Something I've Noticed

Acceptance came slowly.
Hard won, all teeth and nails.
With deep, shaking breaths that couldn't
catch enough air
          to fill the vacuum inside...

Acceptance started on the closet floor, in a pile.
Shifted in the ether--
Suddenly sometimes a monolith
that stood hard against my doubt
         only to vanish with unbidden memories...

Acceptance is capricious.
Like a cheap justification
Uttered thoughtlessly on a midnight drive;
Half-remembered half-truths
          lost amid the hedging...

Acceptance is here,
But wavers still sometimes.
In that moment between dreams
It must will itself to life
          like so many other resolutions.

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Why You Should Murder Your Friends and Family...

...with Kindness.

Don’t you feel a little bit cheated? A little bit disappointed? A little bit betrayed? Well you should. I just got you to click on this link by posting a provocative title. Now it’s time for a little introspection. How often does this happen to you? You are bored, mindlessly surfing social media when you read a title similar to my own. Your brain is only half-engaged and you actually think for a second: could this be real? Is someone actually advocating that I commit murder? And not just murder, but that I murder my friends and family and my dog?

You can admit it here. This is a safe place. You’ve actually followed this train of thought at least once. You clicked only to find that... surprise surprise... some hack that calls himself a blogger is actually proposing that you do something completely different than what he or she suggested. This is called Click-bait. A title like this lures you into a blog. This little method suggests that the content isn’t original enough to produce pageviews on its own, so the title must make up for the lack of substance in the forthcoming post. It is usually closely followed by Click-hubris, the feeling a reader gets that it is too late to turn back, so they must finish reading a post that they hate.

 If you are a blogger, I beg you, if you find yourself trying on a title that advocates the exact opposite of what you believe, just delete the post. Or revise it until the content provides its own title. The following is a list of such blog titles:
• Why your Mother is going to hell
• Why you should ignore Jesus
• 25 ways to get away with rape
• You need to euthanize your pets
• Divorce is always good thing
• Your kids deserve to be abandoned
• Why Hitler should be your role model
• Top 5 reasons to make fun of the handicapped

You get the picture. No doubt all of these would be followed by some “clever” reversal that actually uses words with black-and-white definitions out of context or attaches some arbitrary temporary meaning. You cannot “murder” your friends with kindness any more than you can kill someone until they are alive. Or rape someone until they are happy. That isn’t what those words mean. Using these words with your own meaning attached, no matter how benign it may seem is simply deceitful. Only frauds do it. It is a dishonest and lazy way to attract visitors. Yet the problem isn’t in the hyperbole. Heck, I once called Bath & Body Works a rhino-nuclear explosion. The problem is that titles like these are bad hyperbole. Unnecessary and tasteless.

Another cardinal sin of blogging is to write a generic post about a virtue that is universally known to be good and call it good. If both Click-bait titles and blogs about generic virtues were on a truth spectrum, they wouldn’t be on opposite ends. Both fall onto the dishonest side. Why? Isn’t a post about why thankfulness is good truthful? It is, but the effect both posts produce on readers is the same. The feeling produced is that of being cheated. If you click on a post about thankfulness, the reader’s assumption is that this person is a professional blogger and since a friend that I trust posted the link, there must be something worth reading here. When you do begin reading, you will probably find a disappointing pile of trite platitudes paraphrasing what a thousand other pseudo-intellectuals have already said a thousand different ways. It is about as educational as reading about why some husband is going to be killing his wife with kindness. It isn’t worth a reader’s time to read about why a spade is a spade. Self-evident truths are just that. We don’t need someone to point them out.

Bloggers like this don’t even bother to come up with an original way of saying the same thing. They are insulting your intellect by assuming that they can vomit up clichés and call them new. If the topic isn’t original, then at least the delivery must be. I get that there are a limited number of subjects. The problem doesn’t arise in the repetition. I mean, just look at the Heroic Monomyth. The problem arises in the delivery. You can’t write a blog post about how some virtue is good, or some vice is bad and expect applause. Don’t insult readers by insinuating that they don’t know that beating up random strangers is bad. You aren’t Ghandi, the Buddha, or the Pope. Simply owning a blog doesn’t mean we should listen. A delivery system does not imply authority. If so, mail men would be experts on ethical behavior. Actually they might be. I don’t know. And that is the point. I’m just some guy.

Bloggers shouldn’t be able to get away with this crap, and yet they do. So I’d like to start holding Bloggers accountable. Even me. If you feel cheated, tell me in the comments. Overcome your Click-hubris and tell even professional bloggers that they tricked you into believing they had something original to say, or say in an interesting way.

I made sure to not include the names to any one specific blogger in this post just in case any of you are avid fans. But I’m looking at you Greg Trimble. Naming any specific blogger might alienate my already small following. So I won’t do it. And I’m looking at you Matt Walsh. I would hate to cause any waves. So I’ll just stop while I’m ahead. Jarrid Wilson.

[Keep Following. My next post is all about the virtues of beating your wife!]

There Is No Objective Proof That Your Dad Is The Best

Confession: I tried all day to think of poetic analogies and witty chunks of phrasing to encompass a post for my dad on Father's day. I tried to think of subtle reversals and pondered my deep poignant feelings regarding such an important subject. But nothing came. No bolts from the blue. No muse alighted upon my shoulder. So instead of sublime, I went with sincere.

