Her main problem is interesting. She believes she is going to marry the Bishop. She says his wife is dead and that Heavenly Father wants her to be the Bishop’s wife. The Bishop’s wife, who is very much alive and well, doesn’t factor at all into her relationship with the Bishop.

She hasn’t done anything about her delusion that I know of. She hasn’t told the Bishop directly or done anything to publicly embarrass herself or him or anyone else. She just talks about their wedding day, which is always just around the corner and how she is anticipating their honeymoon will go. Depending on the day, it is a lot of blue information about an imaginary sexual relationship.

The situation makes me think of bigger questions, like how common is it for a Bishop to be idolized, anyway? Is there any specific training that Bishops have to help them with sticky situations? I know for counselors and therapists there is an open acknowledgement that it is very, very common for clients to become infatuated with their therapist because they share personal information and a therapist is trained to always be supportive. I can easily see the same thing happening in a Bishop and member situation because they too hear painful experiences and show unconditional love in return.

So what is a Bishop supposed to do? And how does it feel to be the Bishop’s wife, knowing that at least one or two women in the ward fantasize you were dead? If the Bishop’s wife is nice she might be lucky enough to die in a good way, without suffering, so there is that at least.

I talk to teenage girls sometimes now–the girls who came to help me clean for a yard sale, for instance. I just told them right out “If you’re going to have sex, use condoms AND the pill.” And, “the odds of you getting dumped rise exponentially when you give in and sleep with him.” And, “being a mom at 16 is a cheap thrill. Don’t do it.”

Check out this report on Elizabeth Smart’s speech at Johns Hopkins:

http://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Latest-News-Wires/2013/0504/Elizabeth-Smart-speaks-on-human-trafficking?cmpid=addthis_facebook#.UYZXNap8jnw.facebook

(sorry, I suck at posting links)

She said she’d had that chewed up gum lesson and thought after she was raped that it didn’t matter if she was found because ‘Oh, my gosh, I’m that chewed up piece of gum, nobody re-chews a piece of gum, you throw it away.’ And that’s how easy it is to feel like you know longer have worth, you know longer have value,” Smart said. “Why would it even be worth screaming out? Why would it even make a difference if you are rescued? Your life still has no value.”

I love this: Smart says children should be educated that “you will always have value and nothing can change that.”

A friend, who I love, but think is stupid, once told the Young Women (I think she was the president) that she’d rather have her daughter dead than pregnant out of wedlock. Well, she ate those words at the wedding of her 3 months pregnant daughter.

I called my friend who’s in the YW presidency now and asked about how they approach pre-marital sex currently. She said they don’t use those examples and the church discourages this type of rhetoric. They discuss the subject using the scriptures but avoid harsh dogma while encouraging chastity (what a tight rope, huh?).

This is one more reason I will never be called to the Young Women. I’d be all for the pill.

I don’t remember when calling and setting appointments to visit became the status quo. I don’t remember when visiting became a more formal affair, even just between friends. My friends didn’t call to ask if it was convenient, they just showed up.

Boy, I haven’t done that in years. But I did the other day. And it went pretty darn well.

I had been gone a lot helping Sarah with the baby; then I got the flu. My companion had also had a busy month and it was the 23rd of the month. I called her to see if we could go the next day, but she was going out of town (she has four kids and a ton of grandkids, too).

Something came over me Wednesday morning and I threw together some bags of candy and out the door I went. The first lady was a young mother of four (twins!) who is secretary in Primary. I thought I’d just leave her the candy, but she invited me in. Turns out she was feeling pretty desperate and needed to talk. I knew how she felt, I remember being totally overwhelmed and exhausted. I ended up staying over an hour, at her request.

I had a similar positive experience at the next house.

And I thought “maybe we’re complicating this visiting teaching idea.” Now I know some of you are thinking “don’t EVER drop in on me” and I don’t like surprise visitors much anymore either. But sometimes, it could be a God thing…..just sayin’.

For any of this to make sense, you must know a small amount of the drama at our house. Quick background: Rob and I are taking care of 3 elderly, special needs parents who live in a nursing home a mile from our house. We are daily on the phone, at the nursing home and running errands for at least one of them. Thanks goodness they are all in the same place.

