Suicide

In my experience, there is always someone who understands the situation I'm in, and that person is almost always willing to offer acceptance and support if I am brave enough to ask for it. It is also my experience that there are many people who do not understand one or another situation I find myself in, and no one can understand the total of my unique life. I sometimes feel like I am sharing too much, and then every time someone will let me know that they have been going through the same thing and were hesitant to talk about it. There are always other people who say they didn't understand, but are trying to learn now that I have put it out in the open. To that end, I want to share my experience with a very sensitive topic, in hopes that it will help someone to know they aren't alone, and help someone else to understand a little better.

Most of my social circle knows I take psychiatric meds. I take an anti-depressant (in large doses) and an anti-psychotic (in small doses) to keep functioning. The last time I called the pharmacy for a refill, and they didn't have my meds in stock. I went without for many days, and it's been a steep uphill emotional climb to start to want to feel normal again. I learned first hand what it's like to have greatly distorted thinking and judgment.

In that distorted mental state, (without going in to graphic detail) I did plan for my own death. I honestly believed that my family and friends would be better off without me. Death seemed preferable to running away, since after my death they could all find closure and move on with their lives. I was scared and tired. Suicide did not seem like a selfish decision; rather, it felt like the most selfless thing I could do for the people I love. When I'm thinking clearly, I know that doesn't make sense. But it did make sense at the time. 

I obviously did not choose to die. I have been one of the people left behind after a suicide; I know first hand that one never really moves on after that. Somehow, I found the courage to believe that past experience, and the courage to trust a couple of people with my inner struggle. My husband believed me without question when I told him I was in trouble. Never once did he suspect I was faking to get attention. Never did he suggest I should just snap out of it. He was there, physically in the same room, for several days, offering his love and ensuring my safety. A girl friend offered a listening ear, available upon request, and insisted on a lunch date. The listening ear reminded me that I really did have friends who might miss me if I were dead. That date gave me a commitment to fill, and something to look forward to. Without these two angels, I may have made a very different decision.

I share this experience because I learned some things that might be helpful for someone else. First: if you are in danger of hurting yourself, get help. Call the national suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255). Talk to someone who loves you. Go to an emergency room near you and ask for help. Second, if you love someone who asks for help, believe them. Try to recognize the courage it takes to ask for help. Be there physically, even through the uncomfortable anger and tears. You call the suicide hotline. Call 911 if it seems necessary to insure safety. Third, I share this because there are people out there who feel like I did, or who find themselves in the position of my husband and friend. It is those people who most need to know they are not alone. None of us is alone. Help, support, and sympathy are out there. Take courage in knowing that other people have fought similar battles. 

After this experience, I feel a deeper sympathy for people who have lost loved ones to suicide. Your pain is just as real. You are left with all the scars of a battle you couldn't control. For this, I can offer only the hope that you are not alone, either. There are people who understand you, too. To a small extent, I understand you; someone I love left me with some of these scars. I am not trying to belittle your experience or the experience of the person you lost. I was lucky; others are not. 

One final thought: my faith in my God continues as a ray of hope for me. I find comfort and rest in the Lord, and I am grateful for His love and concern.

Women and Priesthood

Women and Priesthood. Authority, keys, and women. Women in the Church. It’s all a sensitive and touchy topic for feminist activists, including me. I believe that the Church and its leaders are directed by Jesus Christ, whose church it is, and that the Lord will not allow His servants to lead His church astray. I also believe that I am the equal of my husband and any man alive. God gave me a brain and a soul and a heart, and the ability to use them. I cannot help but wonder why the priesthood keys and authority are reserved for men.

A few weeks ago, just as I am wrestling with this issue, one of my Primary kids asked a question in sharing time: “Why don’t moms have the priesthood?” to which the Primary president said, “Maybe Sister Bishop can talk about that in your class.” I spent the next twenty minutes alternately praying that I would have an answer for this child, or that he would forget he had asked the question. He did not forget. The minute we closed the classroom door behind us, he asked again. Luckily, I had an answer.