Parentage, like most things in life, is a happy coincidence. We are born under a particular set of circumstances and have little say in the matter. Despite this obvious truth, it is easy to develop a sense of entitlement to what we were dealt by the shadowy hand of chance. For some reason this is especially apparent to me on Father's Day. I could have been born to a single-mother household just as easily as not. What I am trying to say is that I don't deserve my family. Especially my dad. But I'm not grateful because of chance. To me that feels a little like being grateful for the momentary surprise one feels when finding a dollar on the street.

Fathers are also pretty common. Most people have one. But not everyone has a Dad. Still, there are lots of Dads and Fathers out there fathering away. It's not that special. That's not why I'm grateful for my dad.

Like many other Dads, mine happened to be around when I was growing up. He made sure to try his best to provide for me. He worked at a job. He did what was generally expected of him. But that's also not why I'm grateful. I'm not grateful for his job. Although it is a little more rare for Fathers to be around than it used to be, I'm not grateful for his mere presence.

I am grateful for who he is. Despite the tragic circumstances of his youth, he has fashioned a life worthy of note. He is successful not only at his job, but as a father and now grandfather. I am grateful because he is kind. I am grateful because every time he lost his temper, he apologized. I am grateful because he inspires me to be better. I am grateful because he reigned in a lazy teenager and taught me to work when I didn't want to. I'm grateful because he taught me (and is still teaching me) to dream big and follow my bliss. I am grateful because he has taught me to walk the harder path because it is right. I'm grateful for my father because he is a paragon of honesty, a trait that I want desperately to emulate.

If I grow up to be like him, I can die a happy man. I love you, Dad.

PS - My dad can beat up your dad.

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My Momma Angel

I want to tell you a story. It's a story I don't quite remember but it's true nonetheless. In December of 1986 a little baby cried in the middle of the night. The reason didn't matter. He was sick or hungry or dirty or maybe just scared and lonely. But he didn't cry for very long because his mother soon scooped him up and comforted him. I don't know if he was grateful then, I don't know if babies can be grateful. But soon he fell back to sleep. The boy is grateful now. The boy is me. I'd like to thank my mom for all of her acts that went un-thanked.

I love this video. But not because it contains some over-glamorized version of motherhood that modern depictions seem to emphasize. It doesn't gloss over the messy details. Motherhood is dirty and sticky and messy and next to impossible. It's an unpleasant job (when it is even considered a job). In fact, it is often demeaned in our society. Motherhood is sometimes viewed as the antithesis of intelligence and drive. It's been slandered by many as "oppressive" and "demeaning." But I can't help but wonder if motherhood's critics would be willing to say those things to their own mother's faces.

I for one would like to lend my voice in support of mothers on this day we've set aside for doing just that. My momma is an angel. How can one place a value on her life? I can't count the hours she spent cleaning me. There is no way to account for the number of meals she cooked. There is no reckoning the numbers of baby wipes used. Who can quantify the hours and days and years she has spent worrying about my well-being?  How can paltry words suffice to honor the one who gave me life?

Yet I have only this to give: There was a dark night several years ago when I realized the door had been closed on my future family. It was the night I realized that the children I thought I might have were no longer a possibility. I was suffocating in the dark. When I was lost in despair I had only one thought: CALL MOM. And so I called her, and despite it being the middle of the night she answered my call once again. I don't even remember what she said. Maybe it doesn't matter. But what does matter is that she came again to her crying boy's rescue. She wiped my tears and calmed my troubled heart. She fought off the closing despair. Soon I was calm enough to sleep.

All I know is that there is something primal about calling for mom. Instinctually we know somehow that our mothers can help when nothing else can--be it on a muddy battlefield or in a crib. We know it from the moment we are born until the moment we die.

I haven't always been the best son. Never the most respectful or honest. I haven't always been grateful. But I'm grateful now. I will always be your baby boy. I love you. Yes, I will love you until I die.

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That Great And Last Sacrifice

            My late grandmother had a house that overlooked the Spokane River in the state of Washington. As later became tradition, my family was visiting her at this property over Thanksgiving. Our family would join together from all over to be present for the large turkey dinner. And we always brought our black, little miniature schnauzer, Schnapps, with us. He loved the holidays because he would often be fed little pieces of human food under the table.

            As fate would have it, one night we let our beloved dog out into the backyard do his business before bedtime, and he got into a bit of a pickle. Grandma’s “backyard” was actually just a very steep un-landscaped hill that led directly down to the river bank. On this particular night I guess a spirit of adventurousness overtook our little schnauzer; either that or he got a bit carried away as he sniffed his way down the hill. When dusk would descend over my grandmothers river house, her backyard was bathed in darkness save for a solitary light that was positioned next to the patio sliding door. Safe to say, that light didn’t illuminate much but that which it did illuminate was easily visible. To make matters worse, towards the end of his life Schnapps’ vision was fairly poor due to his struggle with diabetes. So we were usually sure to keep a watchful eye on him. As my father and I stood together in the cool night air, we drank in our surroundings. The ever-present sound of the rushing water below, the sound the breeze makes as it caresses the tops of the towering pines, the earthy smell of cut grass, and then suddenly, we heard the low growl of a tiny, half-blind pooch. A quick scan of the swath of illuminated porch and grass revealed that our dog had ventured too far. Immediately we began to call, “Schnapps! Come!” It was one of the only voice commands that he would recognize. Over and over, and more frantically we called, “Schnapps! Come!” only to hear the low growls again, followed by some shrill barks, and then a yelp. Helplessly, we listened to the ensuing frantic noises of our small pet.

