Overheard

"You know when a guy is...like...well...he is still like a Man, but just effeminate too?"

"How could he do that? I won't want to look anyone in my family in the eyes the day after my wedding night."

I happened to overhear both of these conversations while walking around campus today. The first one made me laugh. The second kinda bothered me.

BYU is the only place I have lived or visited where a lot of straight guys wear scarves. I do not know why. I sometimes think that homosexuality as a topic is so avoided and as a situation repressed that people do not think of it as a possibility. In a culture that is not very accepting of people who are homosexual this might be helpful, because it allows people with traditionally taboo traits or preferences to fly under the radar of just being different. Because being transgender or homosexual is not discussed it is not assumed and does not become part of people's causal logic when trying to explain something they see. So a guy who is still, like, a man can be effeminate and no one questions his sexuality. Though, if that effeminate man is gay and he wants to let people around him know then he has no gentle way to do it, because his neighbors might refuse to think of homosexuality as a reality so close to them. So, I laugh, because the situation is ridiculous.

The second quote came from a conversation I heard quite a bit of. The girl was discussing how someone she knew well had been married the previous Saturday and then had to go to the baby blessing for his niece the next day. They she expressed how she thought that would be uncomfortable. Why? Is sex really that scary? Is it embarrassing? I will sweat for lots of reasons on my wedding night I am sure, nerves definitely being one of them. But I would not (I hope) feel embarrassed to be around people. Especially my family.

This connects to another conversation I have had. Apparently some people feel that holding hands is more of a commitment than kissing. They will kiss a person long before holding hands. What!? Kissing is much more sexual (if you feel differently I would love to hear more about that) than holding hands. More sexual situations hopefully express more commitment. But their rationality was that holding hands is a public thing and lets other people know you are in a relationship, but kissing can be done quietly and privately. To them, it is the public announcement of a relationship that means more commitment.

People often have sex on their wedding night. That is nothing tot be ashamed of. You just married someone you love and adore. But are we so scared of being public about love and intimacy. Why?

Political Dichotomy

Why do Republicans preach that the government should have no involvement in business? Why do Democrats declare that the government should have no say in individual's moral decisions? What is the purpose of government, what should it be involved in?

Why do Democrats say that the United States should not impose its ideals and culture on other countries (by opposing the Monroe Doctrine and dismissing the value of Westernization {that might a bit extreme, but I have heard it rather often of late}) but supports every state having the same morals, laws, and regulations? Why do Republicans try to push the American Dream and culture on the world but reject unification of state laws, projects, and programs under the national government (Romneycare vs. Obamacare for example)? If everyone is supposed to be the same why is it only at a certain level of humanity?

Seriously, I am really confused by these issues. On two big issues, freedom and unity, our major parties use the same rational to suggest opposite suggestions. Silly if you ask me.

Politicians

What is the job of politicians?

Did you know that the expected inflation rate can affect the economy and unemployment rate as much as the actual inflation rate? It makes sense. Reality is warped into our perception of it. Unless we have a clear view of truth then we cannot base decisions off of it. In terms of unemployment, according to the Philips Curve, the best situation is when inflation is high and expected inflation is low, unemployment will be lowest. Sounds great. But that means people have to be completely ignorant of reality.

That is when politicians come into play. They are the great deceivers of society. Why? I suggest that it is the fault of society. We want unrealistic things accomplished, such as having a high inflation without anyone realizing it. And in the short run that would work. No one would see through the lie and the economy would produce a lot more, because more people are working. But eventually the lie cracks. That is where we are now. The lies are coming to light. And we no longer trust the politicians or their appointments. Now, even if they are being honest with us, we assume they are lying.

An example is the 1970's. Paul Volcker was the chairman of the Federal Reserve. America had trouble with inflation and unemployment. It was called stagflation. Trouble was all up in the back pocket of America. So he told everyone that he was going to decrease inflation (the job of the Federal Reserve is to influence the inflation rate by increasing or decreasing money supply by buying and selling bonds by setting the interest rate. Make sense?). And he did it. But everyone had been saying that before so no one believed him. So expected inflation was much higher than actual inflation and unemployment increased a lot in the late 70's. He got a lot of blame. But he knew it was needed for two reasons: people needed to trust politicians and people to lower their expectations of inflation. Eventually people reduced their expectations and unemployment rates went back down.

So here is the problem. If politicians are honest/transparent then society benefits in the long run, but the general populace does not like them, because sometimes they will have to be like Volcker and do something unattractive, even damaging to some people. Then they are eliminated during the next election cycle. A short term in office means they cannot do a lot of good. A political appointment, like Paul Volcker, is able to do a lot more good because his job was tied to the election of other people (Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan to be specific) and only has to account to a few people.
If politicians are dishonest and give society what it wants then they are able have power for much longer. Society is satisfied and benefited in the short run, but suffers more long term. But, by retaining political power, they have the potential to do more good in some ways. Maybe a politician realizes his/her election can be assured if he/she buckles on a social issue, but that means that he/she can influence the economy in a better way. So the politician caves to peer (constituent?) pressure in order to benefit more people in a more pressing matter. Is that moral?

So is the job of politicians to have society in their best interest or is it to appease the masses that elected them? I think I understand better why Plato was opposed to democracies.

"The Name of Thy Son"

The sacramental prayers, and other sources, mention "that they may... witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son." Jesus Christ. But what does that mean? And which name?

Jesus was a man. He healed the sick, taught people a good way to live together, and lived a good life. Four different accounts of His life paint different pictures. I am sure the same would be true of us. Imagine if you had your parents, your siblings, your best friend, and your exes write about your life. Crazy. Awesome too. He is depicted like John Wayne in Mark, a good man who is a little rough around the edges, who can still get angry but always has others in his best interest. Luke's Jesus never even approaches an emotion short of an angelic entity. They are different men. And yet, when we combine the four identities we can find a person we might actually be able to be like. Jesus is a name that we can take upon ourselves. It is the name of someone who has needs but puts others first, who takes time to play with children, who cooks fresh fish on the beach with friends, and who tries to share the gospel with anyone who will listen even if they will not hear.

Christ is a title. Christ is the Messiah, the anointed one. Hebrews had three anointed offices: prophet, priest, and king (or prophetess, priestess, and queen. Please apply all nouns and pronouns to your gender). A prophet teaches by example. They live the life they teach. Their most basic actions can be applied into great lessons. Gandhi, Muhammad, Joseph Smith, and Moses lived lives worthy of emulation. They were prophets.
A priest sacrifices the self to be dedicated to a cause (often a religious one, but not always). Because they are completely devoted to their cause, they are able to teach others when and how and what is appropriate to sacrifice (because it is not always your life or livelihood. Maybe it is an opinion or comfort). Joan of Arc, Martin Luther, Martin Luther King Jr., and Mother Teresa understood the blessings of sacrifice for a cause. They were priests.
A king leads with common good in mind (a king that is self-serving is really only a tyrant). A king might be appointed by common consent or inheritance or circumstance. A king can be a president, a senator, a CEO, a shift manager, a mother or father, or anyone in a leadership position. A king must understand why they are in their position, what they can do, and how they are going to do it. A king works with their subjects for their good, because working against the subject's desires (even in their best interests) will appear tyrannous. Queen Elizabeth, George Washington, and Abu Bakr lead their subjects kindly, honestly, and transparently. They were kings.

And these are only two of His names, the most literal. What about the dozens of others: Good Shepherd, Living Waters, Bread of Life, Counselor, Wonderful, etc?

I hope you think more about which name you are expressing a willingness to take. As I am beginning to learn, one of the most productive and beautiful parts of religion is ambiguity. It allows practitioners to apply lessons to the self, even with various needs, dilemmas, and insights. Ambiguity allows a message based on truth to reach everyone, regardless of how far they are along their path. So, which name means more to you? Why? 

A Whim of Wheels

A club at my university does an annual event to raise awareness of physical disabilities. I wanted to participate last year but was unable to because of my schedule. This year I opted to experience a couple hours in a wheelchair for their study and to promote campus awareness. One disappointment was that it seemed like such a small effort for me, but I was proven wrong by the challenge and BYU students.