I’ve heard many answers over the years that are supposed to make me feel better about not having the keys and authority of the priesthood. None of them actually make me feel better. I’ve often heard, “But women can have babies, so what are they complaining about.” This is not the same thing at all. Every worthy man can hold the priesthood, with or without a wife; not all worthy women have babies, and many drug addicts do. Babies obviously don’t depend on worthiness, as priesthood ordination does. I’ve also heard from women, “I don’t need the priesthood,” with the accompanying implication that men are less capable and therefore need some guiding power to keep them in line. This is a subtle insult to my husband, who is a good, faithful priesthood holder and would still be a good man if the priesthood keys and authority were not on the earth. My husband is not second-rate in the eyes of God, either. The answers of the world hadn’t worked for me. They obviously wouldn’t work for a six-year-old earnestly seeking wisdom.

I was blessed with an answer that worked for him and my little class. I asked my class if they knew that we have a Heavenly Mother. We don’t know much about her, but She is there. Whatever power and authority She has is reserved for women, who can become like Her just as men can become like Heavenly Father. My class was satisfied with this answer.

The answer still felt incomplete for me, though. My brain and soul wanted to know more, so I thought and prayed and studied, and am slowly arriving at a more thorough understanding of my role in eternity. I may already possess the entirety of my power and authority, and just don’t recognize or understand it yet. There may be additional power granted in Heaven (just as the power to create worlds and the power of resurrection is not currently available to priesthood holders here, but may be granted later. See Elder Oaks’ talk from the April 2014 conference) that I am not aware of yet. Whatever that power is, it matters in the grand scheme of the universe.

It is clear to me that women matter in the eternal plan. Heavenly Father loves His daughters and we are not secondary or lesser in His eyes. We, the daughters of God, have eternal potential for growth and progression. Our potential is infinite, as it is for men. Our worth is infinite, as it is for men. Our power, whatever it looks like, is eternal, as the keys of the priesthood are for men. I do not claim to understand God’s plan for me, or for any of us. I trust God to do what is best for me, because He loves me. I have faith that my mortal brain can learn, line upon line and precept upon precept, until I come to a full understanding of my role, both here and in eternity. I am important. I am of infinite worth. I am content with my limited understanding, for now.

What I Used to Know

I have no way of knowing your heart of mind. I can't know what makes you choose the things you choose. I don't know your story or your history. I do know my life story, and I am finding that there are a lot of things I thought I knew, but didn't. Here, in no particular order, is a list of things I used to think I knew all the answers about:

• Addiction, to legal or illegal substances
• Sexual orientation
• Affairs
• Domestic abuse
• Child abuse
• Divorce
• "Welfare" or public assistance
• Single parenthood
• Teen pregnancy
• Math (Yep. I used to think I knew all the math in the world. I was 10. Then I looked in a Calculus textbook. I learned right then that there was a lot I didn't know yet.
• Disability

After some life experience in these and other things, I have learned that there are no easy answers. I have learned that the answers I used to know were misguided at best. Every single thing on that list sometimes happens to good people who are stumbling through life the best they can. All of these have happened in the lives of people I love. Some of them have happened in my own life, and any of them could. I have learned that people often make choices that make sense, even if they don't make sense to outsiders. I am more compassionate and patient with people whose lives include these things in some way.

Because I have been proven wrong so many times, I can only assume that I would be proven wrong again if I had experience in other thing. I am trying to be more compassionate and patient with people whose lives include things I don't understand, too. 

Unfortunately, my belief and my behavior don't always match. As much as I want to be loving to everyone, I sometimes think or say that someone else is making stupid choices, that someone else must not be a good as I--I make judgments based on my own incomplete understanding of the situation. But I can change, given time and room to grow. I can become the woman I want to be. Please be patient. Genuine compassion for all mankind is still installing.