What could we do? We were truly helpless. We knew that if we ventured down the steep hill after him we would almost surely be injured. Again we called for him, over and over. And then we saw a little black form come sidling into the edge of the light. Relieved as we were to see him, we were puzzled as to what had actually happened in the darkness. And then we smelled it—that sweet, rotten stench, the only smell equally recognizable and horrible to every creature on the earth. The only smell that makes child and adult alike cringe in horror, it was the infamous scent of skunk spray. My father and I shot each other a quick glance before we said in chorus, “Oh no Schnapps… did you find a bad kitty?”

What I saw next will be burned into my memory for as long as I live. Our poor little dog came crawling to us, his tail between his legs with a look of shame on his face more wretched than I have ever seen on a human. This sight alone would be enough to move even the hardest, toughest men on the earth to compassion. Out of concern for the good smell of my grandmother’s house I stayed outside with our sorry excuse for an animal, holding him at arm’s length as my father closed the sliding door and ventured inside for a plastic tub and all the tomato juice he could find.

The Atonement of Jesus Christ is the most puzzling and powerful thing on the planet. You could study the Atonement all your life and never reach the bottom of the doctrine and words written about it. I hope that these words will help in some small way to foster growth in testimony. As I read about the Atonement or watch depictions of it in movies I often wonder, “Was all this really necessary? Why did He do it this way?” I think we cannot but help to ask those questions if we really think about what He went through: the Jewish temple guards blindfolded him, punched him in the face and demanded him to prophesy; they accused him falsely and released a murderer back into their midst instead of Him; they mocked Him, caned him until the welts bled, and then ripped open His skin with barbed whips; later, even as His blood pooled on the ground beneath Him, they cried for Him to be crucified; and they even crowned him with razor sharp thorns and made Him carry the instrument of His torture before they nailed Him to it—once in the hands, once in the feet, and once in the wrists. The horror of his death and crucifixion is often lost on us.

But through it all, God was with His son. And it wasn’t until even God the Father departed that Jesus cried out, despairing, Mark 15:34 “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Here is the Son of God, the one who just hours before was forgiving the men as they nailed Him to the cross, saying “they know not what they do” (Luke. 23: 24). Here was a Man with the capacity to forgive His own murderers and say “Father, they don’t know… they don’t know…” now crying out asking why His father would leave Him in His hour of need.

My own interpretation is that Jesus was sincerely asking this question of His father. It is the only time I can find where Jesus asks a question in this process. He went as a sheep to the slaughter, peacefully, without a word of protest. He seemed to understand the need for all the pain up to this point: the pain of the Garden, and the scourging, and the crucifixion that later was coupled with all the former pain from the Garden as well as He hung on the cross. But it is not until God withdraws that even Jesus asks “Why?”

There are times in all of our lives when we ask that question. It comes in various forms: “Why?”

“Why me?”

“Why now?”

“Why this way?”

"Why?" is not a new question. People have asked it for centuries. We all feel like victims at one point or another. Agency has the power to throw wrenches in all of our best-laid plans. At times we are subject to the sins and shortcomings of others. And at those times the question: “Why?” just begs to be asked.

At other times, our own sins harrow us up into the recognition of our own guilt. Even in self-inflicted pain we may wrongly project it onto God and ask the same question. It is my belief that that question stems out of a misconception of why we are here on the earth. So I’ll tell you why we are here. Ready?  “[God] has deliberately placed us in a sphere where our most sharply focused purpose is to learn from our experience” (The Broken Heart, 131). This experience here on the earth includes pain, suffering, and injustice. We are here to sin, make mistakes, and be humbled. In other words, we are here on the earth to have our hearts broken. Literally broken. None will be exempted from this process. It is hard to accept, but it is why we are here. 

But lest that depress you, there is a purpose behind all this suffering. Even when we are depressed and it seems the harder we try, the harder we fall, there is a purpose to it. And knowing this purpose can change how you feel. Bruce C. Hafen described these moments like this: “It is natural to assume that when we don’t appear to be doing ‘excellently’ the perfection process is not working. But the exact opposite may be true. Our moments of greatest stress and difficulty are often the times when the refiner’s fire is doing its most purifying work” (106). We need to come to view our trials as a necessary part of life. Life is not a string of moments of joy and then all the times in between when we are frantically trying to avoid pain. The true purpose of life is to experience both.

Life is a cycle of pain and joy. And if we understand why life is like this, then when we make mistakes and feel guilty we won’t be discouraged. We can even be encouraged. Again I quote Bruce C. Hafen: “The pain of a wounded conscience comes to us not just to cause suffering. It is an invitation to respond in a way that will ultimately lead to joy” (91). The proper way to respond that Elder Hafen is talking about is having a contrite spirit—the other half of Jesus’ invitation that reads: 3 Ne. 9:20 “And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit. And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost.”