I knew BYU campus was fairly wheelchair accessible because I try to ride my bike around a lot. I knew how I could get to every building, but I quickly realized that I did not know the fastest ways. And some ways seemed dangerous. Long, steep hills are on almost every side of campus. Some elevators are accessible but not convenient. Using the bathroom is terrifying. It is so hard to get in and out. And I do not know if I could put on my pants without control of my legs (I am greatly impressed by others). The hardest feature of any building or landscape was slanted walkways. Even a slight slope to the left or right made traveling very slow and cumbersome. If you push a wheelchair along a sidewalk that is not flat then you drift to one side if you try to go straight. So, to go straight, you have to either only push one wheel or constantly slow down to turn opposite the way you are drifting. It was annoying when sidewalks were not flat. It was frustrating when the floors inside buildings were not flat. They were constructed! Why would they slope?

I do not know how many students knew that demonstrations were going on today. They do happen annually. But there are a fair number of students who have permanent disabilities. And why would anyone assume that I was just rolling around for fun. I received a lot more smiles from people through the day. I was surprised by how often people would try to dart in front of me, forcing me to stop. People that were texting rarely saw me. I had to constantly be on the vigil for those bumbling booby traps. And cars were scary. I do not know if they could not see me as I crossed the road or just did not care. I ran into several friends who were very concerned about me, which was nice. They also became interested in the event so I suppose I fulfilled my role. The highlights of people's reactions were definitely the girl who held two doors open for me. She was the only one how tried to help me at all. And then I had to fill out some paperwork for a job. One of the supervisors came in and started talking to me. Right before I left, she asked if I had come in before and met the boss. She then said that she did not know how to be tactful about it, but she had to know the limits of my disability. I thought it was rather tactful and obviously did not bother me, but I was glad that she was comfortable enough with the situation to ask then instead of passing off a potential trial to someone else.

It was a good experience. I assumed it would be difficult for a wheelchair-bound student to attend BYU, but it was not as bad as I thought it would be, as long as he or she stayed on campus. Traveling off campus would be a nightmare. I would probably require assistance traveling to and from campus. Which would also mean constantly caring everything I would need for the day with me. It would be a constant trial. I assume friends would seek to help me more, but only a stranger offered any help. What it really means is I should look out for what I could do.

Final Bellwether

This was a magnificent experience. Tamarra is amazing. She is a very talented and encouraging editor; it comes from her incredible writing. This is the final edit of my article written last month. I really like being able to see the development of the subject, audience, and style. And it is neat to see my own ideas better expressed with the help of others. Once again, I find myself more converted to the quality and consistency of good writing.

This I Believe
Spencer Campbell

“Persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent.”

I was first enticed to memorize the “Standard of Truth” by a Snickers bar when I was 14. At 22, I am still uncovering how deeply these words, and others like them, affect Mormon culture.

Powerful statements like this one, though once shouted in the face of violent persecution, seem – at least in the Provo student wards I’ve attended – to act as insurance that in the end we,  conservative Mormons, the embodiment of truth, will win.

To argue against that conservatism is not just some philosophical or religious debate to many Mormons; it is a personal attack on our identity and potential. It would be like telling an Israeli Jew they should give East Jerusalem back to  its Palestinian inhabitants, or telling a Muslim that Muhammad was not the last prophet. We, as people, simply take offense when our concepts of eternal laws, rights, or prophecies are disagreed with.

I lived in California for a couple years and was often reminded of the financial and physical efforts the church put forth to defeat Proposition 8. Our strength and unity is infamous within some circles. It is as the Standard of Truth states: “no unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing.” The unhallowed, the unholy, the hateful, the spiteful will never have power to stop the herd. But there is a difference, I believe, between what is truly unholy and what many of us perceive to be unholy.

I love the joke that says, “Catholics say that the Pope cannot make mistakes, but they do not believe it. Mormons say their prophets can make mistakes, but they do not believe it.” We readily acknowledge that we have faults, so why are we so reluctant to identify specific problems? We have needed help to change our direction before: stricter adherence to the Word of Wisdom and diligence in tithing paying, for example. I realize neither of these examples were terribly “hard sayings,” but we, individually and collectively, have needed to be corrected. Yet this does not seem to cause us to ponder our future. We do not seem to sit back and give consistent, honest evaluation to the type of Mormonism we are living individually and collectively and what changes may move us closer to the core of our faith.

In Church we often talk about sheep and the Shepherd. However shepherds know sheep have a tendency to look for a leader among themselves—a practice I do not believe God discourages. A bellwether is a sheep chosen by the flock to initiate movement and direction. It is still within the herd, but the others trust it to lead, to think. We often simplify our lives by choosing areas where we can act more and think less. We assign ourselves bellwethers at work (bosses), in fashion (celebrities), and in entertainment (Oscars). This is not a bad thing: it feels good to trust and follow sometimes. So imagine the impact you could have by being a bellwether within the Church.

The bellwether still has to look, sound and smell like a sheep to fit in, but it does not have to think like the other sheep. Under the influence of the Holy Spirit, its possible to gently lead those in your own circle to the green pastures and living waters we read about in the scriptures, and do so by avoiding the pitfalls infesting elitist Mormonism and self-centered Mormon policies and politics.

If you disagree with Mormon policy or tradition, then imagine what you could do if you became a trusted bellwether within the flock, instead of aggressively, directly and openly opposing the Church and its members. You must remain humble about it. You must be doing it for the Lord Himself. And you must not think yourself above covenants. To be successful you must hold those closer than all other things.

In a way, I suppose I am encouraging you to be part of the Church, to make yourself accepted, so that you can have an influence -- a voice that matters.  As college students, we are the next generation of leaders and thinkers in the Church. We are not going to change doctrines -- those belong to God -- but we can change tradition. We can change perception.

So feel free to empower the women you meet (not just open doors for them), to exclaim your joy that you are saved by grace (not works), or love a gay (or lesbian or bisexual or straight or questioning) friend because they are just as good as people as the rest of us. We can make a difference in how the Church of Jesus Christ is accepted worldwide.

Just stay a while until you can help us because we need more colorful Mormons. And who knows, we might even herald in Zion.

Separate iff Equal

I believe that there is a divine power that wants us to become more advanced beings and accomplishes this by giving us responsibilities, abilities, and possibilities. In other words, I believe in God and that the situations we face are given to us so that we can become more like Him. We do this by learning about and understanding who He is. We do that by doing what He does. We can do that because we can have access to His power. We call it the priesthood, but I have trouble defining what that is.

When I hear "separate but equal" quoted in any context it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It is a too obvious reference to the opposition to the Civil Rights movement. It references racism. But I have heard it recently in reference as to why Mormon men have the priesthood but women do not. It is usually used along the lines of, "Men have the priesthood, but women bear children. We have separate but equal responsibilities in the family/home, in the community, and in the church." If you ever have the urge to use that phrase to explain anything to anyone (that is an American. I suppose it may not have the same guilt associated with it in other cultures. Probably) stop. Just say no. It will weaken your argument because people (at least my mind does) associate that phrase as a justification for unjust elitism. Your intentions may be good and your reasoning may be sound, but your audience will associate anything you say after "separate but equal" as bigotry.

What makes this situation terrible is that some things do have to be separate to be equal. I might try to defend that most things have to be separate if equal. If two things perform the exact same function in the same way and at the same rate, if they are equal, then they spread out. They inhibit each others potential and production by being too close. Think of two burger joints next to each other, neither receives as good of business. The gases that make up our air spread out until evenly dispersed. Economics encourage specialization so that people perform different functions and increase social production, because if everyone did the same job than we produce less as a whole. If two things are equal then they will perform best if separated. If two things are separated then they can be equal (without the force used in fictional dystopias for the same effect).

So, I am not arguing against the explanation that men hold the priesthood to make them as equally useful and purposeful to women. I only suggest that we avoid ever using the phrase "separate but equal." Try separate and equal or separate iff equal or come up with a creative and catchy phrase that can be shared to illuminate the need for people to perform different roles in close social settings, especially in a family or church.

Mormon Bellwether

I hope to publish this in BYU's Student Review, but with obvious editing for length and possibly language. This is the first draft, written after reading several replies to posts (that I found quite respectful and moderate) by Mormons in online journals. I realize it is rather forceful and that is why I hesitate posting it, but this issue is very close to me. If someone wants to change, improve, repent then you should forgive and forget. Whisper words of wisdom: Let it be.

“Persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent”

I was first enticed to memorize the “Standard of Truth” by a snickers bar when I was fourteen. Years later I realized the depth statements, like this, have within Mormons. This standard states that an absolute truth of God will be shared to everyone everywhere until God says it is enough and that nothing can stop it. Ever since Joseph Smith originated the document in the Wentworth letter, Mormons, especially missionaries, identify themselves as the truth going forth.

So how can someone not aligned with mainstream Mormons (member or not) manage disagreeing with the conservative Mormons, the self-proclaimed embodiment of this truth? Powerful verses, such as the Standard of Truth, are used to indoctrinate the flawlessness of the future for Latter-day Saints. To oppose ideologies like this is not just some philosophical or religious debate to many Mormons; it is a personal attack on their identity and potential. It would be like telling an Israeli Jew that they should give back East Jerusalem or telling a Muslim that Mohammad was not the last prophet. We take offense when our concepts of eternal laws or prophecies are disagreed with.

 Yet, direct and disagreeable opposition to Mormon doctrine and culture seems like the only option for dissenters. I have seen Mormons give in to Sunday School doctrines and ignore any misgivings they receive from other members, friends outside of the church, and the Spirit. I really disagree with that method, because when you close yourself off from further light and knowledge you lose what you have already (and not everything I learned in primary is true doctrine. Sorry). But a far worse option I see many people choose is to leave the church or never learn about it because they are offended by some phrase in a talk or line in an outdated book, once treated as a source of doctrine.

I see the church described in the Standard of Truth as a herd of buffalo. It is big. It consumes the very earth beneath it as it moves toward its goals. No amount of force can do much to alter or stop the path of the herd. Its momentum is too great. It is made up of too many individual members. False thoughts shared decades (or months) ago have shifted our path and it seems no outside force can reverse the change. But that is one point the Standard of Truth makes, “no unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing.” The unhallowed, the unholy, the hateful, the spiteful cannot stop this herd from moving and growing. And it is just as Joseph Smith said in the Wentworth letter, “Persecution has not stopped the progress of truth, but has only added fuel to the flame…” If you remove yourself from the church, from the herd, and then try to alter its course then you shall fail. It is not that we are not wrong sometimes but that we are so proud to be opposed to the world, even if the world is our friends or family.

Since I am talking about cattle and Mormons, I think sheep is an appropriate matter to bring up. A bellwether is a sheep that is chosen within a flock to initiate movement and direction. It is still within the herd, but the others trust it to lead, to think. People of all sorts simplify their lives by choosing areas where they can act more and think less. We assign ourselves bellwethers in the workplace (often our bosses), in fashion (celebrities), in entertainment (Oscars), and throughout our lives. This is not a bad thing, because no one can control everything. So imagine the impact you could have by being a bellwether within the flock. You would still have to look, sound, and smell like a sheep, but really, you would not have to think like the other sheep. But really, you are leading the flock to green pastures and living waters. But really, you are avoiding the pitfalls that infest the elitist lands of Utah and the self-contained Mormon policies and politics. If you disagree with Mormon doctrine, policy, or tradition imagine what you could do if you became a trusted bellwether within a flock, instead of aggressively opposing the church and its members.

For me, one moment that helped me move in a better direction was in the spring of 2012 when “It Gets Better, at BYU” videos were published on youtube.com. I recognized a lot of friends in those videos. I have never hated homosexuals. And I cannot say I did not make some assumptions about a few of the people I knew who shared their stories in those videos. But those videos moved me to stop being complacent as friends and family members insulted homosexuals and their desires. I was changed by people in my flock to be more supportive of love and more understanding of individual’s challenges.

(these are the two endings I came up with)

In a way, I suppose I am encouraging you to be a part of the church, to make yourself acceptable, so that you can have an influence, a voice. Would you rather be allowed to look differently or think differently?

So, to those insisting on insulting the attempts of Mormons to empower women or support homosexuals or see both sides of international conflicts,  maybe if you spend more time with the herd being a bull (or heifer), you’d have to deal with less of the s*** you wallow in by measuring our every step and mistake. Please, help us move in a better direction instead of throwing the crap at us that some of us are trying to move past.

Jerusalem, I won't forget you

Strong emotions run through these veins. Maybe they come from the remnants of my exhaustion. Maybe I miss the people. Maybe it is the Civil War era cannon I can see behind my computer in the library. I hope that stages the level of internal confusion.

I miss dancing, people, food, classes, the color green, swimming, Natalie, Spiritual Sunday Cinema, attending church on Sunday (even though I still think Saturday is a better day for it), music, family, Prescott, mountains, shorts, and many much things. But the problem is I'll always be missing things I suppose. I miss the Dome of the Rock, the call to prayer, trash in the streets, buffets at every meal, classes on religion that I enjoy and satisfy my need to think as part of my study, a new group of people, knowing that every street holds a historically significant place, falafel, missing things in the states, exploring one of the most fascinating places I'll ever live (seriously, the center we lived at has more secrets than I could hope to find in three months), and having unique adventures every day.

Getting to Provo involved 46 hours awake and 31 hours traveling. Which was actually 6 hours more than it had to be, but I might have gotten myself lost between Salt Lake City and Provo. This morning I woke up at 4 am. My first thoughts were, "It's dark. Too dark. I'm not where I think I am. I'm not in Jerusalem. Where am I? Oh yeah, I'm at the Moore's :) (I wasn't thinking in emoticons, but I did smile). You know this room. Map it out. Alright. What time is it? 4 am... You should say 'good morning' to Natalie. No, it is way too early. Yeah, too early. Go back to sleep." It has been a slow day. I've really needed to recover. But it was wonderful to walk around at noon and notice how cool 95 degrees feels after this summer.

Despite living in a city layered in Jewish history and caked with Christian sites, I think what I'll miss most are the morning and evening calls to prayer, seeing the Dome of the Rock any time I look out a window, and the green lights from minarets reminding me of The Great Gatsby (light on the docks) every night.

I love Jerusalem. I do not think I changed the city (as I hope someday to have a chance), but I know it changed me. It's like a love affair that I want to share with everyone. On that note, there are hundreds of stories to share if you would ever like to hear. As a warning though, give yourself time to listen if you dare/care to ask. Also, I'll love you more for it.

Galilee

So...I should probably write about Israel while I'm here... I just figure it'll be so much easier when I get back home and include lots of pictures.

We spent the last eleven days living on a kibbutz on the Sea of Galilee. I hope to express my various levels of existence while there.

Physically:
Fantastic, for a day. Upon arrival and immediately put on swimsuits. The water was warm except for occasional patches creeping along the bottom. I loved swimming. Real swimming, with strokes and everything. I found out how weak my shoulders, but I can still do a better good butterfly stroke.
That night I felt congested and figured it was just the sea water in my nose. But then I started getting a sore throat, which is what happens when I start getting a cold so I figured it was that. But then the sore throat was gone after a couple days and I stayed very congested. So I've been sick since we got to Galilee... My nose is still congested and I can feel the pressure in my teeth and jaw. Unpleasant but bearable. I still swam a lot though :)
The day before we left the sea we had a long field trip, exploring mountains and cities and churches and the like, and got back to our rooms right before dinner. So a few of us ran into the water with our clothes still on. Which was fun. When I got out, I found a sandy loogie on my leg. Rather gross. Later that night my leg felt sore, but I thought nothing of it. The next morning my leg had an inflamed red mark with a scab in the middle. I had been attacked by a jellyfish! I do not think jellyfish are supposed to be in the Sea of Galilee!

Mentally:
This place is beautiful. Sunsets are a delight. The waves are calming. I realized that kibbutzim started forming around the beginning of the 20th century. During this time many Jews were coming from Russia into Israel. This was close to the time of the Bolshevik Revolution. This could mean that socialist ideologies influenced the creation of some of Israel's most historic modern Jewish settlements. Pretty neat. We went on a hike with a man from the kibbutz we stayed at. He was paid fairly well for taking us out. He does it as a side job while he lives at the kibbutz. It was at the kibbutz (Ein Gev) that he met his wife and has raised his three sons. We went to some waterfalls and swam for a while. He told riddles along the way. He is older than my father but his youngest child is younger than my youngest brother. Just interesting. After majoring in Russian while at college in the United States, he decided to travel to Israel for a year and then just stayed out here since. As a faithful member of the kibbutz, all of the money he earns as a hiking guide (an incredibly fit hiking guide with a magnificent beard) he gives to the kibbutz to be used by everyone. Strong ideals.