Is Santa the Same Thing as Christmas Magic?

My kids always knew that Dad bought gifts and left them under the tree. They always knew the guy in the red suit at the mall was just a guy in a red suit, and probably lived a couple miles away in a regular house. They always knew that no one would fit down any chimney. I chose from the beginning to let them in on the secret of Santa Claus, for reasons which aren't relevant to this post.

It makes me sad that there are kids and parents who think the magic of Christmas is lost once their kids no longer believe in Santa Claus. I believe the magic only ends when you stop believing in the magic, and that has nothing to do with whether Santa lives at the North Pole or sleeps in the master bedroom down the hall. Let me share with you some of the ways we shared the magic with our kids, in hopes that you can let the magic live on for your kids, and for yourselves.

My kids sat on Santa's lap (you know, the one at the mall, or at the church party, or anywhere they saw a red suit) at every opportunity, telling him what they wanted for Christmas. As they got older, they spoke loudly enough for me to hear, too. They talked to Santa with mischievous grins on their faces and delighted twinkles in their eyes, exactly as your kids do. Sometimes they whispered something in his ear that made the old man chuckle, but they never told me what it was they said. That was a magic secret between them and Santa, not for parents to hear.

My kids left cookies and milk out for Santa every Christmas Eve. Okay, not really. They asked Daddy what kind of treats Santa wanted this year, and Daddy always told them Santa wanted raw chocolate chip cookie dough and Coke, so that's what they left out. They made a huge production out of asking Daddy, with tickles and giggles all around. Then they cheerfully helped Mommy make the cookie dough, and choose the mug to leave Coke in.

My kids left notes for Santa, decorated in lovely crayon drawings, on Dad's bed. They asked at breakfast if Santa got their letters. Dad answered the notes in person. If they asked for confirmation about what Santa would bring, Dad would say, "Santa chooses," and that was that.

My kids knew we were poor. They knew kids who got a virtual mountain of presents from Santa. They never felt like Santa must love rich kids more. They never felt hurt or angry that Santa didn't bring everything on their list. We taught them to be grateful that Santa paid the light bill every month and kept food in the refrigerator.

My kids sent Thank You notes to Santa, along with notes to Mom and Dad. They mentioned the same presents in both notes. The only gift tags signed "Santa" were gifts for the family, like games and puzzles that we could play on Christmas afternoon. Santa, whoever he is, approves of family fun time.

When my kids were very small, we left a barricade of chairs at the living room door, When they could read, we taped paper to a string across the door, with the word S-T-O-P in large letters to keep them from going into the living room before Mom and Dad got up. I discovered later that the kids would stand, toes technically on the kitchen floor, leaning WAY out over the threshold with a broomstick, lifting tags on gifts to see what gift was for whom. I don't care if you believe Santa lives at the North Pole or down the hall, that's silly Christmas magic fun right there.

When the kids were way older, they started making the stop signs themselves. They got pretty elaborate. One year, Kevran covered the doorway entirely in wrapping paper, but cut out holes at eye level for each child. He measured carefully, and cut holes at 5'6", 5'10", and 6' off the ground. My grown up kids found magic in this game just as any kid finds magic in Christmas.

Today, my kids say they loved Christmas when they were children. They had all the magic of Christmas, and enjoyed all the fun of the season. There was nothing missing for them. Their Dad and I encouraged fun and games, and lively imaginations.

We absolutely insisted that other kids be allowed to pretend as long as they wanted, and no parent ever called to complain that my kid had given away the secret. When I heard my kids with their peers, they were happy to play the Santa game, and they played it well. So well, in fact, that when their friends started to figure out the truth about Santa Claus, my kids kept right on playing, having practiced the game for so many years.

The truth is that the magic of Christmas does not live at the North Pole. You were clever enough to help your kids believe in elves and flying reindeer for 6, or 8, or 10 years. Surely you are clever enough to find ways to extend the magic for the rest of their--and your--lives.