So how exactly do we get a broken heart and a contrite spirit? I know that all of us will experience pain and joy in this life. But it requires a conscious choice on our part to make that pain count for something. After all, we know it is possible to have a broken heart in the wrong way. Mormon observes this of the wicked Nephites Mormon 2: 10-14:

10 And it came to pass that the Nephites began to repent of their iniquity, and began to cry even as had been prophesied by Samuel the prophet;  . . . 11 Thus there began to be a mourning and a lamentation in all the land because of these things, and more especially among the people of Nephi. 12 And it came to pass that when I, Mormon, saw their lamentation and their mourning and their sorrow before the Lord, my heart did begin to rejoice within me, knowing the mercies and the long-suffering of the Lord, therefore supposing that he would be merciful unto them that they would again become a righteous people. 13 But behold this my joy was vain, for their sorrowing was not unto repentance, because of the goodness of God; but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin. 14 And they did not come unto Jesus with broken hearts and contrite spirits, but they did curse God, and wish to die.

From this scripture we learn that it is possible for us to have wrong motivations behind our broken hearts. I would like to make a differentiation here: There is a difference between having a broken heart unto yourself, and having a broken heart unto God. When our heart breaks unto God, we come to him as little children. We trust in Him completely. It is a response that will “lead [us] to joy” as Elder Hafen put it. Having a broken heart unto God means that we are willing to “give up all [our] sins to know Him.” We have decided to no longer trust in ourselves and in earthly ways of solving problems. Having a broken heart unto God means falling upon your knees because you have nowhere else to go. It means that you are stripped of pride and fear and just want to be made clean and whole again.

And it requires the second step, that of having a contrite spirit. True repentance involves both steps. We cannot be like the wicked Nephites in that we just feel bad because we can’t sin anymore; we can’t have broken hearts but curse God at the same time. Having a contrite spirit means that you are willing to do whatever it takes to become clean. It is followed by brutal honesty and a confession to those we have harmed or to our bishop if necessary. Being contrite means being sincerely humble and feeling true remorse.

In short, to me, having a broken heart and a contrite spirit means acting just like my little dog. When we saw our dog’s broken heart we wasted no time in preparing to make Him clean again. As he stood in a plastic tub covered in red, surrounded by those he loved, he didn’t understand exactly what we were doing, but he came to us expecting to be made normal again. The simple faith of our dog still amazes me. He knew that we could somehow help him. That is why he came back into the light. He knew we would forgive him for disobeying us and not heeding our calls. Often we have less faith than our little Schnauzer, we think, for whatever reason that we are beyond redemption. In our vain pride, we somehow think we have a greater capacity to sin than God does to forgive and heal us. We ignore His never-ending calls to come unto him. Sometimes we imagine that we can be beyond the power of the atonement. We think we can mess up worse than God can fix. So instead of coming back to the Savior that loves us, we stay in the darkness. We wallow in our sins, we live in the darkness, and we curse God for not forgiving us.

Do not doubt the power of the Atonement. Do not limit Christ’s power. Do not try to put boundaries around the God of redemption. It is my testimony that no soul is too far lost. No burden of sin too great. No child unloved or unworthy. Jesus loved you enough to suffer for your sins and die for you. How much do you love Him in return? I promise you that if you repent and have faith enough in Him to believe you can be forgiven, you can be made perfectly clean again. Only tomato juice could make our dog normal again. Only the blood of Christ can wash the natural consequences of sin away.

There is a wise purpose behind our suffering, just as there was a purpose behind God leaving His Son in His most desperate hour of need. God withdrew in that moment so that His Son would know exactly what it feels like to be one of us. Jesus knows what it is like to feel the guilt caused by the absence of the Spirit we feel when we do something wrong. Glory be to God for knowing why the act of withdrawing was necessary, for there have been many times in my life when I have been comforted by a Savior who knows what it is like to feel alone. So when you experience pain or suffering in this life, whether it be your own fault or someone else’s, know that God will comfort you through His son Jesus Christ.   

In closing, I’d like to share one last story. Some of you may remember when President Gordon B. Hinckley told “something of a parable” about “a one room school house in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.”

“One day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with 10 rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, ‘What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’

“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response.

“A day or so later … the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.

“As Little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. ‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’

“The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, Big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy’s licking.

“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’ the teacher asked.

“After five strokes across Tom’s back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. ‘Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. ‘Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!’” 

President Hinckley then quoted Isaiah 53: 4, 5 “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. … He was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”

All of us will feel like that half-starved boy at some point in our lives. Our crippled little bodies will be exposed to punishment and we may sometimes try to explain to others that we acted in such and such a way because we were hungry, or tired, or stressed. But when we come to the end of our lives, we will no longer have any excuses, and when we see how Jesus took our punishment, our excuses will give way to proclamations of love. If only we have faith in Christ like that of a little child, or a miniature Schnauzer, God will heal us and comfort us. I know that He lives and that He knows who we are. I know He cares about our little sorrows and our big ones. And He can heal us and take away our burdens. And for this I will love Him until I die. 

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The Importance Of Being Earnest

I've been a little hesitant to post something like this because I was afraid. But I've been learning lately the importance of doing things that scare you, or things you don't want to do, precisely because they are hard. If you don't want to do something productive or positive it can be an indicator that you need to do that thing. So excuse me if I wax personal, I guess I'm supposed to.