Emotionally:
I am worried to return to real life (as much as life as a college student in Provo can be termed "real") in two weeks with its work, roommates, unstructured classes, money, and competition. I am excited to see close friends again, dance, attend wedding receptions, and walk around a city alone late at night. Mostly, I am exhausted. Overwhelmed into happiness would be another way to describe it.

Spiritually:
The comparisons between a summer in Israel and living in Sacramento for a couple years are astounding. The structure in both has been wonderful, but I am glad for the freedoms we've had in Israel. I like walking around late at night because I just want to breathe the city. The intensity and energy of both has been empowering and sustaining, but the brevity of Israel has been most needed for recovery. Though I am thankful for the endurance of Sacramento. Studying in both places has been extraordinary. The depth and opportunities to learn have been so vast in both areas.
I feel fulfilled here. And complimented. It is interesting to see the change in return missionaries as they have been here. I feel like Jerusalem has been a place to understand my time in Sacramento much more fully. I doubt it comes as a surprise but I was not a forceful person while serving in Sacramento. Because of the missionary environment I sometimes felt uncomfortable because I find no satisfaction or result in trying to argue religion or force ideals. Israel is one of the best modern examples of the failure of forced ideals and argued religion. And so I feel that my calmness might have been more helpful than I saw. At least I can hope. My time here has been resolving, replenishing, and everything I wanted out of the Holy Land.

So There is This Girl...

And you should know she is fantastic. Here is one of many reasons why.

Blogging is one of the most interesting mediums of communication. Many blogs are written like a journal or diary, personal insights/stories/journeys are shared in a day by day manner. "Successful" blogs do tend to have a theme, purpose, and regular schedule of posting, but that is not necessary. Writing of all sorts, like theater or movies, naturally has the "fourth wall" element that allows readers to put themselves in the story. But blogs naturally seek to break that fourth wall. Blogs are a giant, expansive, endless conversation. Bloggers want readers, so blogs are written to an audience instead of a story contained by four walls. This means a blogger can talk directly to people through their medium. This is unique.

So I'm going to relay a couple bits of information and stories to you and hopefully connect them by the end. The title is above and hopefully will keep you interested as you try to figure out how these words will come full circle.

I originally started this blog as an attempt to conveys thoughts and keep people up on my travels. I think I've done a fair job of the first and a terrible job of the second. The disconnect, I think, is that I'm not updating enough pictures. More images would encourage me to discuss sights and feelings more. Another reason is I already relate my stories two or three times before blogging them. That extra time seems excessive, except this is the place for most people to catch up on me. So I apologize to you. There will be a much better job done come August. I'll probably start by just uploading lots of photos. I've already taken almost two thousand shots.

It is two hours past midnight. My eyes feel like they are swelling in their sockets and a slight headache is starting to come on. I will tell myself many times throughout this night that I only need to stay very hydrated in order to avoid discomfort. I am only slightly wrong, but not enough to worry. I just got back home. We went to the Israel Museum (one of my favorite places in Jerusalem). Jerusalem puts on a lot of artistic and community-oriented events. I love it. Jewish religious celebrations are big deals here. Secular celebrations are too. The Israel Museum hosted a couple dozen artistic displays. Some (most) of them were temporal displays. Attending them and seeing the creative process of the event was what was interesting. The results were mediocre and stood no chance standing the tests of time (I think that is the shame of many modern arts, but it is only a personal opinion. I prefer the creation of those arts more than the final products. And a repetition of the final product, such as attending the same performance by a different cast, brings me no further insight or pleasure). But it was so much fun to watch. One exhibit was a man in a small shack writing. You could watch him. Or you could watch what he was writing as it was being displayed onto a large stone face a dozen meters away. The writing was in Hebrew so I can only guess at what he was writing. I think it was a short story. They had a kabuki demonstration. There was an original folk dance performed (I got to dance with them :). My favorite exhibit was some minimalist art. There was no order to the art, but one piece I really loved was a large, black X on a piece of paper with a clear, vertical rod over the point of intersection. As you walked past the piece the rod refracted a different image because the angle of your view changed. Simple. Creative. Made me think about physics. That is good art.

As I've been told that I assume everyone is as excited about everything as I am, I have started to realize it is a trait I really appreciate in other people. Several times I was in situations that were strange. The art was unusual. The demonstrations were graphic; they tried making a statement through strong expression and shocking display. I can think of many people, here in Jerusalem and at home, that I would feel uncomfortable attending with because I know their opinions on similar things are negative and I truly dislike causing people to be negative. But I felt alright being there because I could categorize certain things as art and separate myself from the situation or exhibit.

Then I thought about Natalie Harman. I have never felt uneasy with her around me. Now, I have felt quite nervous around her, but that is for reasons completely separate from what we were doing. I can be climbing trees, solving clues for Easter eggs, looking at art, admiring dance, or attending shows with her and never feel like I'll offend or scare her. I also feel like if something ever did bother her then she would let me know. Both are traits I admire greatly. I love feeling that when I am with her I have a whole world of adventures still available to explore; she wouldn't slow me down and actually improved the enjoyment and ultimate value of every experience I have had with her.

That is (one reason) why there is this pretty fantastic girl named Natalie.

Out of Body

Happy 4th of July! One of those holidays that has no literal meaning (as the Declaration of Independence was signed over several days) but is a great symbol and reason for celebration. We have a few people at the Jerusalem Center that are not Americans (two born in Colombia [one of them was raised in the States though], four Canucks, and one Englishwoman). The gal from England read the Declaration of Independence for our class. It was endearing.
We had fabulous burgers and ice cream for dinner. Then we played Minute to Win It games and then started a dance party. Honestly, any time we get together as a group to do anything at the center it ends up with a dance party. Not a bad thing, just not really my thing.
With that in mind, once the dancing started I found myself wanting to not be there. I didn't feel like thinking or trying to dance and move to the music. I just wanted to move. I started wandering around the outside of the center. The building was constructed very well and is terraced up the slope of the hill. So lots of outside space that connects. I wandered up to a high place and just looked over the city. As I walked there I could feel my body moving but really felt no control over it. I was wandering and my mind was elsewhere but no where. I took off my glasses to view the city. Fireworks were going off in the distance. I couldn't tell if they had any design, but they were lovely. Bright flashes. Honestly, I sometimes feel blessed for glasses because of the light orbs. I am very nearsighted, so when I see lights, especially at night, they are not defined. Lights are actually floating orbs, radiating stars hanging above the city. They are beautiful. Sometimes it is worth not seeing the leaves on trees to see the orbs floating over me.
And I just thought there. Or tried to think really. I was so full from the food today that I couldn't grasp anything. I tried rhyming but everything was sour. I tried singing a medley I came up with but lost the words. Eventually I snuck back into the building by way of an art exhibit (this place is seriously amazing. We have art exhibits upstairs and two professional concerts each week). I happened to come upon a couple before leaving the exhibit but they didn't see me. I retraced myself and left another way. I found a way atop the organ. Lovely little place. Quiet, dark, secluded. Little there for me though. I wandered, trying to find my head again.
Eventually I gave up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and started some homework. Gradually some sense returned.
Days/daze like this confuse me. Why did I feel so strange? Was it just a bit of crusty cheese and old sausage with mustard (I think that is what Scrooge attributed it to)? Despite the confusion I felt refreshed after. I didn't need to dance tonight, I needed to wander. Tomorrow might bring dancing. Probably a blood drive and working out though. But who knows.

Other Blogs

I try to follow and support blogs that interest me. It is a wonderful view into thought processes and into the deeper thoughts of people I genuinely love and/or want to get to know better. A couple blogs I try to follow are of people I have never met.

