Follow the Prophet

If you've been following the news, you know that Vice President Cheney has been invited to speak at Brigham Young University's commencement in a couple of weeks. And, you probably also know that this has created quite a stir. (Read articles from the Washington Post here and here.) Outside of Bob Jones University and Oral Roberts University, Brigham Young is probably one of the most conservative universities in the United States. Owned by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the entrance requirements are not only academically rigorous, they're also morally rigorous.

One of the hallmarks of Mormonism is that Mormons believe in living prophets--men who they believe are called by and speak to and for God. And they believe in following these men faithfully and without question.

Mormons also like to taut that they are "politically neutral." As a result, the Church has tried to distance itself from the Cheney affair at BYU by saying it doesn't support one party or the other, that it encourages its members to be engaged in civic affairs and to vote, and that it doesn't endorse candidates. All of that is philosophically true. From a realistic standpoint, though, Utah always votes Republican and it gave George W. Bush his highest returns in both elections. In other words, Utah is a red state and the Church is fairly red, too, with occasional tinges of blue.

Many folks at BYU are not happy that Cheney is coming. The Church leadership has been hearing about it and continues to try to distance themselves from this matter, despite owning and governing BYU. And the Church's nonagenarian leader and prophet, a kindly, grandfatherly man named Gordon B. Hinckley, has continued to tell members to be engaged civicly. As a result, this protest poster displayed during a protest at BYU this week is just classic. Talk about turning a belief around and using it as a valid counterpoint! I love it! (Apparently, though, some of the more conservative, pro-Cheney-ites were not amused, but I guess that's their constitutional right, too.)

Thanks to my friends, The Professor and MaryAnn, for posting this on their blog.

Sainted Salt Lake

My friend, The MIG, was in Salt Lake last week checking out the University of Utah as a possible candidate for a Ph.D. program at the U. Of course, being in the City of Brother Brigham, she had to send a postcard and this is the one she chose.


Perhaps Brother Romney should hire the folks who wrote the informational blurb on the back of this card to write talking points for his campaign when questions about his religion come up.

"The Mormon Temple can be found within Temple Square in Salt Lake City. This temple, like many others, has a golden angel on top of one of its spires. This angel, Angel Moroni, was said to have brought the lost books of the bible to Joseph Smith." (Emphasis added.)

Well, I'm sure evangelicals will sleep better knowing that.

Thanks, MIG, for the new addition to the wall of postcards!

New Take on an Old Tradition

Last Sunday, I attended a worship service at the National Cathedral of Saint Peter and Saint Paul with one of my blogging friends, Suzanne of Zanne Ado. It was the last Sunday of Epiphany, which means today is the first Sunday of Lent. I'll come back to that in a moment.

Many of you may or may not know that Mormons do not use a prayer book or follow a liturgical calendar. That's not to say Mormons don't celebrate high, holy holidays. They do. There's Easter and Christmas, of course, but from a liturgical, ritualistic standpoint, they're pretty simple and there's not a lot of lead up to these special days like there is in the Catholic and Protestant denominations. There aren't 40 days of lenten sacrifice ushering in the blessed morn of Easter, if you're a Mormon. Easter is usually signalled by one of two things: someone reminding you that, oh yeah, next Sunday is Easter and don't forget to wear your shiny new Easter outfit or you're reminded that the Church's semi-annual General Conference is going to fall on that exact weekend. And that's pretty much it. I'm not saying it's wrong, but I'm also not saying it's right. It just is.

Now, getting back to Lent.

Today is the first Sunday of Lent, which--as I understand it--actually began a few days ago with Ash Wednesday. Lent is a 40 day period of fasting and prayer leading up to the commemoration of the trial, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, who Christians believe is the Son of God and the Savior and Redeemer of humankind. It's a contemplative period that comes on the heels of a celebratory period--Advent and Epiphany--highlighting the birth and anointing of Jesus. During Lent, the faithful are meant to "sacrifice" something at this time of year. By sacrifice, it is generally understood that the penitent will give up a habit that is detrimental to their spiritual growth.

Every year, my former admin from my days at the Big Industry Trade Association, gives up sweets for Lent. A noble sacrifice, as it results in improved physical health and clarity of mind for her. And, it is a struggle for her. Others may give up alcohol or television or some other thing that they feel is not benefitting them positively.

