinis did not have the same runoff area as in the first garden. As I had watered the first garden all on the same water levels for the same length of time, I did the same on the second. Lesson learned: zucchinis need less water. I got a handful of decent vegetables but nothing near the expected harvest. The tomatoes were on overload, however.

Tomatoes need lots of water to produce their fruits and then a slacking of water for them to begin to ripen. By drowning the zucchinis in the same manner, they did not thrive as they had the first time around. Both are staples in my gardening and cooking. But by considering them to live and grow under the same conditions I actually impeded the growth of both. They needed different things.

People are the same way. I had one roommate who lived (probably still does) by planning and formatting everything she did down to the littlest detail of scheduling when she'd take a sip from her water bottle every day at work. And she kept it. That's how she functioned and she functioned well that way.

I, on the other hand, provided a number of moments for anxiety for her because I can't function that way. It often happened when one of us asked the other if they wanted to watch a movie. I'd decide what genre I wanted to watch by what I was in the mood for. She'd decide by the movies she'd purchased but not yet watched - in chronological order.

I need space to breathe. She wanted/needed to structure to guide and enable.

A couple days ago I had a nearly non-functional day due to the efforts of the day before. I actually watched TV again (it's been months - I prefer DVDs). I came across the Extreme Weight Loss show which I have seen once before. I had enjoyed it, so I watched it again. The woman on the show's journey got highly frustrated when she came home from her first three months away in the 'boot camp' to find that her husband had maintained all the problematic life-habits that enabled her trouble in the first place. The tension continued on for months.

Finally, the show's host and weight loss/exercise guru guy decided to put them both on a challenge in a manner to show the microcosm of the relationship. The husband was to golf (his hobby/passion) and the wife was to wear a vest with all the weight she had lost up to that point - 115 lbs. And caddy for him. So long as he golfed well, the wight would be removed piece by piece.

For the first nine holes, you wouldn't know he had any skill at golf and she grew more and more upset that he only made excuses. She reached breaking point and he knew it. The viewer and the wife was shown, through the host's guiding, how upset the husband was. She finally realized that he really did care and it distressed him as much as it did her.

The host guided her to the core question of, 'Recognizing that he will fall short, even when you need him, will you still stand by him?' The husband was quite anxious about the answer. (I felt bad for him having such a vulnerable moment being filmed for national TV.) She said yes.

Here's the kicker - as soon as the pressure was off, he golfed well, including what both he and his wife called his best shot ever.

The world, and many of the red personalities who seem to idolize the Stephen Covey goal-fixations, tends to think people will only achieve if they are pushed to it. That they need the coach screaming in the ears, berating every failure, demanding effort and success or they will degenerate into lazy, worthless bums. Some people respond to that by bringing forth great efforts. Some people are drowned, like the zucchinis, when too much pressure is applied.

I've seen this pattern in my life so many times. I am often amused that when I'm at my most non-functioning, I'll tell myself 'this is all I will worry about today' and then, inevitably, I manage to do a little bit more. (Of course, some days I'm doing good just to make it to the kitchen to eat.) This is not reverse-psychology. It is accepting that demanding the world is not fair and not even necessary. It is rejoicing in what I do accomplish and especially in any extras I manage. Having a chronic-illness often teaches this pattern to people. I was lucky enough to catch glimpses of it even before the dysautonomia kicked high-gear.

If you need the structure of the tomato cages and the steady, solid waterings, use what you need. But don't think or demand that others need the same. Give us zucchinis the basics and then leave us to our own ways. Gardeners are often overwhelmed by just how much the zucchini plants produce.

Delusion or the Devil

(I state in my bio that I tend to challenge assumptions. Fair warning that this will likely challenge many.)

Wow. I never imagined I'd actually post about this. My heart's racing just thinking about it.
Long but necessary set-up required to set the stage. Long in general, but I've found myself wanting to refer others in troubling circumstances to this story so that perhaps they might find insight and encouragement. And so I share one of the two most tightly held stories of my life.