One such blog is The Weed. He recently posted this story http://www.joshweed.com/2012/05/vomit-story-of-romance.html. It's hilarious. And beautiful. The awkwardness is just great. I imagine if she did no vomit on that first date they would not have gotten married (sorry if I ruined the story). This same man (a practicing marriage therapist and Mormon) posted this story http://www.joshweed.com/2012/06/club-unicorn-in-which-i-come-out-of.html recently too.

His thoughts are fascinating. I love that she knew ever since their first date. And the family is absolutely beautiful. It's hard to express how I feel about the whole thing. I've always felt like there is a separation between attraction and experience and it was nice to know someone agrees. And maybe defining things doesn't matter. The most important part is how you live. Are you good? Righteous? Obedient? Believing? Loving? I wrote about Zion a while back and I still think charity will be our defining trait. Christ said, "By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you have love one to another." And I can bear (or bare) all the words of "love the sinner, but hate the sin" or how loving someone means helping them not sin. I can't agree with the apathy or ambivalence it produces though. This is a whole new world for us, for me. I need to learn what and how I need to help.
I've known a lot of addicts. I've tried helping them. A few things I've found is that I've almost never been around long enough to actually help them. You can't just tell an addict to repent, to stop, to just clean themself up. You certainly can't help an addict who does not want or feel a need for help. And once they are willing to accept help it takes time, contact, reminding, no fear, and lots of love, especially when they relapse because almost everyone does. I feel like many people try to help homosexuals the way they'd help addicts.
Homosexuals are not addicts. I hope that association never occurs to anyone. I would love to say this process would be good advice for someone wanting to help a homosexual, but you don't "help" a homosexual. Helping suggests changing them from something bad. You shouldn't be trying to change them. Sexuality is no foreign substance or artifical stimulation. Love and intimacy are the most real and pure stimulations we have. Sexuality and experience play a big part in those. Do not ever try to take those away from someone, because you will deny them one of the greatest blessings of life. If they want to change (and there is a chance they won't want to. Be ready for that), then help them change and understand what that will mean. Even then, the best thing will be to ask questions (so you can understand them), show you're unconditional in your love for them, and offer help when it's asked for. People don't ask for help only verbally. You shouldn't give help only verbally.
So there is no word for what you should do for LGBTQ's (over anyone if we're being true) other than love. That is how they'll know you can make a difference. That is how they'll know you're a disciple of Christ (even if they don't believe in Him).

Yad Vashem

Cold and still, the room echoes more than sound. Gentle, striking strings pluck my heart and draw my tears. Times like this I feel no right to defend myself. No desire to recover. I hurt and rejoice in the strangest ways. Harsh and happy quotes flash before my eyes. Some cut. No explanation can justify the years and fears behind the words. Some give hope of healing for myself and them. Though lost in this canyon of trial there is a light at the end. It takes conscious effort to not punch the faces of men I cannot understand, foolish cowards too scared of their own work to let themselves live. Yet I cry most at the survivors and saviors. And I desire my own. A hand to hold. The warmth of another soul. Another heart. A hug reminding of smiles. Anything to break this cold I cannot feel but which I still embrace. I hope my empty smiles offend none. They are more to reassure myself. This may be my hatred of being a man. Some days I need to cry and mourn, but I feel my duty is to protect and comfort others, to give what I am so desperate for. A leader cannot break down else he or she gives permission for others to do so. Is this manhood? Adulthood? Parenthood? Growing up? Responsibility? I don't take these things well.

We went to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem today. These were my thoughts while sitting in the last room. It was tense. Well, I was tense. I started thinking of a young man, whose face and name is lost to me, who I attended Especially for Youth with many summers ago. He comforted me during a time I wanted to comfort him. It was just a back scratch, but just that simple contact meant a lot. It also made me think of Alyssa and the last time I went to a Holocaust museum. I do not know why I take such things so poorly. Is it even poorly? Maybe that is a terrible word for it.

I am glad to be in a world  that ennobles sacrifice and recognizes lost. It is difficult, but it is worth it.

Missing

A strange new emotion has hold of me and I'd fight it if only I could see. The source, of course, is clear. But the searing lane of pain from her to heart is crucibled art. Never before could I stand this bore. Or its drill. Or my core. A hedonist, by practice, never to miss a chance of new dance or place. That's my case. My mind screams, it seems, to leave, to upheave, my body to the sun. I'm surprised it has not won. Outside wonders draw me around and I always figured that's how I would be found, by others and myself. Never comfortable on the shelf, I stop for shinies of no wealth. They draw my eye and help something inside fly, sometimes sigh. But invited out I said no. My mind does shout excuse and regret, lest I forget the shielded shelf of solitude, safety, security, and sadness. Yet the core weighs more, though it didn't before. A desire so great as to depreciate my cause of embracing flaws and enjoying the noise of knowing nothing. Woah. No weight was ever so great a foundation or a flight station. I've never flown so high nor felt so nice. It's the contrast of fired veins cooled by morphine ice. To miss someone enough to stop? What's up with that? Like being hobbled by a bat. Knees weak, hands creak, eyes seek to find an explanation for my mind. Nothing. No heart beat stirs to treat the thought that aught to explain what I might gain. Yet I know no thing has the means to replace the face of her. That small part of art is more than any boring dash down a new path. Include the rest and at best you'd hold me back. The world does lack the knack to attack my desire to just hold hands. I'd love to include "ands" but that'd be enough to stuff me for now. The starved would carve wood if it should fill the pores of their bored core.

Short Stories

Life is merely a kaleidoscope of strange acquaintances. It was just a cup of coffee. The same every morning. Black. No sugar. The caffeine helped him wake up. The bitter helped him feel alive. The scalding heat reminded him of her. It had been years; the scars almost faded.  Yet, still, he arrived every morning for the same cup of joe.

He had been young, but she had been alive. It was not the way she literally waltzed in nor the glistening tears, it was the way she ordered. She knew what she needed as well as knew what she wanted. Black, burning, teeth-staining coffee. She danced around the room with her cup and saucer. So many tears streamed down her face that it seemed the mug never emptied despite her hasty gulps. He watched her dance for fifteen minutes. She left in a hustle, jumped in an old truck, and lurched onto the road.

His first thought was, "Why do girls think they can drive stick?" The next was of the police report of the stolen, faded-blue truck the girl was now driving. A man had called the station saying his girl had ran off with his "baby" that morning. An officer knows his duty so he got up to follow her. Judging from her performance up to that point he imagined she'd stalled out before the edge of town. He regretted thinking so as he passed the sixth mile marker down the road. He knew she could have taken a dozen side roads by now but he knew she was just covering distance. He saw the truck before seeing her; he never forgave himself for that. As he got out to check the steering wheel he saw her in the corner of his eye. She was gently humming a 1-2-3 tune as he approached.

"Who are you!"
Nothing.
"Did you steal this vehicle?"
Nothing.
"Are you alright?"
She resumed her waltz.

Just before he reached her, she caught his eye with a smile. She danced off the bridge.
Her body was found with bruises and cuts uncommon for river victims, but she soon became a sad, forgotten story after her beau moved to another county. But he still saw her every day. Every morning. That same smile. So he drank pain because he could only hurt so much at once.

We've started a literary club at the Jerusalem Center. Occasionally we get together and just write. This time we all used the same first line. There is a strict time limit (this time about 22 minutes) and this is what I got.

"Demonstrations"

I just got back from Turkey! And I don't really want to write about the place until I put pictures up. Hopefully by the end of the week.

When we got back (Sunday) we were told we could not go out because there were going to be "demonstrations" all day. No one told us what was going on though. We heard lots of fireworks (I've heard fireworks three nights this week already). The next day I found a local newspaper that covered the events of the previous day.

What I assumed was a small protest or some violence was actually a large and official celebration. Kinda. Monday was Jerusalem Day. It celebrated the 45 years that Jerusalem has been one city after the 1967 war. Sounds great. Unity is good. Jerusalem is good. Right? Sadly, not all is well in zion.

Many prominent speakers told of Jerusalem never being divided again. Netanyahu said, "We saw the words of the prophets come true. We saw the rise of Zion, the return of Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel, the ingathering of exiles, and our return to Jerusalem." He later added, "Our capital will never be divided" later in his speech. Wonderful words. A reporter and scholar, Ilana Brown, wrote in the paper that there is no Zionism without Jerusalem so the city must be preserved to protect the identity of Jews and their hope. Again, nice things.