All that to say that last Sunday I asked Suzanne what she was going to "give up for Lent." She said, in essence, "Oh, I don't do that anymore. It's so negative in its focus." She then went on to mention a friend who, several years ago, gave her a whole new perspective on Lent. She said, "Now for Lent, I take on something that I want to add to my life or that I want to improve on, which is much more positive in focus."

In other words, instead of a sacrifice that implies there's something wrong with her life, she takes on something that will improve on her strengths and make her a better person. Maybe it's the same thing and it's splitting hairs here, because either way she accomplishes the goal of Lent; i.e. becoming a better person through sacrifice. But I like the idea. Rather than focusing on what I'm doing wrong that's holding me down, I should focus on what I do well and how that can bring me up.

I had a conversation this week with my friend, Diana, about a job I'm applying for and how the position is very much outside my realm of ability. In other words, I was focusing on what I wouldn't be doing and how it was beneath me. She, on the other hand, smacked me like Cher and said I should focus on what I do well and find work that let's me shine. This said on the heels of one of my clients who said the same thing, which came on the heels of my mom who said something similiar.

That said, for Lent this year, instead of giving up, I am taking on. Because ultimately that's what Lent is suppose to be about. It isn't a celebration of giving up, of resignation. It's a celebration of taking up something new or building on what is already good about each of us, about myself. To some small degree, too, I suppose it's about giving to ourselves the best we can be and giving to others the best that we are. At least, that's what I'm taking up for Lent.

Blessings!

Photo copyright: Janet M Kincaid

Now That's What You Call "Ironic"

Dick Morris looks at the four leading GOP presidential contenders in 2008--John McCain, Mitt Romney, Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani--and notes "the only one of these guys who hasn't had multiple wives is the Mormon."

Ah, politics. You gotta love it, baby!

Thanks go to my friend, The Rocket Scientist, for this one.

Languages

I'd like to thank everyone who contributed to yesterday's post on racism and race relations. I really enjoyed all of the comments and e-conversations and hope some of these new found bloggers will become good friends.

Years ago, when I decided to "follow my bliss" and study religion and society in grad school, I would get a lot of folks asking me why I'd chosen that particular field. My response was, and remains, threefold.

First, I chose to study religion because I am fascinated by the need religion fills in peoples lives and the ways in which it manifests itself.

Second, I wanted to learn the languages of faith. In other words, you say Allah and I say God. You say the Holy Trinity and I say the Godhead. You take communion and I take the sacrament. You have a pastor, I have a bishop. You fast and I fast. Each of those terms have significance and meaning within our specific religious context. I want to understand the words you use to explain ideas and concepts, feelings and experiences that are deeply personal and spiritual, while at the same time recognizing that when it comes down to the nuts and bolts, we're all saying the same thing: we believe in something greater than ourselves.

And third, I wanted to find a way to bridge the gap between defensiveness and proselytizing (two elements that often characterize conversations between the faith of my upbringing and others) and creating meaningful, constructive dialogue. In other words, by understanding your language, I'm able to speak in terms that you can hear and that show my understanding and respect for your faith. It also means stepping outside of what is familiar to me, listening to how it sounds to a total stranger, and reframing it in language that can be heard and understood. It's eliminating the exclusiveness and esoteric language and inviting everyone to the table for a conversation.

Does any of that make sense?

I share that perhaps to clarify why I took up the topic of racism on my blog yesterday. I want to learn the languages of race, culture, diversity. I want to understand what certain things mean and why they're important in groups other than my own subcultures. And, most importantly, I want to find ways to create constructive dialogue that allows all sides, but especially the disenfranchised sides, to be heard and respected. I hope, beginning with Creole in D.C. and The Gunfighter, that we started something meaningful and lasting here.

We're still not any closer to being an inclusive society, but I have hope and I hope those who read yesterday's blog or who commented have hope, too.

In Which Pooh Bear Becomes a Taoist

I received a copy of The Tao of Pooh this year as a Christmas gift from a friend. This is one of those little books I considered picking up in the 1990s, when it was all the rage and I was in graduate school in hippy dippy, Buddhisty, tai chi, Tao heaven--Berkeley. For some inexplicable reason, I never did. Having received it as a gift, however, I decided it was high time I read about Winnie the Pooh and Taoism. It's a quick, easy read. I read it over a day and a half (which is good for me. It can sometimes take me weeks to read a book because I don't dedicate extended chunks of time to it. I read in dribs and drabs. Sidenote: why does that phrase always sound obscene? Anyway...)