The other day I was reminded of a peculiar gift I received from my trials two years ago--how quickly the time has fled. The gift has been one of earnestness and authenticity. I can never again pretend to be "normal" whatever that means. It's actually impossible. Life made sure of it. I now have a label that I can never forget nor remove. I'm divorced. No amount of therapy or repentance or life coaching can change that label. But I'm fine with it. Let's examine the word. One definition is "a separation between things that were connected." Besides the obvious meaning, there are others. I'll get to that later.

Most people are actually very gracious when I tell them about my label. If anything they just don't know how to react. There are a few who I'm sure assume wrongdoing and stigmatize me and others in their mind. But it helps to remember that no one wants to be divorced. The attitude that I have adopted is that if people I meet want to stigmatize me then I guess I wasn't supposed to be associated with them anyway. If they would like to put themselves in a separate category and try to assign some sort of superiority to who they are, then let them.

I'd rather be down here with the bruised and the broken, with those who've loved and lost, with those who dared at one point to try, with those acquainted with failure, with those who have befriended despair and made disappointment their ally, with those who had the audacity to dream though it all came crumbling down somehow. The people here with me love much because they have been loved. The people I know here can forgive because they've been forgiven. People who know what I know can recognize light because they know its absence too well.

Call us what you will, except weak. Never that. We are strong because we have been broken. We persist precisely because we can. We hope and we love and we will fight because we know that God is real. We have come to know a greater measure of His son's suffering. We have felt a little of His anguish, a little of His emotional terror. We are acquainted with His grief because we have felt it and caused a little of it ourselves.

But more importantly we would die before we cause anyone else to feel what we have felt or go through what we have. We will tenaciously hang on because He did, never give up because He never did. We are filled with the quiet resolve and confidence of knowing that God is awake and with us through the fourth watch of the night. He is alive in the quiet confines of the heart. We are earnest and authentic because it is the right way to live; anything else would be petty superficiality. Lord knows there is enough of that in the world already. Take it from us, we know because we used to be that way too.

Those that judge and label may remain on their high horse. I'd rather be down here with those who can stand on their own feet and admit it when they are dirty and muddy from the long desperate roads they have traveled. And this is the second meaning of divorced: Separated from the dross, the pretense, the masks of perfection, and from all that was fake about ourselves. We are earnest now. More authentic to who we are. I am divorced from who I was before and I can't be anything else.

 
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Gray Days

Today was a gray day. A day even Bob Ross could not paint for want of color. There was no thrashing downpour to give the day uncompromising expression. There were only wan clouds. There was no wind gusting from far-off countries to carry exotic aromas. There were no swirls of flakes to at least chill the air and give lonely men something to complain about. The suns incandescent rays swore themselves from the parched, yellow grass. There was no golden light to illuminate girls' flyaways like gleaming halos. All sound was muted somehow, like the land was holding its breath, biding its time for something to happen. But nothing did.

Because of that tempered silence, rapture took measured breaths. The clouds were august in their austerity. They draped themselves like a heavy-stitched quilt over couch cushions and kitchen chairs. And the people huddled underneath them like refugees—their own breath creating stifling humidity. Not even the slow-returning birds could muster melody. Although the pallid, naked branches were starting to bloom, their efforts made the scene look like a funerary pall rather than spring sprouting.

Today reminded me of a story from Elder Boyd K. Packer. A missionary came to him and admitted feeling discouraged and a little depressed. He said of the event, “Unless there was an unusual reason for these feelings, my answer was ‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. At least now we know that you’re normal. Enjoy the feeling—it probably won’t last. And the first sunny day will do wonders for it.’ It helps a great deal if we realize that there is a certain healthy element in getting the blues occasionally. It is quite in order to schedule a good, discouraging, depressing day every now and again just for contrast."

Today was that day.

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There Were Giants

So I went and saw Noah the other day. There were some things that I didn't like and other things that I absolutely loved. Overall I gave it about a 6/10. As soon as it was over, some dude stood up in the front of the theater and yelled "BLASPHEMY!" So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised today when I saw that a bunch of people on Facebook were saying it was "horrible" and that it was "the worst movie ever made" and that it "didn't follow the bible at all." So I went back and read the Noah story in the King James Version to see if that claim was true. I ended up laughing hysterically because either people don't read the Bible or they don't understand it--glossing over the parts they don't like.

Now whether or not a person will like this movie, like any other movie, is a matter of expectation. If you went into this movie looking for an exact retelling of the biblical story you might be disappointed. (Which is funny because the movie would probably be 45 minutes long if this were the case.) If you went in knowing that an atheist directed it and that he needed two hours worth of story you will probably like it. Expectations are key when walking into a movie. I have seen all of the Fast and Furious movies and I love them because I go in expecting to see ridiculous, over-the-top action, fast cars, and hammy acting performances. I don't walk in expecting to see Oscar-caliber performances and Shakespearean drama. So if you haven't seen Noah yet, change your expectations and you might also like it.

That said, I do take issue with people (especially Mormons) saying that the film "doesn't follow the bible at all." Yes it does. Noah gets instruction from God, builds an Ark, survives the flood, saves the animals, and repopulates the earth. It follows the Bible story. The things that were added or expanded upon was how exactly all that took place. Which the Bible isn't very clear on either. So I guess what people mean to say is that the movie doesn't follow the traditional understanding or interpretation of how it all took place.