I've indicated before that I came from a problematic home. A mother from an abusive home (guessing from breadcrumbs of random details gleaned since she hated the topic of before) who was therefore not perceptive of her own fiance-then-husband's abusive nature. Her dedication to her belief that marriages entered into should not be dissolved and then her own terrible cascade of illnesses that limited her resources to self-sufficiency. But none of this was understood while I lived at home, before she died.

What was understood was that he somehow had power to make me forget. Who I was, my motivations, my thoughts. I was a horrible nothing that had inflicted myself upon him. And since twisted people will twist whatever ideology at their command, it was religion and scripture used against me.

I always thought it dumb when people would say, during church, that if it weren't for the gospel they wouldn't be where they were. Duh? If you didn't believe in God, why would you be at church? Kind of a no-brainer. But then one day I paused to think about it. I realized that if I hadn't had a bolstering by the concept that 'God loves His children' and that it's not right to suicide, his compulsion, manipulation, and only ever demeaning of me would have resulted in me suiciding to try to atone for the sin of existing. Since nothing I did was ever enough. Never good enough. Never.

But these were all things beyond my comprehension in high school. Mom was sick. Everything would go out of kilter for months until she, the doctors, we finally got a handle on the new circumstances and things would even keel for a few weeks. Until a new symptom appeared and threw everything back out of balance. This started my Sophomore year in high school. That was also the year he was out of a job. It was a pattern that continued for six years until she died (though he did finally get a job after that first year).

I am rather unique in nature. I understood this as early as 7th grade. I did not expect life to go as it did for others or for me to have a traditional form of the teenage years. I think this, combined with a brutal and overwhelming home situation, meant that I did not interact with kids my age in a 'normal' fashion. Also, that I did not always recognize the disparities. I was usually preoccupied with my rather consuming own little world.

The teens I had contact with in high school did notice. For all I knew, I had friends. There was very little interaction outside of school, choir, and the play, but as all my time away from school was occupied by home or work, I did not not think anything of it. I was, however, troubled my senior year and the year after with dismissals from those I had thought of as friends because, "You just don't want to be happy." And, "You just bring everyone down."

I went on a handful of dates in high school and to one dance - girl's choice. The kid had such charisma and an energy that somehow made it feel as though I could actually breathe again. I confess a substantial crush. I also re-confess to a general awkwardness due to my opposite spectrum of life-experience. It didn't help that the parental units tried to make the dance their vicarious own and easily doubled whatever awkwardness of mine. The kid got skittish. Then apologized months later when he 'realized he hadn't been a good friend and he promised to be a better one.' He graduated. I had a year left. Whatever.

University. Except for summer choir, there was very little crossing of paths since our subjects differed. A couple months before my mom's death, I saw him in the parking lot as I headed in. I felt a sorrow that people who knew each other become strangers and accepted that he was to be added to the list. He stopped me to talk as I passed. Invited him to a show I was in the next month (he didn't come).

Mom died. My prior reality shattered. My identity shattered (mom's caregiver). For two years I'd been overwhelmed with her care, my schooling, my work, siblings' care, house and chores and shopping, insane expectations (like the demand to paint the house professional grade for moving purposes without even the knowledge that painting tape to enable straight lines existed)... I'd also begun realizing that the (Heavenly) Father I was coming to know in the scriptures was opposite in nature to the he I will only call him.

The shock lasted for months. I'd had no one to talk to for years. But the kid had renewed the lease on the friendship. I clung to it as the lifeline I so desperately needed. For all of my hating to write, I started writing him a random one-paper letter once a week and leaving it in his President's cubbyhole since I knew he was far too busy to have time to talk to nobody me. They weren't anything ground shaking. Maybe a little about mom, but mostly just an outlet for all things random (a talent of mine) which run through my head. All I needed was to know that someone was hearing me. I didn't have anyone else.

In my gratefulness, I wished I could somehow return the favor which helped me survive. But I was no one. The crush matured. I couldn't imagine he'd look my way that way. He had a girlfriend, then another. I don't, I won't, compete. I clung to the best friendship I had available, unable to be aware of how empty it was.