At a mere 158 pages, Benjamin Hoff, a self-confessed Taoist, uses A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh and His Friends to explain the age-old principles of Taoism. "While Eeyore frets... and Piglet hesitates... and Rabbit calculates... and Owl pontificates... Pooh just is," reads the dust cover. The point of Taoism is learn to live in harmony with the earth, the heavens, and all that we encounter in life. I suppose for the western mind, teaching Taoism requires a metaphor or a symbol that we can understand and relate to. In this sense, Hoff's book is rather Taoist in its approach to teaching.

Perhaps the book didn't resonate that deeply with me because I experienced some of its precepts of living in the present through a course I took in grad school--Spirituality in World Religions. I've had a taste of Taoism and it is indeed sweet. If you've wondered about or tried to grasp the principles of Lao-Tsu, this is a good book to start that "journey of a thousand miles" which always "begins with one step."

Out of five stars, I'll give this one a three and a half for its simple format and metaphors.

Ill Eagle

The other night at the Blongding Event for DC Bloggers, we all sat around and swapped some of the funnier stories from our life experiences, as well as stories about some of the freakazoids who seem to haunt some people's blogs and their comment sections. For example, one blogger talked about a guy who developed 'an attraction' to her (in as much as one can do this by only reading a person's blog) and let her know his goal was to make her his girlfriend. She said that besides being totally uninterested to begin with, the tipping point was when he told her he'd "battled the dragon."

(For the uninitiated [i.e. those of us who have stayed away from the drug culture], that's someone who once was addicted to heroin or some other illegal or illicit drug, but who is now sober.)

That reminded me of a story from my mission. (I spent 18 months in the late 80s and early 90s volunteering as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormons.)

I was assigned to work in Vienna at the time. Prior to arriving in Austria, I'd spent a year living and working in the D.C. area. Before that, I spent 17 years living a pretty sheltered life in lily-white, no drugs or drinking here (wink wink) Utah. Oh sure, I'd seen people smoke cigarettes and drink beer. I'd even seen my next door neighbor falling down drunk when she came over to yell at me and my siblings for not playing with her daughter. Lovely. Other than that, though, I'd never seen anyone use drugs. Heck, I'd never even seen a real live prostitute, for that matter. Anyway--all that to say, I was a greenhorn.

Back to Vienna. There I am in Wien, Du Stadt Meiner Traume, plugging along as a missionary. Pounding the streets, knocking on doors, handing out Books of Mormon, taking in the sites as we rushed by them on the U-bahn and the Schnellzug. Sometimes, members of the church would refer us to their friends and such was the case with Angela. Her friend, Sybil, asked us to visit her. Angela and Sybil had grown up together in Vorarlberg--Austria's western most province bordering Switzerland--and had followed each other to Vienna to live the big city life, as many young people from rural provinces are wont to do. Angela was a model whose beauty rivaled that of Jane Seymour.

The other thing that made Angela special was, she was a heroin addict. Yeah. True story.

We'd meet with her in her dingy little studio apartment in the Karlsplatz every few days. I was so naive about drugs, I thought on the days she was peppy and alert, she was actually drug free and on the days she was droopy and incoherent, she was stoned out of her mind. Just the opposite, in fact.

One day, we were talking with her in her apartment and there was a knock on the door. Turned out to be her dealer who was delivering her fix for that day. She paid for her heroin, brought it back into the apartment, poured it in a spoon, cooked it up, put it in a syringe, and shot up. All while my companion (the other missionary I was assigned to work with) and I SAT THERE AND WATCHED. And all I'm thinking is, "Wow! Cool!"

HELLO?!?!

I look back on that now and shake my head and laugh. I mean, there we were, two fresh-faced Mormon missionaries watching someone we cared about shoot up! I don't know that it ever occurred to us that we'd been in the same room while a drug transaction took place. It never occurred to us that being there could get us into trouble. It never even occurred to us that perhaps the Karlsplatz and its surrounding environs wasn't the best place for two female, American missionaries to be at all. But there you have it: my singular encounter with the dragon.

As for Angela, we tried as best we could to help her, but we knew we were ill-equipped and unqualified to do more for her than just visit and be her friends. I have no idea what ended up happening to her. It wouldn't surprise me if she died of an overdose or contracted HIV/AIDS from sharing a needle and died that way. Either way, she was a beautiful young woman and seeing her addicted to drugs was always so sad and ultimately such a waste.