It is pretty ironic that Mormons would take issue with a film "not following the Bible" since we are far from Bible literalists ourselves. Our own articles of Faith state that "We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly." In my time at BYU, I took Professor Steven Walker's Bible as Literature class twice. A common practice in that class was to bring in multiple translations of the Bible to bring different flavors and interpretations into our understandings of the stories. The movie Noah did exactly this for me, except in a visual medium. There were some parts of the movie that illuminated the story for me in ways that I had never considered. In ways that, perhaps, only an atheist's interpretation of the story could accomplish. Does the film have worth as an exact, word-for-word retelling? No. Does it have worth as simply a different interpretation? Yes.

WARNING: Spoilers ahead.
Let's put this to bed right now, Genesis 6:4 says: "There were giants in the earth in those days." That part is pretty clear. Could it be that those giants really helped Noah? The Bible doesn't say that they did, but it also never says they didn't. It certainly would have made Noah's job easier if they had. End of argument. Once again, the film follows the Bible, just not how most of us have chosen to interpret it. Is it traditional? No. Is it possible? Yes.

Another example is Noah's vision. I love his vision in the movie. I love how Aronofsky chose to present it to Noah. This follows how I understand that God communicates with us. His vision is a series of images that Noah needs to find the meaning of. I love Methuselah's line where he says, "You must trust that He speaks to you in a way that you can understand." I love the choice that the film makes to make it seem like Noah really did have to have more faith in what he was doing than we traditionally give him credit for.

The traditional belief is that Noah got the vision in exact instruction form, down the the very dimensions of the vessel he was supposed to build. And that he never questioned how loony it must have looked for him to do what he did. In the film, Noah must interpret God's commands (kind of like us? maybe?) and have faith that he is doing what is right. This is Noah's modus operandi through the rest of the film. It then makes sense that if Noah believed that God's intent was to destroy mankind, that also included him and his family (just not by drowning in the flood.) This also fits with the Bible. In Genesis 6:6, it states: "And it repented the Lord that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart." It also then makes sense that Noah would be willing to kill his granddaughters in an Abrahamic kinda sorta way in order to fulfill God's commandments. In the Biblical account, God does not specifically tell Noah that he should continue to multiply and replenish the earth until after the waters have receded. We see the whole story, not one step at a time as Noah would have experienced it. In this light, Noah's actions, although extreme, are perfectly logical. This also explains why he later falls into a guilt-fueled drunken stupor because he feels so bad for not following through with how he interpreted God's commands. Again: Biblical? Maybe.

I love how the movie humanized Noah. I loved the part where Noah and his family are huddled in the Ark listening to the tortured screams of the drowning masses around them. Noah is visibly shaken and his children feel so bad that they want to help those around them, but Noah sticks to his guns and follows God's commands with exactness. This scene was something I had never thought of before when reading the Biblical account. It must have been an awful, traumatizing experience to be on that Ark knowing that the only things still alive on the entire earth were what you could see. This was an illuminating and perceptive insight into the story.

Glenn Beck (sigh) even chimed in on the movie and called the film (in his typical sensationalist, exaggerated, I'm-trying-to-get-listeners way) the "Babylonian Chainsaw Massacre." In this he only demonstrates his hypocrisy. Mormons should love this movie, or at least find it entertaining and somewhat enlightening. We do not hold a exactly-as-is interpretation of the Bible and this movie embodies this concept, even if it did get some things wrong. Again, it is laughable to decry this movie's approach to the Bible because we also take a similar approach. If you didn't like the acting, or some of the logical fallacies, then I can relate, but don't say it's not Biblical.

And if I were to get really controversial I would say that we believe that Genesis was dictated by Moses anyway. So at best, to us, Genesis is a list of bullet points that communicate the history and story of Noah. In this way, the film is perfectly accurate in terms of its major plot. My biggest complaint about the movie wasn't the plot. It was that it didn't know what it wanted to be. It was a kind of allegory, kind of fantasy, kind of retelling, kind of historical movie. It would have worked better if Aronofsky had simply chosen a theme and stuck with it the whole time. Anyway, this post is way too long. Just go see it already.

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A Girl's Guide To Tinder (Tips & Tricks)

Let's be honest. You're on Tinder™. If you aren't actively using Tinder™, you know someone who has tried it. Chances are, by the time you are done reading this blog post, ten people have died while using Tinder. My name is DJ, and I'm addicted to Tinder.

Just in case you have been living in North Korea for the last year or two, Tinder is a social dating app that uses your geographic location to match you with other Tinder users (hereafter known as Tinds). But you aren't matched using any sort of "Personality Profile" or "Dot-matrix Love Algorithm" or even similar interests, eg. Farmer's Only, or Black People Meet.