Enter "Delusion or the Devil"

Being religious, I will address that element/angle first. If you are not, continue reading anyway. The delusion thread explanation will unfold and follow at the end.

Still wishing I could return the gift I so valued, I prayed to God that He would show me how. I already saw myself as unequal. How could I make any difference to him? How could I make a difference like he did?

Sometimes God uses our asking for one thing to teach and guide us in another. In my mind I saw two paths. To the left was my future symbolized by a man of no specific nature. To the right I saw it represented in the kid I so respected. I knew they represented choices. Would I take the easy - whatever happens to come my way path? Or would I choose the harder one that would lead me to that state higher, more capable, than where I happened to stand?

I am stubborn. Both parentals blamed it on the other. I think I came with a dose of my own, as well. I don't back away from hard. I may be terrified inside, but that just makes me more determined  to overcome. I was going to settle for the 'whatever comes' path.

Having admitted my level of feeling for the kid, I spent weeks pondering this, wondering if it could possible mean that I had a chance with him. God did not tell me no. I concluded that I would continue as though that conclusion were assumed. (It was, after all, the only way that the answer could truly be known.)

I made the fatal mistake, however, of relating this to the him. I thought I had to as he demanded knowledge of everything I did, thought, felt, with full editing rights. I was terrified to tell him, but I did not comprehend I had a right to privacy and I don't back down just because something could go wrong. His assessment? It is delusion or the devil.

As the year came and went and I moved away, this was a constant friction between myself, the him, and the step-her. I cannot say I fully believed my hopes would happen, but I did not dare to let them go for I found they provided me, for the first time in my life, with something more powerful than the him. I was starting to keep my identity and will as my own where he demanded submission. I consciously used the hopes, stated as fact (for his disdain would make him give up on arguing whereas he would have battered had I confessed any amount of being unsure), to shield me when a certain decision was expected that my real reason would have been dismissed. This reinforced his idea but it was the safer course for me.

Off and on contact with the kid, not a lot but more than I was used to. I'd finally confessed my feelings months before, but by way of getting it out there rather than expecting any response. He knew that. I did seek him out as I passed his work twice as I still valued the inter-personal contact. And with the new territory of living away from home, the stability the letters provided appeared again possible when his email was listed in a mutual friend's mass mailing. I still have the copies. They are of the same nature as the first with additional reports of my efforts in my church music to encourage others to attend the area's workshop later that summer. It was my calling in church. It also happened to be organized by his mother.

I went to the special choir rehearsals prior. The first had me nervous as I hadn't seen him for months. Nothing so no biggie. The next week I had a premonition that there would be trouble. I couldn't conceive of why and I don't run and hide so I went anyway. I was a little late so I ended on the front row. He came in later, saw me and walked straight back out, conversed with his mother, and left. Whatever. I was there to sing.

At the end of rehearsal I noticed that only one woman was putting all the hymnals back from the stand. This seemed a shame since we'd all brought one up so I decided to stay and help. The mother was talking to some lady. Aware of her, but nothing to do with me. Most of the books are returned but there is one slot left by where the mother stands. I could try to find another empty slot. The premonition stirs again. "This is stupid," I thought. I'm just putting a hymnal away. So I did and I left.

I go home. Ten minutes later I get a call from the him. The mother had called to complain that I had tried to talk to her. This was way too easy for him to manipulate. He told her his less than accurate version of my story which merged into her own mis-assessment of my actions. Together they cooked up the notion that if I dared to attend the workshop I'd be slapped with a restraining order.

A couple days later the he and the step-her finally deigned to visit my humble abode in the guise of loving parental concern. I was then notified that he and step-her had talked on the phone with her psychiatric friends and was diagnosed third-person with classic delusion and suicidal tendencies, and it might be a good idea to institutionalize me. This he graciously offered to pay for.