One of these days, I'll tell you the story about the prostitutes who came out at night and worked the corner just below our apartment in the Kreuzgasse. Somewhere I have pictures of that.

Lesser of Two Evils

I don't know which is worse: Pat Robertson's ill-conceived revelations or the deification of Angelina Jolie.


Dear Lord, forget trouncing Patty Boy. Please, remove the curse of Brangelina from us. It's enough already. Amen.


UPDATE: I forgot to mention where I found this. It was in a Liz Kelly column in the Washington Post. Here's the link. The title of the piece is "Blessed Art Thou" and is painted by an artist named Kate Kertz.

And Give Us This Day Our Daily... Fruitcake

As a sociologist of religion, what I'm about to post is ironically and completely lacking in any kind of objectivity befitting my academic training. And yet...


Why, dear Lord, has someone not told Pat Robertson that his 15 minutes of fire-and-brimstone is up already?

Why do people keep listening to this guy?

Apparently, folks, God is gonna smite us again this year. It won't be "nuclear" 'cause the Lord didn't say that, but Robertson is "just sayin'..."

The 700 Club must be hard up for cash if Robertson is once again spouting his sky-is-falling-'cause-God-told-me-so mantras yet again. What better way to get some ill-gotten gain than stirring up the masses with false prophecy?

Please, dear God, if You want to give us a sign, could You do us all a favor this year and zap Robertson's butt outta here!

Amen.

P.S. And thank you, CNN, for bringing us this earth-shattering, heart-stopping news. It must be a slow news day, what with the funeral of President Ford, the hanging of Saddam Hussein, the news out of Indonesia. Wow. Now I'm off to the basement to make sure my 72 hour survival kit and my year supply of chocolate are safe and ready for any type of contingency.

Day 24: Homemade

Just back from the sibs and the Christmas Eve festivities. We draw names and give one gift on the night before Christmas. This year, my brother drew my name and gave me... wait for it... Sarah McLachlan's new Christmas CD, which he chose based on my Amazon wish list. Dumbass that I am, I forgot to go in and delete it from my list before he bought it for me. I feel like an idiot. So, if someone out there received a double of a CD they already have and they want to trade with me, I'll give you the one I bought in exchange.

And now, on to the point of this post.

Given this year's adventures in unemployment and penny-pinching, it's been a low key holiday season all around. As a result, most of the gifts I'm giving this year for Christmas are either homemade or cost less than $20. (Which is, perhaps, the good thing about living with minimal funds. You learn to be creative and thrifty pretty darn quick.)

The gift I'm proudest of this year is the one I made for my Mom. And if I could figure out how to post it to YouTube, I'd share it with you all, but I'm a technological dolt.

As several of you know, my mom's father passed away this year. It's been pretty rough on my mom as she and her dad were close. And, it's been 20 years since mom's mother passed away. That's also been hard for her because she misses her mom and has days where she wishes they could talk.

So, this year, I gathered up a huge stack of old family photos of my grandparents, my mom, and her three sisters. My sister and I spent several weekends scanning in and scaling photos. My aunt in Salt Lake sent us a packet of photos she had and we added those to the pile. We transferred all the images to my computer and, using iPhoto, iMovie, iTunes, and iDVD, I started working on putting pictures with music and creating a DVD montage of my grandparents and their children.

The project started out originally as one song and about 20 pictures. Then it became three songs and 55 pictures. The final product is eight songs, over 100 pictures, and four minutes of credits at the end for a total of about 21 minutes of play. It starts with my great-grandparents--Arnold Benjamin and Hazel Pearl Meads Bangerter (grandpa's parents) and Daniel and Olive Charlotte Welker Harvey (grandma's parents), then moves into photos of my grandparents around the time of their marriage in 1942 through my grandpa's service in Europe during World War II. The segment is scored by an instrumental version of the Mormon hymn "Come, Come, Ye Saints."

The second segment begins with the Glenn Miller Orchestra playing "In the Mood" and features photos of my grandparents and their daughters in their early years in Wyoming. It then segues into the music of Gene Autry crooning "Someday in Wyoming," followed by "How Much is That Doggie in the Window?" and pictures of my grandparents with the many dogs they had throughout their marriage. After than short bit, there's another Gene Autry. This time, he's singing my grandma's favorite song, "You Are My Sunshine" and most of the pictures are of my grandpa and grandma.

