Honoring some of the Females in My Life on Relief Society's Birthday

To celebrate the birthday of Relief Society this year, I decided to blog about some of the women who are or who have been closest to me in terms of family relations. This means that I will be leaving out some my closest women friends of which there are amazing, beautiful souls. So in no particular order.

Grandma Anderson: (My mom's mom) Generosity. If there isn't a good reason to say no, say yes. When I was about 12 or so, I wanted to go ice skating. In Provo there was an amazing ice skating rink called the Winter Gardens. The building was shaped like a turtle shell. It was huge, too. When we got tired of skating, we could warm up by the fire, or have a snack. Many will remember that it was later turned into a Macey's grocery store before being torn down completely. 

Well, I asked if I could go with some friends and my parents immediate response was not today. They didn't really have a great reason, from my point of view. And I admit, I would be upset as a parent, if the grandparent stepped in and undermined me, but that's what she did. I remember that she intervened and asked my parents why I couldn't go. She'd said, if I was ever going to be a good skater, I needed to go as often as possible and that it was good for me no matter what. I'm pretty sure she offered to pay. She very often handed out money when she visited. Needless to say, I got to go skating.

Plus she'd ask me what I wanted as far as her crocheting went. She made me slippers and several ponchos. They were actually popular in those days. Grandma was generous and kind. Generous with time, praise, gifts, money, and her exceptional even tempered personality. 

Nana Thayne: (Dad's Mom) Faith. When I was about 17, I stayed a couple of nights with my Grandma. This was unusual for me. Most of the other grandkids stayed with her often, but our family lived a ways away, and didn't hang out there much. So it was the first chance I had at really getting to know her. I knew she had asthma because she always carried around an atomizer in her big purse. One of the nights that I was there she went to bed in a room next to the guest room (the study with the pullout bed) and I could hear her wheezing in the next room. I finally got up to check on her and she was lying sideways with her feet sticking off the edge of her high bed. I asked what I could do and she said to call the elders. She told me to call her neighbor and ask her to get hold of someone from the ward. It must have been around midnight when they came, but they seemed more than happy to be there. Ready to serve. Happy to help. After they left, her labored breathing calmed and she slept through the night. Another thing I remember about her is that she believed that her dreams held answers for life. A visionary woman.

Mom: Grace. Not in the religious sense, though she is very faithful in her religion, but in the sense that she offers grace to everyone she knows, meaning she believes in the inherent goodness of people.  She assumes the best. I can safely say, I never heard my mother gossip about anyone in my growing up years. And if I tried to tell her a scandalous story, she seemed completely uninterested or offered an explanation of some kind, or that I shouldn't believe what I hear, or that there might be a reason for it. And most importantly, not to hold a grudge. She treats everyone with respect and kindness and nearly everyone treats her that way too.

Mother-in-law Ruth: I miss her. Read! Not only did she have a great education in a day when not many women from rural Utah did, but she continued learning and reading to the day she died. Whenever we would visit, there would be a book or two or three opened face down on the table next to her recliner. It doesn't seem like she used book marks though I could be wrong. The fact that she read and enjoyed, and bought and passed around copies of my novels was a great compliment to me. Her knowledge of the world was vast and there wasn't any subject that she couldn't talk about with at least some degree of knowledge. A truly brilliant woman.

Daughter Ginger: Adventure and courage. I once asked Ginger if she was ever scared, and she said "sometimes I am scared to death, but I just do it anyway." It over the years includes, to name only a few: rock climbing, bungee jumping, scuba diving, traveling nearly all over the world, living most often by herself in Central and South America, Denmark, San Francisco, and New York where she opened and ran her own restaurant, and now is learning Yoga in India. Take life and go. Anything is possible with enough desire and hard work. Make your own luck. Dreams can come true. A little courage goes a long way. Be confident and smile, you've got this. And she does. She has life by the tail.

Daughter-in-law Joanna: We won the lottery when it comes to our daughter-in-law, and there's a lot I could say about her as a wonderful mother and wife, but the trait that I'm trying to learn from her is diplomacy. As someone who sometimes speaks too quickly out of impatience, anger, frustration, hurt, or defense, I'd rather learn to hold my tongue, or when needed engage in a thoughtful meaningful way. Case in point. A couple of years ago, we attended an LDS branch near our cabin in Montana. There was a Relief Society lesson that was given that was not only racist, but railed on these "terrible feminist women who want the priesthood." At the time, I was in a place of deep hurt in regards to my faith. This lesson was not what I needed. Joanna raised her hand, and gently offered an alternative perspective about where a woman who wants the priesthood might be coming from and that always we should not judge the motivations of others, and to remember the Savior's example of love. Well, it calmed my heart. I whispered to her that she was my hero. Whenever, I'm able to calmly offer a loving response even when someone is triggering me, I call it being able to do a Joanna.