15 people were arrested during the celebrations. That is down from last years 24 arrests. The reason the arrests are down is because last year the march (the main form of celebration during the day) (it was 50,000 strong this year and mostly peaceful) went anywhere in the city but was limited to Israeli West Jerusalem this year (last year's march involved damage to private property, such as smashed car windows, in the East Jerusalem, where Palestinians live). 5 Palestinians were arrested this year for throwing things at marchers. 10 Israelis were arrested for shouting racist slurs such as "Death to Arabs!" and "Revenge on Palestine!"

That's jacked up.

I can think of no excuse for such behavior. If that is how the city celebrates such a holiday why keep the holiday? If the celebration only reminds people of hurt and division then why celebrate? Acknowledging mistakes and petitioning people whether they would like such a holiday could be a good idea. Disbanding the holiday and seeking a better celebration would be great. Why celebrate your victory over the people you work, live, and worship near? It only creates division to proclaim your superiority and ability to keep a city under one disputed rule.

It's a mad world.

(23 May 2012)

Mother's Day

Yo! You all got mothers. I like having a mother. I hope you do too. I heard a poem today that made me want to write a poem. So I did. Here is foreign poem first. Then mine. Then some thoughts about me mum.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow--
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

By William Ross Wallace

So I wrote this:

When I think of mom one scene does stand out,
a night and the week that I was left curled.
Never thought what it took to hear me shout.
She kept my bedside so I'd heal the world.

But beyond one moment, the life she led
was live with love, left prejudice hurled.
Teaching me not to die until I'm dead,
she recited tales so I'd see the world.

Seeing and living are all fine and good,
but hearing the growth was done more to twirl
the lines of life as any good one should.
She taught me music so I'd know the world.

Yet unknown why she gave this life unfurled,
she rocked my cradle so I'll change the world.

And I realized how thankful I am that mom did not get to have one of her dreams (yet). Growing up she told me about how much she wished she had waited to be married so she could travel. She wanted to see Europe and Great Britain especially it seemed. But she got married. I'm thankful because it meant I got all my brothers. Her reflection of that time has made me question many of my goals. One reason I'm in Jerusalem right now is because I knew I couldn't wait. I do not know if I'll be married this next year, but I did not want to have to decide between Jerusalem or my wife. (Should it be between Jerusalem *and* my wife? I'm not sure) I imagine her desire to see the world has encouraged her to accept and excuse opportunities like going to Carnegie Hall and then taking me as well. And hearing her stories about travels, future desires to travel, and places she wished she could travel to inspires me to want to travel to those places. And because she did so much to help us travel it only seem appropriate that we bring the places we go back to her. Gifts, memories, pictures.

I really love my mom. I do not know why women shape my life so much, but I have greatly appreciated it. Mother started it all. I felt safe talking to her. I almost never felt judged or scared. I could be different. I could try things out. I could do stupid things. I knew she would punish me if I went wrong. I knew she could get angry and frustrated, but I know she loves me. And my brothers. And my dad. And her parents. And pretty much anyone I have seen her meet. She has gotten mad at me. She has asked me to go away, to not bother her, to just stop. Now,  the growth I have seen in her ability to handle, love, forgive, and withstand me is incredible. That feels weird to say as her son. It is honest though. She is more patient, more kind, more expressive. She communicates more honestly and completely. She is willing to take of herself but is so ready and able to help others. She is great. I am thankful that she has me.

Fighting

Earlier this week I saw three fights on the same day. It was Sunday and we had decided to get up early so we could go to the Dome of the Rock. Well, we did not know that they only opened breakfast at 7:30 (when we wanted to leave) so we ended up getting a group together and leaving at 8:15am. So we arrived at the line for the done at 8:45. It opens at 8 (when we wanted to arrive), so the line was very long. A group of students had arrived earlier than us so I went up to talk to them. Some of their group had to leave so we tried switching with them. The people behind them did not approve of this idea and accused us of cutting in line and were very direct in their opinions. I apologized that their opinions were different than ours, because I felt that we had done nothing wrong. Well, the argument just seemed to continue. Honestly, I think no one had anything better to do. Seems like a silly reason to argue. But I continued to jab with them. Eventually it was boring and I knew I would go back to the group I arrived with. At that point I just wanted to get to know a stranger. They would have nothing to do with it. No information about their native language, homeland, or anything about them or their trip. Quite a shame really. I hoped I could appease at least something and not ruin their experience in a holy place. Actually, that was what made me feel the worst about the whole engagement, Matthew 5:23-25. I didn't see them again and feel no way to reconcile myself.

After everyone was cleared from the temple mount at 11am we went to the Austrian Hospice for lunch. It is a beautiful building designed to assist pilgrims from Austria and Germany. It was a lovely church inside. Several pillars and levels adorn the outside for people to study and eat. Quite nice. As we were leaving I saw a group of young boys. The six or seven of them looked to be between the ages of 6 and 10. Two of the older ones were pushing each other around. A few shekel coins fell to the ground. Food in a bag was involved. I couldn't tell what was going on but it did not seem friendly and eventually the boy with the bag of food left and everyone else stayed there.

We went to the Israeli Art Museum (and only got through a third of the exhibits) and then walked for a couple hours back home. We got gelato on the way and talked with a couple from New York. Then as we were passing Old Jerusalem, Damascus Gate to be exact, I saw two men in their twenties or early thirties fighting. Their faces mixed between rage and smile so quickly I could hardly tell whether something bad was going to happen. Well, jokingly one of them picked up a metal dolly over his head as if he was going to throw it at the other man. They both started laughing and he put it down. As he was putting it down the old man next to him (to whom the dolly belonged. It looked as if the old man had transported the goods he was selling down the steps with the dolly) punched him in the face. Seriously. Right in his face. The young man reacted with a look of "well that seemed kind of extreme but I guess I deserved it..."

In other news, I was a stowaway yesterday. We had a field trip. Our schedule said it would start at 8am. It started at 7:30am. No big deal. Plenty of time to get ready. Well, right before we were supposed to leave I realized I forgot something in my room so I ran down to my room. Then I realized I forgot my key. So I ran up six flights of stairs to my roommate and borrowed his key. I ran back down. I ran back up, this time laden with two lunches and my backpack. I arrived at my bus as it was leaving. The other class (we are divided into two classes for ease of taking care of everyone. 40 people to a class) was still waiting on their bus and I just walked on. Well...that wasn't supposed to happen. And two people got left behind. And I was just sitting in the back. About twenty minutes into the ride, just listening to administrators talking and realizing I had to make my prescence known if I didn't want the center's security looking for me, I knew I was in trouble. It all worked out. I saw Bedouin women making carpets and several tels before going on a hike through and then up a valley. It was a wonderful day. Even unintentionally I can sneak past people very well apparently.

Anger

Rage rolles o'er a young man out of control,
Releasing his role; he rains in anger.
A light too right to fight reveals the hole;
Her loss lost him. He now faces danger.

Fear flows from the man o'erbearing, too bold.
Enforcing his role, he reigns in anger,
A dark, so stark, taking lights old and cold.
Their loss helps him last. He carries danger.

Peace pours through the old man whose eye is light.
Accepting his role, he reins in anger.
Lighter loads, in and out, keep bright his sight.
Darkness lost at last, he sees no danger.

Within your eyes, is light or dark what you see?
Of three paths, it's your choice which to be.

Flawless or Perfect?

Yesterday I could have told you what sparked this thought but not today. I do not remember.

Yesterday I had a falafel. It was glorious. A bit of crunch before the soft center with sauce and french fries (I do not know why it had french fries but I could not complain) within a pita. Delightful. I also went to the Pools of Bethesda. Not the most spectacular place, but still very beautiful. The architecture is quite lovely. The church was the best part. According to legend, it is the birthplace of Mary the mother of Jesus. As I toured the interior a group of French tourists began singing hymns. If you have never sung in a stone cathedral before then change. It is a spectacular event. Even if you do not think you can sing well, get a group together and chant or sing some song of praise. It is a powerful moment.