Please note that the truth about Santa is NOT that there is no Santa. The truth is that Santa lives in our hearts, and he can live there as long as we let him.  Merry Christmas!

Women and Worth

            We women receive so many different messages about our worth, from so many different sources. We are only as valuable as our bodies, so we should flaunt them—or we should cover them up. We are only as valuable as our purity. If we make a mistake, we are chewed gum, of no worth to anyone. We are valuable only if we are thin and young. If we are mothers and stay home, we aren’t making the most of our brains. If we are mothers and also work outside the home, we aren’t taking proper care of our children. If we are not mothers for whatever reason, we are selfish and think only of ourselves. If we are single others assume we are incomplete without a partner. If we are married we are the “old ball and chain.” Or, if we are married, we are only half of a whole and we are referred to as “my better half.” We are the trophy wife if we are younger than our partners. We are the cougar if we are older than our partners.

            We women are bombarded with messages about our worth all the time. It’s mostly lies.

            The truth is, you have inherent, innate worth. You were born with a unique mind and personality, with a unique body to house them. You are valuable because you are, because you exist. You are valuable because you have something no one else has—yourself. You are valuable because there is no one else exactly like you. Your past, whatever it is, has helped you become the woman you are, and given you gifts no one else has.

            You have eyes, or ears, or hands with which to receive this new message: you are of worth.

            There is value and honor in mothering, in cashiering at Walmart, in running a corporation, in waiting tables, and in running a country. There is value and honor in being a wife, a friend, an aunt, a sister, a cousin, and a neighbor. There is value and honor in those things your unique mind and body can do. There is value and honor in living well. These things are important to the smooth running of our social machinery. Your worth, however, is not tied to what you do with your time.

            Virtue, compassion, and gentleness are valuable. Your worth is not tied to your outward traits.

            We receive so many messages that make us feel valueless, and too often we believe them.

            What might happen if all women, everywhere, recognized and truly believed in their own value? How might the world be different is we all took possession of our inherent worth? Imagine what might change if YOU believed in your own innate value. Imagine what you could accomplish if you stopped wondering if you had anything good to offer, and simply knew you DO have something good to offer. Wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, whatever your choices, there is value in you. You matter. You are important. You are of infinite worth.

Truth

            Two sentences, two educated men, changed my thinking forever.  A high school biology teacher showed me how to blend science and religion.  A math professor at a religious university showed me they were never separate.  My faith in God and thirst for knowledge stand on the shoulders of these men.

            Mr. Atkinson taught biology at my high school.  The predominantly Christian student body objected to the unit on evolutionary theory.  Someone asked him how he could believe in God and still teach evolution.  In one simple sentence, he closed the gap between God and scientists by saying, “I have no trouble believing both.”  It was a definite ah-ha moment for me; church and school were no longer opposed in my mind.

            Dr. Wynn taught calculus at my college.  Because I went to a religious school, every teacher was required to invite God into the classroom in some way.  On the first day of class, Dr. Wynn said, “All truth is of God.  If what I teach you in this class is true, you can feel God’s presence here in the math building.”  Science and religion are not different things.  Human knowledge and discovery are approved by and even inspired by God.

            I got glasses when I was nine.  My eyes have become progressively worse, until I cannot see further than the end of my nose.  I wondered, at nine, why God no longer healed the blind.  In college I came to understand that I am healed every morning when I put my contacts in.  I see because God led someone to the discovery of refracted light, and from there to focusing light on my retinas in a way my brain can interpret clearly.

            Today I question the assumption that “nature,” a garden, is the best place to feel creative or at peace.  The work of humankind—architecture, civil engineering, mechanics, electronics—is no less natural than a beaver’s dam or a bee’s hive.  All creatures use the earth around them for shelter, support and comfort.  Soaring glass boxes inspire awe as easily as majestic mountains, and fountains as easily as rivers. 