Granddaughter: Be authentic. She's only six, but she knows herself quite well. When she was five, she asked me if she could be something besides a mother. I told her she could and she said that her brother told her she if she was a mother she could be nothing else. I said, "well your dad is a teacher and father. Your mom teaches exercise classes besides being a mother." She said, well I want to be and listed five or six things that she wanted to be. I told her that was really great and that I was sure she could be those things. When we were back in the car, I said, I think it's great that granddaughter wants to be everything. She piped up, "I didn't say I want to be everything, I said that I want to be everything that I want to be." I loved that distinction. How silly to think or even want to be everything--there are far too many options. But to be what you really want to be--well that's pretty doable. What a great start she has. 

Letting Go of George

Remember the Seinfeld episode where George Castanza is  obsessed with everyone liking him, especially Jerry’s girlfriend. He tried so hard to be funny, to be helpful, and to be nice in an effort to please. He was deeply troubled when he found out that Jerry’s girlfriend didn’t like him. So then in an effort to win her over, he over compensated, and doubled his efforts. In one scene he lamented. “Why doesn’t she like me?” And Jerry’s response was something along the lines of, not everyone has to like you George. But George insisted that everyone must like him. He then ruminated over every word and every action. He stopped enjoying the present. He stopped listening to his own girlfriend and in the end, he loses her admiration too. 

I believe most of us can relate to George. I like to be under the illusion that everyone likes me. And for the most part I think people do, people who really know me. But I can remember about every time when I discovered that someone didn’t. It still stings when I think about the time at girls camp at Camp Mia Shalom where I was outside of a cabin and overheard my most trusted friends talking about me negatively. When one of them came outside and saw me there, she bee-lined back in and the gossip stopped. I acted nonchalant as if I didn’t care or had even  heard. But I never felt as safe with my friends after that. 

Working towards authenticity can be a painful process. Learning to live my religion the best way I know how, not the way others would have me live it is hard. Especially when we are like George and truly want to be liked—not just by those who already do—but by everyone. But often if we worry so much about what others think we end up squelching who we are. We silence our voice and we snuff out our own light and if we carry it far enough, we might end up not pleasing anyone, especially ourselves. How often do we stick our necks out and share something that has become a truth for us. And then when we do and someone criticizes it, we are like the turtle who pulls back into his shell, afraid to show our true selves again. 

It’s quite possible that the only voice we listen to is the one who shoots us down, instead of those who respect our vulnerability. It is possible to respect someone while disagreeing with someone. Honoring others experiences and truths and realizing that everyone sees through the lens of their lives differently is essential to friendship and understanding differences. 

I am often that thirteen-year-old girl sitting outside of the cabin. I still really want to fit in, and like George be liked by everyone, and am still hurt when I find out that friends are talking about me in less than flattering terms. Years ago I sat in a bishop’s office and shared some painful baggage I’d been carrying. The baggage was one of doubt—doubt about the church I’d been raised in. Like a good shepherd, he respected where I was at, and observed that I might care too much what people think about me. Before this bishop was released he would occasionally remind me that I was okay. And to not worry and do what I needed to do. I’ve come to find out years later, that he was right. 

I used to hear the adage carries their heart on their sleeve. I didn’t know until my 50’s that it describes me. When we have a wound, it’s often a good idea to pull off the bandage occasionally and let it air out. But in self-protecting we want to cover our blemishes, hide our wounds, and hide our flaws. Once I shared my burden of doubt with a leader who hadn’t yet earned my trust, and who didn’t know me. But I shared anyway hoping to be understood and when I was not respected, I ended up feeling betrayed and hurt. It took me a long time to stick my neck out again. But eventually when I spoke up, I found new friends because of it. I found others sharing their vulnerable truths with me.  And my old friends who already knew the real me continued to be there for me. As much as I love the guy, someday I will learn to let go of George Castanza. 