The second to the last segment begins with an old time radio show announcer and then Bing Crosby singing "I'll Be Seeing You." I found school picture head shots of my mom and each of my aunts, as well as portrait sittings of each of them with their dad. I paired these up and did a crossover fade so that the picture of them as a little kid melts away into a picture of them as an adult. Most of the pictures in this segment are of my mom and her sisters growing up.

The final segment is set to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing" and includes landscapes of Utah and Wyoming along I-80, as well as pictures of landmarks in Green River, Wyoming, where my grandparents lived for 60 years. Pictures from my grandpa's funeral are included in this segment and the series ends with family portraits that were taken this spring in Salt Lake where we'd all gathered for his burial. The final shots are of my mom and her three sisters, my grandparents, and the Salt Lake Temple, where my grandparents were married in 1942.

At the very end, after all the pictures, I threw in credits as a joke and set it to Aaron Copland's Corral Nocturne.

All in all, I think it's going to be a good gift. I watched it the other night and found all kinds of things I would have done differently, but that's just me being my own worst critic. I've worked on it so long, I'm practically over it and have decided it is what it is. My dad and my siblings assure me Mom will be moved.

And now, I'm off to bed, otherwise Santa Claus won't come!

Merry Christmas friends and fellow bloggers!

Day 23 (Part 2): Marlene Dietrich I Ain't

Nine times out of 10, when I write out or sign my name, I sign it Janet M. Kincaid.

As a result, I get asked a lot what the "M" stands for.

I use to make people guess.

More times than not, they'd say, "Marie?" Mary was also a common answer.

But no. My middle name is Marlene.

When I lived in Austria, people would also ask. When I'd tell them, without fail to a person they'd say, "Oh. Wie Marlene Dietrich?" (In German, Marlene is pronounced Mar-lane-aa. And for those who are too young to know this, Marlene Dietrich was Germany's most famous actress in the 1920s and 30s. She was rather famous in the U.S. as well, particularly during and after World War II. During WWII for opposing the Nazi Party, which made her infamous in Germany, but loved in America. And after WWII for just being Marlene. If you want to see her in a good film, see Witness for the Prosecution.)

I started signing my name Janet M. Kincaid as a kid. I think I was mimicking Mom and Dad, who both signed their names with a middle initial. My mother's for her maiden name, my dad whose middle name is his mother's only brother.

Oddly enough, though, middle initials seem to be di rigeur if you grew up Mormon. Mormon culture is riddled with middle initials. Here's a sample of middle initials in the ranks of current and past Mormon church leaders.

Gordon B. Hinckley
Spencer J. Kimball
Heber J. Grant
Joseph F. Smith
David O. McKay
Boyd K. Packer
Thomas S. Monson
James E. Faust

Even the women haven't escaped this phenomena.

Bonnie D. Parkin
Barbara K. Smith
Sheri L. Dew
Mary Ellen W. Smoot

I'm not sure where the use of a middle initial started in Mormondom, but I have a sneaking hunch it happened when descendents of Joseph Smith, also named Joseph Smith, were called to be presidents of the church. There had to be a way to distinguish Joseph Smith, Jr., the founder from Joseph Smith, the nephew from Joseph Smith the son of the nephew. As a result, you have this:

Joseph Smith, Jr.
Joseph Fielding Smith, Sr.
Joseph F. Smith, Jr.

Is it just me or is this just a weird thing in Mormondom? I mean, I doubt there's a Mormon--active or inactive--among us who would refer to Gordon B. Hinckley as Gordon Hinckley. It's just wrong without the initial. And it isn't said Gordon B. Hinckley. It's GordonB.Hinckley, as one word. And nine times out of 10, most of us don't know what the middle initial in the person's name stands for.

So why do we bother? And why does this seem like such a Mormon thing?

And why do I care?

Oh, yeah. I remember. Because the other day someone asked me what the "M" stands for in Janet M. Kincaid.

Right now, I'm thinking it means "Moron."

Day 21: Shaming

In the field of sociology, there is a phenomenon that we study--regardless of specialization--called shaming. Shaming is all about creating strata. It's about us vs. them, the washed and the unwashed, the hip and the nerd, the righteous and the damned. Shaming is often used as a tool when you want those who fall in the them/unwashed/nerd/damned (TUND) category to toe the line and be like you (i.e. the us/washed/hip/righteous crowd; UWHP.)

Thanks to Blogger, we have a similar scenario of shaming. Now, when I go to Blogger's home page to log into my blog, this is what I see.