Though shaken and highly upset by the turn of events (the kid couldn't talk to me about the problem he had to go run to mummy and threaten the police?!) I collected myself to tell the him and step-her that I would somehow survive just fine left to myself. He didn't like this answer. He then said that as the father-parental he held the priesthood authority over me and it was therefore to admit that I had sinned and submit. In a rare capacity to speak counter to his demands I told him that if that's how he thought to 'use the priesthood' then he'd lost any authority he claimed to have. They left shortly thereafter...

Lives diverged and I can't say I was sad to not see the kid. I still had (and present tense - have) years of recovery from the trauma and abuses of home. I didn't understand what the path that I thought meant him was if it was not him so I still didn't dare let go of the possibility, though I can't say it brought me the same level of comfort it did when first conceived.

I moved hundreds of miles away and somehow managed to land in the same little college town as him. I hadn't known he'd moved away. I was terrified when I realized he was there and avoided him like the plague. I mourned what when I saw he'd married simply because I'd been so invested in the idea that life could be better, that it could be different from what I'd been raised with.

It took years further to realize that that was what the path symbolized - that hope - not the kid. The kid was just the closest I could comprehend to that new abstract possibility. A possibility so foreign that the abstract concept would have been insufficient to hold onto and enable the separating of my will from the his'.

I do believe in God. I believe He guided my imaginings to enable a critical choice for my future well being. I believe He knew I would not understand it as He meant it but that my not understanding would in fact provide the strength of power to follow it through. I believe He helped me through years of confusion an turmoil and healing of trauma. And when that healing had progressed far enough, He helped me understand what He'd meant. I believe that my doing the best I understood was perfectly acceptable to Him and I have no need to feel ashamed at how events played out.

If you do not believe in God, then consider that delusion is not always a bad thing. Consider that our minds can provide protections to enable us onward and upward out of dangerous circumstances. And consider the source of the circumstances that led me to need such a delusion to be able to escape.

The Madness of Denethor

"The Madness of Denethor" has been a phrase that has come to mind numerous times over the past six months or more. It is not a happy observation.

In The Lord of the Rings, Denethor is steward, or acting leader, of the land of Gondor. Should the heir ever come to claim the throne, Denethor would then step aside as his stewardship would then be complete. At least he would if he did not resent the heir for making claim on authority Denethor did not wish to give up. If that was all there was to it, the story would simply be one of political rivalries.

But it is not.

Aragorn, the heir, was raised in obscurity because his lineage was hunted by the real antagonist. This antagonist, Sauron, was so beyond the powers and skill of the world's inhabitants that even the strongest man (wizard) had switched sides as Sauron's victory was considered 'inevitable'. Few stood up the wicked forces and some of those were of the weakest of beings. How could anyone expect anything other than being overrun by evil?

That is exactly how Denethor saw things. 'His' kingdom being taken away, his favored son dead, his despised son dismissed to death, and a force incomprehensible outside the city walls.

What was there for him to do? He chose death for himself and for all around him for he had decided that life was no more worth living.

Many are choosing the same things. It is no longer a horror story every few years. No longer once a year. Now it is multiple times a week.

D&C 45:26  And in that day shall be heard of wars and rumors of wars, and the whole earth shall be in commotion, and men's hearts shall fail them, and they shall say that Christ delayeth his coming until the end of the earth.

The saddest part is that it did not need to be. He hated life because it was not what he decided it must be. But it was a decision. He chose to deny the truth of his position. His unwillingness to accept his part made the loss of the part not his own that much harder. It was his demands for power that led his favored son to be so desperate and therefore vulnerable. It was his own bitterness and hatred of difference that led him to misvalue his remaining son until he was left with 'nothing' and no one. It was his refusal to admit to hope, even from the source that denied him the glory he demanded that meant he could not imagine hope.

It did not have to be.

And so many are following the same pattern. So many are succumbing to the madness of Denethor and taking others with them. But, as in The Lord of the Rings, we too must wait and place our hope in the return of the King, for He will come. It's gonna get ugly. In so many ways it already is. The world is polarizing and the differences expanding. But the scriptures (of many denominations and religions, mind you) promise that this end, of sorts, is also a beginning of a far better story.