Drawing Circles. My Defense of John Dehlin

Outwitted by Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out--

Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win:

We drew a circle that took him in!

There might be reasons to excommunicate someone from a church, though I'm not sure what those reasons might be I will tell you what I believe they are not. Being honest and authentic by allowing others to tell about their Mormon experience is not a good reason. Believing that marriage between two adults is a civil right that should be extended to all is not a good reason. Believing that women should have full equality in a church is not a good reason. Earnestly seeking answers is not a good reason. Striving diligently to minister to the disenfranchised is not a good reason.

So those of you who don't know John Dehlin or what the hullabaloo is all about, I will share my own limited knowledge of John. But even with limited knowledge, I know enough to know that he does not deserve the dogged determination of leaders who are drawing a circle to shut him out. I met John about seven years ago. We've had lunch a few times and socialized in small groups. I've attended a six-week workshop designed to help those struggling with a faith transition or crisis. I've listened for years to his podcasts which deal with members of the church across the spectrum including very faithful, true believing Mormons such as Richard Bushman and Terryl Givens to gay Mormons to those who have left the church. Some of these have increased my faith while others have caused me to ponder more deeply the questions I already have. But what I have found from John is that he is extremely fair. He respects his listeners enough and his interviewees enough to let them draw their own conclusions. 

In the workshop I participated in, John was the discussion leader. He explained how normal it is to have various stages of faith and belief. He helped us to know that we could get through this and be better off for it. What he didn't do was advocate to anyone that they should leave their religion--nor did he do this even when I spoke with him individually. What I know of John is that he loves people. He loves them enough that when he saw so much suffering amongst some in the LDS community because of difficulties in the religion, he changed course and pursued his doctorate in psychology. 

I don't believe the church will gain anything from purging progressives. I know thousands of people who will feel less like participating if he is excommunicated, not because they idolize him, but because he reached out when they felt like they didn't belong. He has carved out a niche for many Mormons and given them reasons to stay. I would hope that the church which claims to have the complete truth would not be fearful of the scrutiny that comes from John and others like him. Can't we stretch our circle to draw him in?  

Is It Cliche to Say that Emma Lou Thayne Was A Brilliant Light?

I was in awe of her. Always. When I was really little, I only knew her laugh and her smile. Later I would seek her out at every family event. I wanted to bask in her charm, her intellect, and her optimistic spirit. I think the first time she wrote me a personal letter was around 1985 or 6 when my first published story came out in the New Era. It was shortly after the car accident that easily could have taken her life. The accident made it so she could hardly write at all and her jaw was wired shut if I recall. It was the accident that would eventually lead her to write her spiritual autobiography "A Place of Knowing," and yet she managed to scrawl a letter of congratulations and kind encouragement for my published story, apologizing for her "sloppy handwriting." It would be years before anything I wrote would get published again, but when my books came out--she read them and wrote to me and called me on the phone. I always felt so awkward around her, her poise and talent loomed large, and yet she always managed to make me feel as if she thought I too had talent and more. She praised me for my writing, my thinking, and my heart.

Those who were lucky enough to know her, understand the need and want to be around her. For women of my generation, we looked at her with admiration. She led the way, a "Mormon Matriarch" who championed women's rights, activism for peace and AIDS awareness. I'm writing about her on my faith journey blog because we talked about faith. In the last ten years whenever I visited with her, faith and the LDS church were the things we talked about and yes politics. She knew of my discouragement. Her faith exuded from her, but it wasn't a forced faith from dogma and guilt. It wasn't an all or nothing faith, it's easy. Easy for her. Easy to love the good that she cherished and discard what she thought was "nonsense." Her confidence in her own mind and voice allowed her to have the ear of many of the top LDS leaders. She worked with several on the Deseret News Board, the lone female voice for much of the time. She did even call church headquarters a number of times to speak to her friends there about her concerns. President Thomas "Tom" Monson said this about her passing: "I am saddened at the passing of my friend, Emma Lou Warner Thayne, a multi-talented and caring individual whose outstanding contributions in literature, in education and in other endeavors have done much to enlighten and to inspire," Monson said Saturday in a statement. "She will be greatly missed. I join with countless others in extending my deepest condolences to her dear husband Mel and to her entire family."

When "A Place of Knowing" became available on audio format, "Tom" called her on the phone because he'd listened to it. She'd said, "you know how he likes to swap stories. We must've talked for an hour or more." 