Note the use of the words "New" and "Old" and the juxtaposition of the Google type face with a dull, san serif typeface for the word Blogger. Even before that, though, notice the seemingly innocent, but belittling query, "But first, where do you blog?" Right away, they're letting you know, you might not be quite up to par and you may find yourself in the out group.

As I have not switched over to betaBlogger, I am in the TUND crowd. I have a Google account, but I'm not interested in using it for this blog as it's tied to another blog I'm thinking of starting down the road and I'd like the two to be separate. Furthermore, I'm not interested in owning two Google accounts. Hence, I'm TUND.

As a result, I get sent to this page to sign in:

So yesterday.

So unhip.

So not the NEW Blogger.

Oy.

For those who have been shamed into it, you get to sign in here:

Woo hoo!

Whoopity doo.

Okay, okay. I'll confess. Eventually I'll get tired of the whole new vs. old crap and I'll switch, too. But until then, I'm staying right where I am.

Day 27: Tell Eve About Serpent

I mentioned the other day that my grad school advisor was in town last week for the American Academy of Religion conference. Talking with Don has led me to wonder if I shouldn't do a follow up on my master's thesis.

Six years ago, I wrote and self-published "Tell Eve About Serpent!": A Qualitative Study of the Effects of Temple Participation in the Lives of Young Mormons. (A copy of my thesis can be found in the stacks and the archives of the Flora Lamson Hewlett Library at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California, call number BX8651 .K56 2000.)

The abstract reads as follows:

This thesis is a qualitative study of the effects of temple participation in the lives of young adult Mormons between the ages of 21 and 35 living in the San Francisco-Bay Area. Through interviews with 13 men and women, this study explores these individuals' experiences--including thoughts, feelings, and insights--about participating in temple worship. This study also discusses the role preparation played in each participants' initial endowment experience. A brief history of temples as sacred structures beginning with the Enuma elish flood/creation myth through the Mormon restoration of temple building in the present day, is given.

The chapters were as follows:

Chapter One: Order Out of Chaos
A historical and sociological overview of temples, their origin and meaning, and their reemergence in modern Mormonism.

Chapter Two: Definitions
Definition of extraordinary worship as it relates to corporate versus individual worship, theological stratifications, and constructs of worthy versus unworthy.

Chapter Three: Methodology
Explanation of the use of qualitative methodology in this study.

Chapter Four: "Tell Eve About Serpent!"
Findings and results from participant interviews and literature reviews, including difference in effects of temple participation for men versus women.

Chapter Five: Limitations, Contributions, and Recommendations
Brief explanation of limitations in the study, contributions to the body of scholarly literature in Mormon studies, and recommendations for future studies.

Epilogue
Author's observations on the process of undertaking this study.

Bibliography
Exhaustive list of sources read and/or cited in this study.

Appendices
Nine appendices, including temples in operation, under construction, and/or announced as of July 1999; Mormon hierarchical line of authority; interview permissions and protocol; etc.

Biography

It's been six years now since I filed and published my master's thesis and at least eight years since I interviewed my research subjects. A lot can change in that time and I'm wondering whether a follow up would be useful or of interest? For instance, when I interviewed my subjects, eight were single (never married), one was divorced, and four were married. None of the 13 had children. Almost all were enrolled in college and several were working.

Now, I believe all of my subjects are married and at least half of them have two or more children. All have graduated from college and most are working.

Given the passage of time and changes in marital and/or familial status, it stands to reason that perspectives about and experiences with the temple are vastly different than they were when these folks first participated in my study. Undoubtedly, the effect of temple participation in their lives is also vastly different. Or, at least, so I would surmise. In fact, a follow up study may show that very little has changed in terms of the effects.

The time and effort needed to do a follow up would require many, many hours and no small expense, but I would be especially interested to see what their perceptions are now versus eight years ago. I wonder if Perry Cunningham and his crew at the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City would also be interested?

I also wonder if, given my original findings (i.e. that men have a textbook experience but women come away with more questions than answers), I shouldn't simply focus on women's experiences and assume that men's experiences have remained classic, text book experiences?

On a different subject, I'm starting to develop an interest in religion and the environment/ecology. I'm thinking I might do some exploratory research on the environment in Mormon theology, history, and sociology. The writings of Terry Tempest Williams would serve as a starting point.

So much to ponder...

Day 10: If It Ain't Baroque, Don't Fix It

Nothing specific today. Just some rambling.

