Yep, I Have Been Visited (at least Verbally) by an Angel

Soon after our arrival in Manti, we purchased an older home which, as you would expect, required a ton of work to get it into a desireable condition. We actually spent the better part of an entire year simply demolishing--Mitch would say that is a strong word, but my sense was that it was live-able when we bought it and a year later it was no longer inhabitable. Initially, I didn't have his vision. 

Soon, though, I could see it. In the dining and living rooms, my husband had torn out the false ceiling--which was covered by those school-ceiling sponge-like tiles of the 1950s--to reveal beautiful 10 foot ceilings and missing molding. He was working on replacing the molding and I was working to remove nine layers of wallpaper, a veritable history of decorator trends. I was soaking the paper with water and then scraping the walls over and over and over with a 3-inch razor-type tool. Piles of gold, baby blue, green, and rose colored torn scraps of paper fell in mounds around the walls of the room. It took weeks to remove the paper with me working hours and hours at a time.

One hot summer day, I loaded 3-year old Seth up and we went over to the house to work.  I turned on some music, picked up my tools, and quickly immersed myself in the layers of tightly glued paper; Seth got busy exploring both inside and out, which was our typical routine. We had replicated this exact process dozens of times.

I honestly do not know how much time had passed (you are welcome to launch parenting attacks at this moment), but I know I had made what I felt was good progress when suddenly I heard an audible and urgent voice order me to "find Seth"!  I stopped abruptly and began to look around. He wasn't in any of his usual hangouts, and as I searched I felt a heart-gripping sense of urgency. I went outside and ran around the house yelling his name. He was nowhere, I was panicked, and I was at a loss as to where to look. I stopped, calmed myself, and asked for guidance.

Immediately, my attention was drawn to the car. I walked toward it, not seeing my baby but feeling compelled to move in that direction; as I neared, I heard a tiny little muffled voice screaming for help. I bolted to the car and opened the door, expecting to find him. I didn't, but the voice grew louder so I flipped the trunk latch where I found a crying, sweaty, limp little boy who was heat exhausted, dehydrated, and terrified.  Had he fallen asleep or passed out, I'm not sure I would have found him in time. More importantly, had I not heard a voice, I may not have gone looking...at least not at that moment. 

That hot summer afternoon is not the only time that I have felt guided, that I have felt someone I could not see was watching, caring, and protecting. In fact, it has happened enough times that I don't question. If I'm driving down the street and feel prompted to change my intended path, I do so without question.  

Generally, I have no idea if tragedy was averted. Generally, I don't know if I was in fact inspired or just reacting to random thoughts. On that day, though, I knew--and I still believe--that someone not of this world intervened to save the life of a curious little boy who somehow found his way into the trunk, shut it, and was then helpless to save himself. I also believe that because of that voice, I was spared a lifetime of sorrow and regret and was granted a couple of decades (and counting) of happiness in my pioneer home.

Written 17 May 2015 

Tolerance: Not My Favorite Virtue

I was involved in a conversation recently about the word "tolerance."  My friend was explaining that, for her, tolerance is an essential element of being a good person, a trait which she was working on developing and improving. I must have paused, or pulled a face, or even gasped because she stopped and asked what I thought.

I told her that I struggle with the idea of tolerance, that inherent in its definition is the concept of superiority. If you tolerate someone or something, you merely put up with them or it. I tolerate freezing temperatures. I tolerate flies (okay, maybe not, since during fly season I have a fly-swatter almost permanently attached to my hand). I tolerate (at least for a short time) messes in my home that are made by other people. I tolerate loud chewing (this, admittedly, is more difficult for me and sometimes I tolerate loud chewing by leaving the room which might not actually qualify as tolerance). I don't, though, claim to tolerate people--unless, of course, something about them bothers me and I am merely putting up with their presence--but that notion doesn't seem to be a trait for which to aspire. I often feel guilt when I feel like I'm tolerating someone, and then I overcompensate with kindness. Tolerance, to me, is not a characteristic of a good person. It is rather a natural part of the human condition and in some ways requisite to survival--at least sane survival. How else would I survive freezing winters, fly-filled summers, messy rooms, and noisy eaters?

Nevertheless, people use the term regularly and generally as a positive, aspirational attribute. They tolerate others--those who believe differently, those who make choices they themselves wouldn't make, those who don't conform or live up to certain beliefs of expectations. In essence, they put up with them. Most assuredly, they judge them. Tolerance, used this way, separates people into dichotomous groups: us/them, good/bad, acceptable/unacceptable. What (and where) is the good in that?

I told my friend that I believe we misuse the term. What we usually mean when we speak of tolerance is love. Truly good people love others. They love others despite their differences. There is no us and them, only us. No judgement. No tolerance. Just love. Surely love is an essential, perhaps paramount, attribute of good people and something to which I aspire. She agreed--or at least tolerated my rant.

Gay Marriage:Hear Me Out

Just a few weeks ago, the Supreme Court ruled that gays have the right to marry in all 50 states, that marriage is a fundamental right, that love and commitment win. I admit, I celebrated. It was a landmark decision. It was a controversial decision. It was a decision a long time in the making.

At the risk of oversimplification, those opposed to the decision suggest that allowing gays to marry undermines the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman. They argue, using slippery slope logic, that allowing men to marry men or women to marry women will lead to future breakdowns in the sanctity of marriage: polygamy, bestiality, bigamy...

At the risk of oversimplification, those in favor of the decision believe that all Americans, regardless of whom they love, should have the social, financial, and political benefits of marriage. They argue that Americans, regardless of whom they love, are entitled to these basic rights. They also cite statistics (usually results from studies of heterosexual marriages) that reveal higher success rates for married couples than co-habitating couples.

I must admit, I am a bit puzzled by the controversy. I cannot understand the argument that allowing gays to marry somehow undermines or even affects in some small way my own heterosexual marriage. I don't see it. My marriage is a personal commitment made public between me and my husband, but I'm not sure it impacts society (or anyone else's marriage for that matter).

Maybe it comes down to definitions. I believe in family, and for many years we as a nation have re-made definitions of family as we have talked about and celebrated variety in family make-up. That attitude, of course, has a history of controversy as well. Traditional families, defined as husband, wife, and 2-point-something children, were for many years (and maybe in some circles still today) sacrosanct. But over time, that traditional definition of family became insufficient as a way to define the way many Americans actually live. It almost became taboo to suggest that there is only one kind of family, that those groups connected by blood and commitment and love (regardless of make up) were somehow less significant or valuable than "traditional" families.

I truly believe that this more inclusive definition of family strengthens the family unit in a way that also strengthens society. Recognizing commitment, love, choice, and responsibility in all its variety cements those values; it strengthens the value of family.

For me, marriage is fundamentally a social construct designed to support family. Family is the more significant term. Families are the bedrock of the nation; families are the fundamental unit that must be supported and celebrated. If recognizing gay marriage provides structure to solidify and strengthen some families, then it is good and necessary. Would anyone dare argue that recognizing a gay family unit would somehow weaken single-parent, traditional, multigenerational, childless, child-filled, his/her/ours, and/or adopted families? Would anyone argue today that including gays in the makeup of family would lead to crazy new definitions of family that included animals (oh wait, I think some people already claim pets as part of the family).

Marriage is a legal contract that binds two people who choose commitment; family is a group of people who choose to love and support and care for each other through the ups and downs of life. Marriage doesn't necessarily create family, and family doesn't necessarily need marriage.

If I have to choose to defend one of the two: I choose family.  I believe in family, and as such I believe in any marriage that strengthens and potentially supports family.

Written 26 July 2015