The year she spoke to our book club in 2012 was a hard year for me, as years go. My faith was rock bottom. I had always seen Emma Lou as a beacon for how, who, and what I could be as a Mormon woman of faith. I knew from personal conversations that we thought very much the same way on a lot of issues regarding the church, politics, and eventually about lgbt rights, and yet she wasn't teetering on the brink. She was fully engaged. Church groups regularly invited her to speak, often using her beautiful hymn "Where Can I Turn for Peace" as a theme. She lived and practiced grace. But that year, I felt like I could not be like her. The realization broke my heart. Who did I think I was anyway? No one could be Emma Lou--only Emma Lou. So after that year, I fell off the horse of trying so hard and decided I'd have to be satisfied to be myself. And as a writer and a voice, even though my voice is only a whisper compared to her command, I will continue to find myself and be true to my own voice because after all that's pretty much what any of us can do. Dear Emma Lou, thanks for your kindness, your good heart, your big smile, your humor and your enthusiastic full participation in the game of life. Never willing to sit on the sidelines, you soared. You will always be my hero and my inspiration. Bigger than life, your light will continue to guide us with your powerful voice. All my love. Until we meet again.

The Tree

Not the actual tree, but a lovely tree none-the-less.

There’s a very large deciduous tree on a corner in Paradise. I notice the tree every time I drive past and it’s one of my favorites. The couple who planted the tree are long gone and a young family lives in the house now.  The branches are asymmetrical. The somewhat gnarled branches twist and drop down then reach to the sky. Every season of the year it changes, but is always beautiful.

Trees are often used for metaphors and I chose this particular tree to represent my spiritual life. Trees are always changing, growing imperceptibly, growing just enough that when you look back you see how much the tree has changed. The roots of my spiritual life run deep. They began even before memory. Images of sitting on my mother’s lap in Sacrament meeting. Thumbing through the hymn book and trying to follow the words as we sang. Attending Sunday school and making Bethlehem houses out of salt dough. Hiking with my family to the top of Mount Timpanogas when I was only four. Spending a week of every summer at the family cabin near Yellowstone. Climbing into the back of Grandpa’s jeep and watching the bears emerge from the dark forest. Sitting by the fire. Me and my mom throwing rocks into the Soda Butte river. Playing house with the kindergartners in my class. Riding my tricycle and collecting rocks on the "bumper."

When I was 8, a Sunday school teacher gave me a paper back Book of Mormon for Christmas. I read all of 1st Nephi and after each chapter would run into the living room to tell my dad. We had Family Home Evening nearly every week in that room. Mom read Where the Red Fern Grows to us and I remember sitting on the floor trying hard not to cry. When I think of my roots, I think of all these things. Church and all the people in the ward who taught me. Singing primary songs. I especially loved “I Wonder When He Comes Again” because my aunt wrote it. And every time we sang it I felt love for Jesus. I think of climbing mountains and trees. I think about  my grandmas and grandpa, my mom and my dad, and Silver Gate, Montana. I think of all the moms and houses in my neighborhood where I felt loved. Gratitude.

The trunk of my tree emerged strong because of all of these things that formed my childhood. I think of the trunk as me and the branches as all the parts of me that make my life meaningful. Young Women’s leaders helped me to love God and I remember reciting 2 Nephi 2:17 and wanting to serve others to show my love for God. In high school I had the same friends that I had in grade school. I remember the first time we hiked to Stewart Falls, hiked Mount Timpanogas together, attended firesides, camped out, jumped off  train trestles in Provo river and celebrated birthdays and eventually weddings. I used to come home from school and put on a Neil Young or James Taylor or Cat Stevens album and feel spiritually moved, just like at church or seminary. I learned to feel love for friends, teachers, and church leaders, but practicing that love at home with brothers was hard. I often sat in my room to sort out my thoughts. I loved to read with a cat on my lap, just like now. 

By the time I’d graduated from high school, I knew I loved to write and express my thoughts on paper. I knew I loved to create things with clay and remember the first time I threw a pot on the wheel. I practiced pottery so much, I saw the spinning clay when I closed my eyes at night. In a way, pottery became part of my religion even then. I remember thinking that quitting pottery would be like cutting off my arm, and I used the same analogy about Mormonism years later. One arm my art, the other the church. I remember thinking that the worse thing that could happen to me would be to lose my hands.