For example: my numbering system on my blogs this past week. It's starting to confuse me. I started this whole NaBloPoMo thing on Nov. 1 but didn't start numbering until Nov. 2, which means I'm always a day behind. I think I need to fix that or I'm going to end up in some cerebral knot.

If you get a chance, be sure to visit my friend Adriana's blog, What I Made for Dinner, today. She's written many a fabulous recipe in the last year or so, but today's is a gem and I think is my favorite entry to date from her. It'll make you run out to the store and buy bacon, I guarantee it!

Over at my friend Diana's blog, Swiss Account, there's been some commenting going on around her recent entry about not doing the whole NaBloPoMo thing. She also included a link to some pictures of a baroque church she and her husband, Scott, visited recently.

The pictures prompted this comment, in part, from our friend, JaneAnne: Aren't those baroque churches awesome? I had no idea they even existed (all we hear about are the gothic and romanesque ones over here) until I went to Mitteleurop with the BYU Singers.

I started to reply, but then realized my comment was taking up too much space. Here's what I said:

JA: I found your comment about baroque churches amusing (which reminds me of a funny line from Beauty & the Beast: "And you know what they say? If it ain't baroque, don't fix it!")

Austria is littered with baroque churches, one of the most famous being the Karlskirche in Vienna. Unfortunately, I never set foot inside of it, despite walking past it at least twice a week on our route to visit an investigator who was also a heroin addict (my first exposure to hard drugs. I actually watched her shoot up one day. Talk about naive.) All three of my companions when I was in Vienna weren't much for getting out to see things on P-day. One was always exhausted and in bed on Mondays, the second had been to Vienna as an exchange student and seen it all already, and the third was from Finland and wanted to write lamentations and epistles to her missionary boyfriend in Finland.

Sad, huh? Nine months in Vienna and all I ever saw was the Naturhistorisches Museum and the inside of Stephansdom.


UPDATE:
In the interest of sanity, I've decided to match my NaBloPoMo posting numbers with the calendar date. I've fixed all of the blog numbers to correspond with the day. Now, aren't you happy to know that?!




For those who aren't familiar with Mormon lingo and esoterica, here are some definitions:

Investigator: a non-Mormon; someone being taught by missionaries or church members; someone interested in the teachings of the Mormon church.

Companion: another missionary you are assigned to work with and with whom you live and work 24/7.

P-day: short for Preparation Day; the one day of the week (usually a Monday) that missionaries have to go grocery shopping, do laundry, and write letters home.

Taking a Page from the Amish

The last several weeks have been filled with unspeakable tragedy for parents and children around our country. In less then two weeks alone, gun violence has marred the peace and security of school rooms across the U.S. None has been more stunning than the shootings at an Amish school house in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. And yet, out of the tragedy has emerged one of the most unforeseen characteristics: forgiveness.

Despite the unspeakable and unimaginable pain the families of these young girls must be suffering, it is their peacefulness and willingness to forgive that has most moved me. Even more than that, is the manner in which the Amish have reached out to the family of the perpetrator, Charles Roberts, and have embraced and recognized the pain and suffering they too are experiencing as they try to piece together why their father, husband, son, and brother would engage in such horrific crimes.

And it stands in sharp contrast to the words of a woman in Virginia who, just two days ago, lost her daughter, grandson, husband, and nephew to murder--all four killed by an enraged boyfriend who was arrested several hours later not far from the crime scene. The woman, in speaking to reporters said, "I hope he gets what he deserves for what he's done to me and my family."

Again, I can't imagine her pain and heartache, either. But I am struck by the differences in approach to both crimes.

I'd like to think we could learn from the Amish

Here I Raise My Ebenezer...

We have returned from the desert and the burial of my grandfather. His funeral, simple. His burial, comical. The simplicity and the comedy both reflect his life, his humor, and his character.

...

On Friday, as my brother, sister, mother, father, and I walked past Grandpa Bang's coffin where it lay in repose on the bier in the Kaysville Cemetary, we each placed a stone of remembrance--an ebenezer--on his and Grandma June's headstone.

On Sunday, we returned and left a Mother's Day card for Grandma and a can of Pepsi and a box of Sweet's Chocolate-covered Orange Jelly sticks for Grandpa.

...

Grandpa's seven grandsons--Daniel Norton, Alan Norton, William Norton, Peter Rimmasch, Karl Rimmasch, Phillip Kincaid, and John Rimmasch served as his pallbearers.