We also have our three college-attending kids at home. They all go to school and work, which means they are only home long enough to make a mess, eat all the food and use up the hot water, leaving behind a trail of dirty towels and empty toilet paper rolls.

We also have the privilege of helping our daughter raise our granddaughter in our home. I am the primary full-time childcare provider while our daughter is at school and work.

Both Rob and I work more than full-time jobs. He leaves early in the morning, gets home late and often works on the weekends. I do my office work in the evenings, weekends and at 2am when I can’t sleep.

Recently one of our kids accused Rob and I of slacking as parents because we don’t have Family Home Evening like we used to when they were kids and we aren’t spending quality time with them, ala Norman Rockwell Dinner Time Hour. I admit both Rob and I didn’t handle her accusation well. We laughed at her. I shook my head in disbelief and reminded her that she is officially a grown up and can take responsibility for herself more. I also pointed out that the Good Old Days of her childhood were that way because we had complete say over who did what and when. Now our front door is a revolving door of crazy schedules and Rob and I feel good when we see the kids once a week, let alone doing extended family visiting.

Our dear sweet, diligent daughter reminded us of the prophet’s teachings regarding family scripture study, family prayer, Family Home Evening. She wanted us to know we need to do a better job as leaders in our home. Luckily Rob is a strong, quick man and restrained me before my lunge forward reached our daughter’s neck.

I remember as a young married adult going home to visit and thinking my parents were wasting time watching entirely too much tv. I also thought that they let a lot the “rules” of the house slack off. They ate supper in front of the tv on trays instead of at the table and didn’t even bother with real plates. Mom said since it was just them, there was no need to use dishes that had to be washed. Paper plates were fine. Paper plates! The world was going to heck in a hand basket.

I officially repent of any/all judgments I held against my parents as they transitioned into being empty nesters. I only wish my nest was empty, too.

Anyone have advice, wisdom or empathy on this subject? And don’t’ bother telling us to kick the kids out. For lots of reasons I won’t bore you with, they are all here for at least another year or two or three. Shoot me now.

Help me understand this website.
Apparently Make Your Garments dot com is a site that screen prints garments on any underwear for members who can’t wear traditional garments. Yet on the page I referenced, it clearly states this site is not affiliated with Beehive Clothing in any way and says that if you are attending the temple it is best to wear regular garments.
Does this mean Make Your Garments is a scam/joke/weird thing? I am intrigued by the idea that some people just don’t fit into traditional garments (enough women on the internet complain about it you would think everyone is suffering from bunched up, power weggies all day long) and that this an option for them. But really? What is this?

However, on page seven, there is an unexpected addition: “Young Women and the Priesthood.” My first reaction was mild surprise that it had actually occurred to someone at the New Era to at least include a shout-out to the young women (however unsatisfactory) in such an inherently male-centric article. Naturally, its content is exactly what you would expect: even though women can’t hold the priesthood, its blessings are available to all, blah, blah, blah, you get the holy ghost and gifts of the spirit, etc.

Then the part that made my blood pressure rise:

How can young women help young men be worthy priesthood holders? One young man answered: “I think two of the biggest things they do are to dress modestly and be kind to everyone. The modest dress helps me keep my thoughts in check, and I can actually look at them while talking!”

That’s right, girls, your principal connection to priesthood power is covering your filthy, unholy, and shameful bodies so that the male youth of zion can bear to gaze upon you. A woman’s sole priesthood duty is modesty. This is of even more importance than Jesus’ second great commandment.

And there was revived in her the wretched sentiment which had often come to her before, that in inhabiting the fleshly tabernacle with which Nature had endowed her she was somehow doing wrong.

— Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d’Urbervilles

After my friend and I hung up, I felt much better because just talking about my worries helps me keep things in perspective. That and she makes me laugh, which is priceless on a bad day.

Then I read an article written by a guy who was dying from cancer and he wrote that he never asked Why Me. To him, it was a pointless exercise in theological questioning that had no answer, so why waste the energy on it? That reminded me of Neil A. Maxwell and his writings about his suffering with cancer. He too, never seriously asked Why Me. Neil felt that just in the asking, it showed a lack of faith in God. The proper question to ask was more along the lines of “What divine attributes can I gain insight into from experiencing this pain?” (You know Neil, he liked big words.)