No. Tinder is a different animal. The only "matching criterion" used is location. So, this means that you sign up, write a very short blurb, and choose some selfies out of your selfie library. And then you will start seeing selfie after selfie of the opposite sex. (Or not, I get an astonishing number of dudes that have "mislabeled" themselves as girls. Or they did it on purpose. Which, hey, I totally get because gender is a fluid concept now. No judgement.) But either way, when you see a person's selfie you can either swipe left if you don't think they are attractive, or swipe right if you do. Or you can tap on their selfie to read their blurb and see a couple of different selfies. And if that other random Tind happens to also swipe right on your selfie, you are officially MATCHED. Which, I was about to say sounds like a Young Adult Paranormal Romance Novel, and then I looked it up and it totally is.

The nice thing about this is that you know that the other person thinks you are attractive so it is really easy to talk to them. Wrong. No one ever communicates afterward. Which is telling, because you'd think that once the superficial barrier has been overcome, it would be easier to be yourself and talk to someone. But not so. I think Tinder must be leading to many existential crises when Tinds are faced with the mirror of their own crappy personalities. Some people may have become so accustomed to their good looks filling in all the initial blanks when dealing with the opposite sex, that when it comes down to it, they realize the only thing they have left to offer is idle chit chat about the weather, and the latest episode of the Kardashians.

Now before you get all indignant and say, "BUT DJ THAT IS SO LIEK SUPERFICIAL OMG!!!!!1! I WANT PEOPLE TO GET 2 NO ME B4 THEY JUDGE MY LOOKS!" And in response, let me tell you that Tinder is honest. It is probably the first dating service, or app, that isn't wrapped in a ball of pretension and lies. Oh, eHarmony might try to sell you on some magic formula that they have figured out to marry you off to your soul-mate in 10 minutes, or Jdate may try to lure you in with all it's rabbinic promises of geschnitten schmekels, but at the end of the day, you aren't going to date anyone you aren't attracted to. And if you do use one of these miracle services, you might even end up with a fertummelte shlimazl. No amount of chemistry can overcome the brick wall of repulsion. Plain and simple. There is very little pretense with Tinder. I've used that word... there is no... deceptive veneer of "compatibility factor."

Tinder is awkward. It's infuriating. It's hilarious. Sometimes it's sad. And it is always a blast. Everyone starts using Tinder as a joke, but everyone is half serious. You can tell by the fact that every other profile here in Utah Valley says that they are doing this "as a joke" in their About Me section. Which brings me to the focus of this blog post.

Here are some tips for the ladies on using Tinder:

TEXT TIPS
1. Don't put "I'm doing this as a joke! :):):):):):)" in your About Me section. It's not funny, it's not a joke, and... no you're not. You're vain and shallow like the rest of us and you are dying to know who finds you attractive. Things ABOUT YOU go in the ABOUT ME section. I understand that it is hard to sum up all of your wonderful personality traits in one tiny little blurb. If you can't think of anything, just give us raw data. Many men will like that. Or better yet, leave it blank. Go for mysterious. Let us find out the details later.

2. And another thing. Don't write, "I'm hilarious" in your About Me blurb. No, you're not. By writing that, you've automatically labeled yourself as the most unfunny person in the universe. I can at least give a little nod to the ones who try too hard to be funny and it just falls flat. But don't do that either. Honestly the funniest one I ever came across was this nice-looking, classy, dressed up girl and all it said was "butt." I died. But then again, I'm the lowest common denominator, so don't do that either.

3. "I like laughing, traveling, and eating!" Yeah. So does everyone. LEFT SWIPED. You may as well just tell me you have a face. If you told me you hated all those things, I would still swipe left, but at least you would have listed unique things about you. Show, don't tell in your writing.

4. Don't pander to your audience. Examples: "I love (fill in the name of sports team)"; "I'm just one of the guys!";  "If you don't like sports, we won't get along!"; "I love hunting and fishing and camping and riding motorcycles and making sandwiches and cleaning and action movies..." Oh, and what do you do for a living? "I'm a model." One of these things is not like the other. Sesame Street. I call your bluff. If you like boy stuff, tell me you have a Star Wars toy collection and Anderson Silva is your favorite UFC fighter. That's how you show it. Otherwise I think you are making stuff up. Oh and PS- You don't like guns if some bro let you shoot his AR-15 one time a few years back, even if you have photos to prove it. Which brings me to:

PHOTO TIPS
1. If all six of your pictures are group photos, you must not understand what is happening here. Let me break it down. Nevermind. See paragraph three. Listen, I'm not a high-functioning sociopath with a talent for deduction. I don't want to have to "figure out" which one you are. I'm John Watson. Just tell me. Can we just do away with the whole trail of breadcrumbs thing going on here? If I encounter this I'm just going to assume you are the one with the mustache in all the photos. And then swipe left.

2. You're not fooling anyone if all of your pictures are ultra close-ups of your face. I'm going to tread lightly here because I know it's a sensitive issue. If you are a plus-size girl, you are not doing anyone any favors by being so deceptive. Own it. Be the app. You are you, just post normal photos of you from all different angles. And hey, you know what? If someone doesn't like you, you'll never even know! If they do match with you, great! Then you already know that your size isn't an issue. After all of that, if you are still self-conscious, just delete the app. No one will ever know and you'll probably feel relieved. I hope that was tactful. Honestly. As a side note, I'm pretty impressed with how many professional selfie photographers are out there. Girls have this technique perfected where they can make themselves look like a set of ten different people using lighting, make-up, backdrops, costumes, CGI, and filters. It's astounding.