His adopted sons--Eddie, Bobby, Johnny, and Joe Webb--were honorary pallbearers, as were his grandsons-in-law, DeVon Cook and Benjamin Grajeda.

Eddie, as a member of the VFW, presented the colors that draped my grandfather's coffin to the family.

All honorable, good men who carried and walked with an honorable, good man to his final resting place.

...

While we shed many tears, we also shared much laughter.

We mourned the loss of a man who was kind to all he met. A man who was known around the town of Green River as "Mr. Sunshine" for his friendly disposition. A man who was not your run-of-the-mill Mormon, but who also said he was willing and ready to be responsible and accountable "for whatever licks the Good Lord gives me." A man who lived his values not in words, but in deeds.

And we laughed at his clumsiness and naivete when it came to things like electricity: "Just stick a screwdriver in it and see if it's live.... SON OF A BITCH!! Yep, it's live."

We remembered a man who spoke in simple sayings like, "Life's tough, but it's better than a kick in the butt with a sharp boot."

A man who rarely showed emotion, except when he would say, "I love you, mugwamp."

A man who set the standard for behavior, always advising us to "be nice, like me."

...

The Disabled Veterans of America provided the graveside military honors for Grandpa. They could barely lift their M1 Carbines to fire off the 21-gun salute, but they were there to honor and salute their comrade-in-arms.

We didn't expect Arlington and we've all had some giggles at how "unpolished" their performance was, but deep down, we are reverent and respectful of the honor they paid our grandfather.

...

He was, to paraphrase the remarks of the bishop of my grandparents' ward in Green River, one of that great generation who saw poverty and deprivation in the world and who came home and did everything possible to make sure his children and his children's children would never know hunger, need, or fear.

...

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing, Robert Robinson, A Collection of Hymns Used by the Church of Christ..., 1758.

Photo copyright: Janet M. Kincaid, May 12, 2006.

Happy Place

So, now that I've stopped ranting about my tediousness, I have nothing left to write about...

Which begs this question: why can't the positive moments in life be as dramatic--and fill as much dramatic space--as the traumatic moments? (Weddings and the birth of children or acquisition of puppies not included.)

Today, a friend marked the 20th anniversary of her return from her Mormon mission service with this heartfelt and honest blog.

In another blog, someone wrote about how he's about to travel to Peru to volunteer among the poor. He included this quote from the organization he's volunteering for:

“Returned volunteers invariably comment about the conspicuous happiness of village people despite their poverty. The inevitable conclusion is this: Adversity may be mandatory in this life, but misery is always optional.” - The Hope Alliance (Emphasis added.)

And yet, it's the misery that seems to give us energy--even if that energy isn't the most positive. (Sometimes, the energy wrought by misery is turned on its head to result in something positive--like Mothers Against Druck Drivers or AIDSWalk or immunization...)

Yesterday, in talking to a friend, she said I needed to refocus my anger into positive energy and tone and start looking for my next job. The hard part is, getting over it and moving on. Especially when you feel a profound sense of injustice.

I guess as I've reflected on the last few days, I'm surprised at how impassioned and bitter I feel about recent events in my life. By the same token, I've been trying to recall a time when I've felt as impassioned and enthusiastic about positive, forward momentum events. It seems I find my angry voice easier than I find my happy voice. And that bugs me. (See--there I go again. Angry. Well, maybe not angry, but bugged is certainly on the spectrum that leads to angry, wouldn't you say?)

Hmph...

Sidebar: as I'm writing this, there are two squirrels in the tree outside my window. One has a nut in his mouth and the other is hell bent for leather chasing him/her up and down and around and across and over and under the branches and trunks and light pole. My guess is, the chaser wants the chasee's nut. And, no pun intended, it's cracking me up!

Now, back to our regular program already in progress...

Somewhere in the mirth and myth that is D.C., I feel like I've lost myself and my sense of accomplishment. I came here expecting to learn and build my resume. And while I have learned and I can add two jobs to my resume, I feel like the price I've paid personally has not been worth it.

I'd like to think I could have happy dramatic moments here, but that thought is waning and I'm ready to move on.

D.C. is a miserable town full of many miserable people. I can handle challenges and adversity (I grew up Mormon; "endure to the end" is wired into my genes), but I'm tired of being miserable.

Life is too short for trauma drama. I want to find my happy place again.

Photo courtesy of http://www.vondanieldachshunds.com/uploads/JasminMollie.jpg