One of the largest branches on my tree is the relationship with my husband. Falling in love with my husband was one of the most spiritual gifts I’ve been given.  I have an idea whether true or not that God protected me by helping me to fall for such a good man. And he for me. Before him, I had crushes on guys who would not have not been good for me, or to me, or lasted. He and I have a rich life together. Other large branches are the relationships with my children, grandchildren and the rest of my family. Then my friends. Deep talks with friends is where I feel love and practice loving others. Love is spiritual. Kindness is spiritual. I have lunch friends, walking friends, bookclub and writing friends, church friends, non-church friends, political friends, and even facebook friends who lift and sometimes even carry me. People are part of my spiritual tree. They are the branches that have sprung from the roots of my tree. I have found that I can learn from everyone I meet. 

Now I've purposely let some of the Mormonism roots and branches wither, but nurturing others to grow to keep in balance seems possible. I can no longer see the church the way I did growing up. But Mormonism is my tap root. It is tangled with all the other roots that make me, me. In the last few years as I've tried to untangle the church from who I've become, I've found it impossible. It surges through and gives nourishment to everything else that I believe. I've seen friends and family members be able to successfully untangle their roots and they are often better because of it. For me the tugging and pulling at some of the the roots unravels too much of my core. But instead of the one and only true church, I believe it has truth mixed with lots of man-made beliefs and some of those beliefs and practices are even damaging and best discarded. Pruning a tree can often make it better and even allow it to bear fruit. Part of being a mature spiritual adult is being able to tell the difference between the essential and what is best pruned. And not to let others decide what is important in my life. Part of being a spiritual adult is honoring the journey of others as well as my own. 

In a church community I can learn to worship the God I believe in. I can practice the pure love of Christ and I can try to make a difference in others lives. I can honor the people who make a difference in my life--both in and out of my church. I can work at relationships and learn basic principles of love, charity, gratitude, prayer, and forgiveness. And often I can continue to add the philosophies and practices that resonate with my core, mindfulness, meditation, literature, writing, walking, art, LGBT support groups and activism, book clubs, writing groups, therapy, friends, skiing, bike riding, art, and guitar. Like the 13th article of faith ... If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things. Nearly all enriching things can be spiritual. I have a gift of awareness. As I drive or walk or hike, I notice the beauty of the sky, a mountain blue bird, a cottontail rabbit. I notice the trees, colors, flowers, animals. I pay attention. Awareness is spiritual. Mostly I’m grateful. Though some of the branches of my tree have been pruned and some have broken, others have grown in their place. I feel lucky. I feel blessed. I feel loved. I feel alive. 

The Last Straw or Not?

In light of the recent threatening of excommunication of a friend John Dehlin, and the courageous Kate Kelly, the removal of temple recommends for others who are standing true to belief, I heard myself say aloud once again, that I think this may be the last straw. You know what that means, the last straw is the final straw, the straw that means, I give up! But I've said that before and then here I am...still collecting straws and removing straws, and building and rebuilding, and being firm in my stated "final straw," and then realizing that all too often I sometimes react too fast in the heat of the moment. Today with Father's Day on my mind, my thoughts are back in Orem to the 24th ward, to all the wonderful memories of singing primary songs while tracing my finger in the tracks of the painted brick wall. My favorites were, "Whenever I Walk by a Lilac Tree" and the "Primary Colors are One, Two, Three" and the one written by dad's Aunt Mirla Greenwood Thayne, "When He Comes Again." When we sang that song, everyone would look at me because my smile was bigger than anyone else's and even though I sang off key, I sang it as loudly as I could. And I believed every word. Life was simpler then. I would race home from church through the field and stop to throw sticks in the irrigation ditches and pick snake grass.

I remember sitting around the campfire at girl's camp with so much love in my heart that I thought I would burst. My bosom burned with the love of God, mountains, my friends, and my teachers. So often when I came home it was back to reality that I was never going to be good enough. Things didn't get tough until much later.