3. Don't post six goofy pictures of yourself. Or six professional photo shoot pictures either. Or six blurry smudges. Or six of the same duck face in different outfits. Or six car selfies. Or six weird, avant-garde shots of your toe and random items strewn around your room. Keep it simple. Smile. Use variation.

4. Alcoholic binge pictures. Now I don't drink, so I need some help on this one. Is this attractive to men who do drink? If one of your pictures is you chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels, is that attractive? I honestly don't know. I guess some dudes want to date Ke$ha, but no thanks. Also, cool it with the cleavage. We get it.

And please, for the love of Gary, be yourself. Unless you are just on Tinder "as a joke" then by all means, be someone else. Because you irritate me.

*DJ bows and and gracefully descends from his soapbox*

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Don't Give Me Fire

I wrote a post a few years ago called “What I'm Looking For,” and I've decided that my list needs amending. I feel this necessary because I recently re-read it, and it contains almost nothing of what I am truly looking for in a significant other anymore. I guess a divorce can have that effect, but I am far from being bitter about what I learned and how I have changed. In fact, I have accepted it and count all that happened as a tremendous blessing. I am responding to myself here. So... without further ado:

Give me water.

To borrow Bruce Lee's words: “If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. Water can flow, or it can crash.” Water adapts to its obstacles rather than trying to burn and pillage its way through the middle of them. No matter how hot the lava, it stops dead when it encounters water. The hotter the fire, the faster it burns out.

Despite all that happened I am grateful for fire. I have shaken off the ashen dust, and been forged anew.

Still, give me water. Give me assured steps. I am looking for a fullness. Give me the good and the bad. I want your messiness, your hidden fears and hopes. Let me help you carry them. All I ask is for the same in return. I want to face the devastations and heartbreaks of life hand in hand with you—even when one of us is the cause. Fyodor Dostoevsky said that, “To be in love is not the same as loving. You can be in love with a woman and still hate her.” When the storms rage upon that vast and mighty sea—as they surely will—I want an anchor, not a bonfire. When moments such as these arise, I want to feel your hand tighten around mine. I want someone to remind me that beyond those dark, swelling clouds there is beaming, furious sunlight, and that a still more glorious dawn awaits. And in exchange I will shelter you from the shrieking wind and hold you if you weep. I will be that rock that can lend you strength and guide you home. This is what I want because this is something I know I can give.

I now yearn for wholeness. Carl Jung said, “Wholeness is not achieved by cutting off a portion of one's being, but by integration of the contraries.” I do not want one-dimensional dependence or blind, burning romance alone. I also long for sure and steady—a romance that has its passion defined by fierce devotion and loyalty. Contrary to popular belief, this isn't boring. A relationship such as this needn't lack spontaneity or fun. It retains both, while never losing sight of eternal progress. I want my romance to dance around the fire of passion while staying focused on the North Star, never mesmerized by a waning moon—though often brighter.

Nothing else matters. All of the lists of similarities, qualities, and compatibilities are shivering, shallow caveats that often smack of insecurity. I want someone who truly understands that “the world moves for love. It kneels before it in awe.” And if a mountain arises that threatens to stop all that we hold dear, I want someone willing to laugh with me and wait, knowing that, given time, water can cut granite.

You can keep your fire; I prefer the constancy of water.

One of the most romantic scenes I have ever seen in a movie.
[Source: "The Best Years of Our Lives"]

PS - “Those who love you are not fooled by mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; your innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you are confused.”- Alan Cohen

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What I'm Looking For

This will be my most fruitless attempt to arrive somewhere.

I'm looking for comfortable silence. For someone who gets the same at-home-sleepy feeling when they hear the hollow sound of church bells; and knows where to find them. I'm looking for a perfect balance of hard-grit tenacity and quirkiness. Someone who isn't defeated by the challenges of unbridled wilderness or the hard-nosed socially prodding questions of Aunty Lucille. Someone with poise. Someone with shameless goofiness.

Someone who can fall like Belgian rain and shine like an Alpen lake.

I'm looking for someone who knows when to hold my hand and when to rub my back. Someone who knows that in imperfection lays beauty. I'm looking for someone who feels like laughing at the most inappropriate times -- like me. Someone who carries Shakespeare and  Dumb and Dumber simultaneously on their tongue.
Who sees books as sages. Who has a favorite dish at The Bombay House. Who knows that they don't speak Swedish in Switzerland. Who wants desperately to return to Celestial glory. Who has their own opinion. Who will disagree with me. Who will tell me when I'm being ridiculous.

I'm looking for someone who is willing to walk through fields of gold. Someone who makes the sun jealous in his sky. Someone who knows what those things mean.

Someone whose footsteps are as equally ruled by whim as they are obedience. Someone who can handle my brother. Who knows that the real romance languages are unspoken. Someone who can talk my ear off. Someone who will show everyone in the room who they are. Who is excited by the idea of smells and tastes unknown. Someone who is OK with the idea of taking a spontaneous weekend trip to Vegas, or would even suggest it. Someone who knows where they are going but is not quite sure how they will get there.

I'm looking for someone I can trust with my heart because I know they can break it.

 In short, I'm looking for fire.

[Keep following, but before you comment, I know it's too much to ask.]

Posted by -DJ at 12:24 AM

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