            A bit of elegant, ornamental grass in the shadow of an architectural sculpture housing a college science department brings together the works of God and the works inspired by God, creating an oasis of knowledge and wonder, of awe at the incredible intellect of the dominant species, the creatures given more brains and bigger hearts than any other.  

Fun Fact:

Fun fact: People are not logical. There are 10, or 14, or 100 defined logical fallacies that many of us memorize in college. People are still not logical. Plato said the ideal was to become logical. He said that several thousand years ago. People are still not logical. We can mathematically define set A and set B and see exactly where they intersect and where they do not intersect. People are still not logical. Very intelligent, highly analytical mathematics professors at colleges and universities teach logical sequences. People (even those math professors) are still not logical.

Corollary: Emotions are not logical, either.

In human interactions, the message sent is frequently different than the message received. This is, in part, due to the fact that neither the sender nor the receiver is logical. They are both people, you see, and people are not logical.

(Do I sound angry? I am angry. That is also not logical. Deal with it.)

I read fashion magazines.

(Stay with me. I'll connect these points eventually.)

I like fashion. I'm shallow. So shoot me. I still read fashion magazines. Not once, in any magazine, have I ever seen a headline even remotely like "You Are Fat, Therefor You Are Worthless." Every model is thinner than I am. The ads are filled with products to make us look or be thinner. The articles are about dressing, eating, or posing to look or be thinner. To be fair, one magazine does have a monthly column dedicated to fuller figured women. It offers advice on looking thinner.

None of this is specifically saying that fat women are worthless. The message received IS that fat women are worthless. This message is not confined to the pages of fashion magazines, either. Television, featuring beautiful thin women as the women who have it all, send this message. The dolls our pre-teen girls play with send this message. We send this message to each other.

Logic tells us that these magazines, television shows, and dolls are only saying that it's good to be thin. Logic tells us that these magazines, television shows, and dolls are saying nothing whatsoever about fat women (except that one). Guess what? People aren't logical. Our sisters, our daughters, our friends, our wives, our mothers are all getting the message that fat women are worthless. We internalize this message. We believe this message. We look in the mirror, see those two pounds that weren't there last week, and believe those two pounds make us worthless. We are critical and self conscious of our bodies, and we believe our bodies define our worth.

That is not logical. People aren't logical.

There is another message in the world that women must dress modestly because it will contribute to the moral purity of men. It is a logical fallacy to say that this message is also saying that if women do not dress modestly men will not be pure. Doesn't matter. People aren't logical. The message received is that women are responsible for the thoughts of men. It's a short jump to receiving the message that women are responsible for the behavior of men.

People aren't logical.

I can guarantee that fourteen-year-old girls are not logical. If they were, they would not roll their eyes and stomp out of the room in response to perfectly reasonable requests. Teenagers are people. People are not logical. These teenage people are getting the message that girls are responsible for the behavior of boys. Many of us, my friends and daughters and sisters, have internalized this message. Many of us have been told specifically that we are responsible for the thoughts and behavior of boys.

We women grew up with the idea that we and we alone were responsible for the behavior of the boys and men around us. We internalized this. We feel guilty when we are whistled at, leered at, assaulted. We feel that, somehow, these attacks are our fault. We feel responsible for the thoughts and behaviors of these perpetrators. This is not logical. That does not change how we feel.

Because none of us are logical, let me be clear on one point: I am not saying that I choose to dress immodestly, or that I wish I felt comfortable dressing immodestly. For me, modest dress is a physical manifestation of a spiritual commitment. I choose to dress accordingly.

If I were logical, these messages wouldn't make me angry. I wouldn't even receive these messages. I am a person. People aren't logical. These are the messages I receive, intended or not, stated or not. These are the messages I internalized as a young teenager. These are the things I believe in the most secret recesses of my heart. These are the messages that have always influenced my thinking and behavior.

It's not logical. Deal with it.