This last week was tough. I admire those who are true to their convictions. Asking questions is the only way to learn. Sharing those questions with others is valuable. I've known John to reach out to countless people like me. When the last straw was about to break my back, John threw me a lifeline. So I was pretty disheartened at the news that his honesty in his feelings got him into trouble. It has brought tears to my eyes a hundred times this week. I don't know Kate Kelly, but I admire her and have watched how gracefully she has handled her situation. I pray for her. I pray for John. I pray for their families. I pray for all of us. As a faithful LDS friend reminded me on Friday, "this is hard for me too." There is plenty of hurt to share; those rooted resolutely in the gospel and those teetering, and those who have chosen to leave. I have friends in all camps. My circle has become so, so much bigger since I've included the LGBTQ community, people of other faiths, unbelievers and believers alike.

But that last straw thing... John Dehlin wrote this on his facebook today. "I'm not totally sure why, but I felt like it was important to attend church today, so we did (as a family). The service was normal. I still felt "the spirit" or very warm feelings when singing the hymns. But the outpouring of love expressed afterwards was truly heart warming. One member slipped me a note *during the opening prayer* saying that he hoped that they don't go through with a council. One brother shook my hand, and then shook his fist at me with a huge smile in a "you can do it!" sort of way. One sweet sister insisted on hugging both myself and Margi. She said, "Physical touch is very important in moments like this." Several members went out of their way to smile, or to express explicit support for our family. 

Margi and I were hesitant to attend, but afterwards were so glad that we did. In spite of my doubts about some of our teachings, and concerns about LDS church history -- I have always loved the saints. And I still do."

This sweet response reminded me that I need to slow down, take a breath, and remember that just two and 1/2 years ago, I had a somewhat similar experience in my own ward, years and miles beyond my beloved Orem 24th ward. I bore my testimony about my doubts and pain and loss... and my ward family responded with hugs, cards, phone calls, and text messages of encouragement and love. I'm sure it is not possible to ever believe  the way I did when I sang, "I Wonder When He Comes Again" but I'm not at all sure that belief is always necessary to participate, at least in some way in my religion. Again this weekend many friends hugged me and expressed concern and on facebook a bunch more reminded me they cared.  Maybe there's still a few straws to go before it really is that final one. 

Practicing Is Not Hypocrisy

hy·poc·ri·sy

hiˈpäkrisē/

noun

1. 1.

   the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform; pretense.

   synonyms:

   dissimulation, false virtue, cant, posturing, affectation, speciousness,empty talk, insincerity, falseness, deceit, dishonesty, mendacity,pretense, duplicity;

   I've had a lot of thoughts running through my mind lately. Often we accuse people of being hypocrites for not living up to the standards they preach. The last couple of years, I've put a lot of personal feelings on my blogs and at times on facebook. I have preached love, compassion, and kindness, not because I'm good at it, but because I want to be. I have never been one to say the church I attend is full of hypocrites, perhaps because I recognize that in a sense everyone is a hypocrite about something. 

I admire those in my life whose very actions, not their words preach kindness. St. Francis of Assisi is quoted as saying, "Preach the gospel always, and when necessary use words." There are those of us who are better with actions and those of us who are better with words. But by practicing and failing, we learn. I am still and often falling short of the "moral standards and beliefs" that I write and talk about. I can go from feeling love in my heart to anger in a matter of seconds If the right or wrong things are said. I still am incapable of having a political discussion even with friends who I respect, but differ from dramatically. Knowing this about myself, I often retreat from, rather than defend my position. At times when I feel I must say something because my silence would imply agreement, my heart races, my blood pressure raises, and I have to sometimes say a little prayer to calm down. Am I better at civil discourse today than I was a few years ago? Not really, and yet I will continue to practice the virtue of civil discourse. 

When I read the definition of hypocrisy, I think there has to be a purposeful deceit involved,"the practice of claiming." This is where most of us really don't fit the definition. We usually recognize better than anyone else our moral failings. True hypocrisy would be when we preach something in order to deceive someone. We often label people as "used-car salesman," when they try to sell us something without telling us the whole truth. Intention seems to be a part of the duplicity. My hope is that I never deceive someone, and especially not intentionally. 

Why this post? My intention with my writing is to persuade myself into becoming a more spiritual, enlightened, moral, and kind person. My intention is to remind others of the need for a kinder and more forgiving world. My intention is not to make others believe that I have achieved any kind of spiritual high-ground. Knowing my weaknesses better than anyone, I know I will continue to fall short. I may fail to notice someone in need. I may notice, but still fail to help someone in need. I may pause to help, but only on my terms, ultimately failing to help their true need. But sometimes, not often enough, I might get it right. And in that, I will keep practicing.