Flawless and perfect are not the same adjectives. My explanation is simple, but I feel the main purpose of this is to encourage you to use your words correctly, especially when describing yourself and God. To be flawless is to be without flaw but to be perfect is to fit your role completely. One is upon the hands of the creator and the other deals with purpose.

A table can be carved and assembled flawlessly but might not be perfect for a room (for reasons of style or fit or whatever). A puppy, full of dirty and staining flaws, might be the perfect gift for a child. It is difficult to create something flawlessly. It is almost impossible to create a flawless organism. And chances are that the creature will create flaws in itself. I figure that is where I fit. I may have been created flawlessly but my choices have flawed me. To create something perfect is a might be even more difficult. Again, easier with inert objects. Measurements, drawers, mirrors, and gadgets define a perfect vanity. A vanity might only be perfect for a specific situation though. Creatures, people especially, can change and apply to multiple situations, becoming more perfected than a simple construct because their perfection applies more often. Flawlessness is determined by creator and defined by critics. Perfection is determined and defined by the user.

So how could I become flawless? First, I would have to choose to be flawless, because I'm my own critic. Then I would have to choose whose opinions define my value. Then I would have to be recreated. And I do not think it could stop with a physical recreation. Though I imagine it takes a lot of time to reorganize a mind and redefine a soul.

How could I become perfect? I would have to be used and determine who can use me. Then I would have to fulfill their needs. Wow. That seems like a lot actually. To be applied in the correct and best way for any given situation would be complete perfection. I can think of tiny, short-lived perfections I've enjoyed in my own life and in other's. I have said exactly the right thing at the right time. It felt like my entire life had built up to that moment so I would be the right person in the right place with the right relationship with a single person. Twenty-two years for one perfect sentence. Ridiculous.

So how does God do it? Can I mean flawless and perfect while saying "it?" I do not know the answer to either question. To be honest, I sometimes imagine a God with flaws so I can relate. My finite stature and sight leads in that direction. And for God to have enough experience and understanding to be completely perfect seems outrageous. I fully accept that none other understands me as well as my creator. But life is so complicated. How could one person be the right person every time? Then I ask if Jesus Christ is the right person for everyone. I honestly think that He can be, but most people need to be prepared for that though. I needed preparation before I enjoyed curry. I genuinely think curry is the most delicious food and that everyone can like curry, but your mouth and stomach (and intestines) must be prepared for the experience.

Remember, perfection is defined by the user. The user must feel something is perfect for it to be true.

Student Elections

I was reading in the local newspaper a couple days ago (unfortunately I didn't keep it so I will speak in fake political parties so I do not get names incorrect. They will be the Bold party and the Balloon party) The article most surprising to me concerned student elections at local universities. Four universities had primarily Bold party members in their student governments, but during recent elections the Balloon party took over the student government of these four universities. Using this as precedence, members of the national legislature were encouraging the prime minister to change one of his advisors, a member of the Bold party, to a member of the Balloon party.

AMAZING!!! Seriously, I have such a hard time accepting the fulness of this. Imagine this. American universities give actual meaning to student governments by having students choose an actual party to represent. While in office those students are able to discuss and suggest policies to their party. While they will not enforce political policy on the university, they will use their party's resources to run. The results of elections will be compiled across the country to inform politicians of the future of American politics. Because students will be the majority of future voters (I realize they do not represent all of America, but they are a very important group for policy makers) current politicians can see what issues will become pivotal and what parties will be favored in a few years. This could change American politics and give a stronger voice to students. If students feel important then they will become more involved. Also, it can end the mass dissatisfaction with student governments if treated respectfully.

I would love this idea. I do not know how to introduce it in such a large nation. But I want to.

Alcoholics and Indians

First a story. I saw Indians in Jerusalem. They were singing and carry a cross along the Via Dolorosa. Fascinating. They wore what I would consider to be traditional Hindu clothing. I never would have expected to see such a sight in my life.

On the Sabbath we discussed part of Mosiah in Sunday School.  My family did wonders for me. I've learned so much from all of them. A few lessons had to be taught to me by friends. I am often amazed by the lessons I had to learn from friends either because my family didn't teach them or I refused to learn specific lessons from my family. In Mosiah chapter 4 verses 17 and 18 it says, "Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—but I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God." This makes me think of alcoholics and drug addicts mostly.

Growing up I was shown that it was okay to give a stranger food but not money. This was logical because giving food ensured feeding someone, helping them, but money could allow someone to commit evil, to further their addictions and sins. That is honestly not what this verse teaches. Specifically what stood out to me this weekend was "nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer." It is a double negative. So if you do not give to someone in order to prevent their suffering you are still in the wrong. Even if you assume they are going to use your gift to shoot up you should still give. That is hard for me to accept because I wish no evil on anyone. It is hard because I was never shown how to give so freely without caring about the consequence.

That is one of many reasons I love Claire so much. So was the first person I knew who could give money without any expectation. We were driving out of Safeway one bright, sunny day and a man was asking for money by the bank. We were stopped behind a couple cars. She handed me a few dollars and asked me to give it to the man. I was shocked. This was not something I was raised to do. But I did it for her. We talked about it a bit later. This darling showed me in simplicity how peaceful it is to give without expectation, to not let my right hand know what my left hand is doing.

One day in Sacramento I was filling my car with gas and a young man came up to me asking for anything. I had some coins in my pocket from buying lunch so I gave it to him. No second thought or doubt. A man approached me afterwards and told me what an evil thing I had just done. He informed me that I was damaging that young man in multiple ways by making him dependent on charity and drugs. I had not real response. I just felt like I had done the right thing. I saw the same young man asking for money many times after that and gave what I had to give. It always felt alright.

In reflecting I think my reasons follow as such. I could never be sure what the young man used the money for. He stayed alive for at least the several months I lived near him so some of it must have gone for his sustenance. If he stays alive then time improves his opportunities to change. That means a lot because I can think of plenty of reasons I should have been put down already. Miracles and medicine have enabled me to change and improve myself so I'm worth living. I guess that is one reason I believe there is a God and try to follow Christ. I know someone is watching out for me and wants me to improve. I'm really thankful to that person.

Jerusalem, If I Forget You

Let my right hand forget what its supposed to do.

I'm here. It's real. Everything. All the rumors. I couldn't be happier. At least I assume I could not be happier at this moment with the circumstances I'm limited to at this stage in my life. I could have a kitten to snuggle with tonight and ice cream in a cone. But those are temporal pleasures. Okay, the ice cream is a temporal pleasure.

I've decided I am going to get high grades in all my classes. I want to study. I want to be informed and do research. They give us an enormous amount of time for everything we need to do. Which is nice because all I want to do is play and explore. Just yesterday we found a door that leads underneath the center. It had bullet holes in it.

On Monday of this week I attended a long orientation meeting concerning the final preparations for Jerusalem. I found out that the clothes I had planned on bringing would not be sufficient so that night I went shopping and underspent on every item I thought I needed. I was pleased. I even for pants that fit well. I was greatly pleased. I went to sleep around midnight with the plan to finish packing at two or three am.

On Tuesday at two am I awoke to a great pain in my stomach. On the way the bathroom (because I assumed I was going to throw up) I discovered a sudden urge to go No. 2. Upon arriving at the bathroom I was surprised to find that I stressed myself into having diarrhea. Details will stop there. Not a pleasant way to awake as I did throw up afterwards. Finding myself still in pain I retired back to bed and slept for a couple more hours. I packed from four to seven and left. I met up with Dwight Bellingham, a friend from my mission, and we travelled to the airport together. The flights were great. We played trivia on one flight and I watched movies on the other. The first flight left at 11 am on Tuesday. I arrived in Tel Aviv on Wednesday at 2 pm, or 5 am in Provo.

We had orientations and tours for the next couple days. Delightful. I feel some of my faith in religious classes will be restored. There are 58 girls and 21 guys in the group this semester. We're athletic and beautiful and intelligent. People ask questions in class! Good, thoughtful, earnest questions. I am so happy.

I've been late to two meetings and confronted by security twice as well. I promise I am doing nothing wrong. I'm just adventuring. We were coming home last night and I came in through a door with a group. Well, the door had been propped open by a spoon. Right as I opened it a security came around the corner and asked me what was going on. Of course I was honest, but it was certainly very suspicious.