When I think of Job in the bible, he also saw no value in asking Why Me.

But here is my truth: When the s—t hits the fan at my house, I always ask Why Me. I don’t consider it a weakness in my faith. I am not ashamed to admit that sometimes things are really hard and trials are so massive I just don’t want to face them. I whine and complain to my girlfriends and say, “It’s not fair! Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

I don’t expect an answer that neatly explains my situation. What I do expect is the room and safety to explore all my feelings. I figure Heavenly Father is the one in charge and He saw fit for me to experience this challenge, so he is obviously a big enough person to handle my range of reactions. He is not offended by my questioning and knows it is a necessary part of the process towards acceptance for me.

What is interesting is how other people react when I am in my Why Me mood. Over the years in different situations, I have been told Bad Things Happen To Good People because:
A. I need to strengthen a weakness, I.E. My kids were deathly ill so I could learn patience.
B. I am suffering to cleanse the sins and choices of past generations, I.E. I am challenged to be better than my parents and grandparents were.
C. I am suffering so that other’s can see my pain and take courage from it, I.E. I am glad to not be you phenomenon.

Who knows what the answer is for any given situation? It doesn’t matter. I am just glad to be able to ask the question and know that I am safe in doing so. The most difficult part of any challenge is feeling isolated and misunderstood, like no one else can empathize. Allowing others the grace to ask Why Me without correcting them or telling them it is wrong to ask, is oftentimes the only gift you can give them.

The Deaf situation was different. There HAD to be interpreters for them. It wasn’t a matter of them needing to adjust to an English world and eventually picking up the language. It wasn’t going to change. They could not hear and that was permanent. That was the first ward we had ever been in that took language interpretation seriously. Hymns needed to be signed, prayers, announcements and talks needed to be signed. To be inclusive of the Deaf members was quite an exhaustive thing for the people called to be sign language interpreters. Sunday was a full day of work for them.

The Deaf members had to practice extreme patience with volunteer interpreters who were constantly playing catch up, learning new signs for English slang, etc.

The one thing that Rob and I learned from living in the Deaf ward was the importance of having talks written out ahead of time. Before moving to that ward we had always given Sunday talks from note cards or just from the tops of our heads, as the Spirit moved us. I had never written out a formal talk before and the first time I did, I struggled. It seemed foreign to purposely think about what I wanted to say and how to say it so it would be easy for the sign language interpreters to translate. I was worried the talk would be wooden and devoid of the spontaneity I thought was needed for the Spirit to be present. I hated being forced to stick to the written word and felt sorry for the speakers at General Conference who have to submit their talks well in advance of conference so the multitudes of language interpreters are prepared to translate their words to the listeners around the world.

The surprising thing is that being forced to write out my talks didn’t stifle the Spirit. In fact, the opposite happened. I was able to focus my thoughts and see the weaknesses in my premises before I stood up and attempted to let the Spirit fix my mistakes. I became a better public speaker and didn’t ramble on and on, trying to catch a thread of continuity to tie strings of ideas together on the fly. I stopped using big words and complicated analogies when a simpler way to express myself was available. The interesting thing was that my talks were so much better received. I started getting sincere compliments for my talks instead of the typical “thanks for participating in our meeting” kind of thanks.

Now whenever a speaker announces from the pulpit that they didn’t write out their talk and they prefer to pray and let the Spirit guide them, I settle in for a long, disjointed talk that I know at the most will have one or two coherent thoughts. The rest of it will be a hot mess.

For Rob and I, the discipline of writing out talks is an exercise in weeding out the ramblings and zeroing in on what really conveys the message. We are grateful to have been members in a ward where everyone wrote out talks and if you didn’t, you were considered thoughtless and inconsiderate. It has made us aware of the difficulties of language translation and the value of clear, uncluttered speaking. It has made a huge difference in our ability to enjoy church meeting talks and to walk away feeling we were spiritually fed, instead of just watching the clock and praying a meeting would mercifully end.