Today we had church. It was nice. Sacrament on the Sabbath (of the Jews) was interesting. I'll enjoy it really. I finally finished and copied down several poems I wrote many moons ago. I'll post one here tomorrow probably. It's a favorite. I thought of the concept almost a year ago and finally wrote it a month ago (I think). We went to the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden this evening. A big group. Our journey involved several wrong turns and asking directions from a stranger. He suggested we walk down a valley and then climb through a whole in the fence. Well, we never found a fence on the bottom of the valley. We later realized his directions were a shortcut that involved hiking up the side of the valley wall and the fence was up there. I spooked a dog while walking towards an abandoned house in the valley. Neat little structure. It used the natural overhang of the wall for three sides and the roof. We found the Garden of Gethsemane on the way but it had closed shortly before we arrived. In the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden we found a group of Mormon tourists, two young Palestinians smoking hasheesh from a hookah (a very pleasant blend. Sweet but not overpowering), and a Palestinian family having a barbeque. The last group invited us over but I think most everyone felt awkward because they spoke little English and almost no one speaks any Arabic. I was able to wish them a good night though. It felt good. It was obvious that my Egyptian Arabic is much different than Levantine (I'm assuming) Arabic. When we got home we found a group of young boys playing soccer. They asked if we would play with them and a couple guys said yes. I stuck around and we had some good fun. Our field was tiny, about as big as a bedroom. Once we won Ahmed (one of the kids) said "one more, one more." Then after that point he said "one more, one more." And the same after that point. And the same after that point. :) It was a lot of fun. Very fun kids. And honestly, some of the kids here must be some of the most beautiful children I've ever seen. Soft curly locks and gentle smiles adorn handsome faces and fit bodies. I'm really enjoying it here.

Puppy Love Angry Love

Many moons ago I was experiencing some difficulty with a companion and mentioned it to my parents. Well, my mother used it as a chance to write to my companion and explain to him that I am "sometimes difficult to love." I was kinda wondering why she would think that. Kinda harsh for a mom to say that about you... But I agree. Here is why.

Apart from the many forms of love (friendship, competition, beauty/nature, etc) I feel there are two kinds of intimate, romantic love. Puppy love and something higher that I have not yet decided how to define exactly yet so it will be angry love for now.

Puppy love is how I feel about puppies. Puppies are so cute and innocent that I just love having them around. I would enjoy having puppies around me pretty much all the time. They make me smile. Always. I have no evidence of an exception. I am gentle with puppies because I want them to like me back. There is just something about puppies that calms me down and makes me want to play. I see most relationships being here. This type of love is necessary in a relationship and I think most true loves start with this kind. Its innocence and pleasure is what makes us love love. This love expresses itself in sweet nothings, pranks, cuddles/wrestles, flowers "just because," making dinner together, long walks where nothing is said, and catching a duck for your girlfriend (my roommate actually did this for his fiancee before they were engaged).

Angry love requires some more depth. I do not see it as any better, more natural, or longer lasting. It is simply different and used differently. Puppy love I think is limited in its emotional variety. Puppy love is happy and excited. I cannot get mad at a puppy. I can be frustrated at a puppy, but it does not last long. If it makes a mess I clean it up and am happy again. Angry love can experience the full realm of emotions. It often grows as a result of time of presence. The more time we spend around someone the more comfortable we become. We are better able to communicate with and understand that person. So we let them see more and more of our emotions: tears, fears, and anger. Eventually we should reach a point that we could be angry with someone and not leave, because we still love them. Our emotions are simply expressed in a less favorable way. We still feel very strongly for them. This is a wonderful place to be because it means two people can argue without fear of offending the other. This allows them to build each other up, teach each other, and grow together.

I think one of the reasons I am so "difficult to love" sometimes is that it is very hard to hate me. I am akin to puppies: gentle, cute, and playful. Yes, I will make messes and mistakes, but it is really hard to get angry at me about them. I do disappoint and give people every reason to genuinely get angry at or hate me. But the next time I will see you I treat it as if nothing bad ever happened. I am genuinely sorry for my mistakes and want you to teach me how to be better. Unfortunately, this has not given many people the chance to see if they could be angry with me and has not solidified my relationship with those individuals to include both kinds of romantic (or flirty or friendship) loves.

But, for those individuals who have taken the time to try to hate me (who have simply stuck around long enough for me to seriously disappoint or harm them), I feel extremely loved and like my relationship with them is beautiful for it. We are gemstones within the ground. If you do not like the rain of sadness or life's buffings how do you expect to be cleansed and shined? Relationships are the same.

Rules

Stake conference this weekend was magnificent. A real treat. Stories were uncovered at great personal expense to reveal the lightness that comes from peace and hope. This future was connected to the Gospel of Christ time and time again, without need of coercion or force. Out of it all I received a poem and a law.

The poem is one I've wanted to write for over a year now.  The last two lines are not what I want though, so I'll post it someday later.

The law was...well...plagiarized.
We have the famed Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. (A great way to live and learn. It helps you put yourself in others' shoes)
The lesser law is the Silver Rule: do unto others as others do unto you. (At least you come out even)
The Copper Rule: do unto others as you feel they deserve. (You do not want to be the judge of what someone deserves. You do not want that responsibility. It will break you)
And the Platinum Rule (which is really what started everything else): do unto others as you want God to do unto you.

Compliments

I have never been very good at accepting praise.  It really bothers my parents.  I imagine it might bother the Lord too.  I do not recognize my part in great things because I see myself as replaceable.  Anyone else could do what I do and probably much better.  But occasionally I receive a compliment so heartfelt, undeserving, and spontaneous, a compliment relying upon no situation or stimulus but only a pure desire for some to appreciate me, that I am floored.

A few months ago, I was talking with my roommate and he just exclaimed that he appreciated how much I enjoy life.  He went on to explain how he loved that even if I do not understand a topic I am willing to talk about it.  And more than talk about, I am excited to talk about it.  He expressed that he feels if I understand a subject then I am excited to discuss it and if I do not know much or anything about a subject then I seem pleased to be taught.  He thanked me for asking good questions and showing interest in him.  I had never thought of myself that way.

Today, a lovely young lady (who is engaged to a different roommate) told me that she had always wanted to go on a date with me.  This was immediately after I had asked her to attend a show with me (at which her fiancee is working).  I smiled.  Inside too.

A companion from my mission told me that he loves seeing me on campus because it always makes him smile.  It was just a random message on facebook with no obvious reason.

A girl I dance with expressing thanks for having me as a partner this semester.

A long-lost friend posting a message on my blog.

A note on my door from a friend in my ward saying thanks.

Nothing big.  Nothing fancy.  Just true gratitude for me.  It is strangely humbling.
What is the greatest compliment you have received?  Who will you thank next?

Flashmobs and a Hipster Defense

Friends, it has been far too long.

For the first time in my life I find myself in defense of hipster ideology.  I just heard about a "flash mob" performed at the BYU vs Gonzaga game.  A video of the event is below.  It was a great idea.  It was executed well.  It was entertaining.  It was not a flash mob.

A flash mob is an organized group performing a sudden and seemingly unplanned event that takes non-participants by surprise and then disappears just as suddenly.  This was an organized group.  They performed together.  They entertained others.  But the dance was no secret to those not participating; it has been widely advertised.  Also, the true magic to a flash mob is that no one outside the mob can identify the leader.  And participants are little more than strangers.  Random people come together, do something in united chaos, and leave.

This noble and beautiful event was a spirit section.  Those involved in the dance did exactly what cheerleaders try to get the spectators to do every game.  They jumped and hollered and had a great time.  They pumped up the players and showed their support for their team.  It was marvelous.  They did a fantastic job.

Labeling something a flash mob has now become a fad.  Flash mobs are cool so everyone has to do one (why I feel in defense of hipsters.  I finally found something that lost a bit of its "coolness" by becoming too mainstream...).  There is no shame in proper names!  Reserve flash mobs for flash mobs.  Call a spirit section a spirit section or student body section or awesome people who planned out a really neat dance to show their support for the team.  Don't reuse words to provide an unnecessary connotation.  Otherwise you'll start sounding like a maverick.

BYU vs Gonzaga Spirit Section