Monday, November 21, 2016

What It's Like To Not Be LDS (it means Mormon) In Utah or Oh, Snap

If you are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS) and you want to know what it's like to not be a member of the LDS church living in Utah, I suggest a classic behavior psychology exercise. (Let me be clear, because it's so classic, someone else may have blogged about this idea before. I don't know. I didn't do any research. It's just the best way I know to communicate in a very tangible way what it's like to not be LDS in Utah.)

Find a rubber band. It may be harder than you think, especially if you have a cat or dog or toddler who chews on everything, but be as persistent as LDS pioneers and find a rubber band. Next, put it on your wrist. Now have a conversation with someone. (You might want to explain what you're doing ahead of time or this could be awkward.)

Every time you mention something that relates to the LDS church, snap the rubber band. Possible topics include the obvious--like your church job or the fact that you're going to the temple tomorrow--and the not-so-obvious.

Here are a few to watch out for:

your son's boy scout troop
snap
paying your tithing
snap
needing an idea for Family Home Evening
snap
waiting for an email from a loved one serving a mission
snap
genealogy (I know. That's not strictly Mormon territory these days, but still.)
snap
picking your kids up from a basketball game at a ward
snap
the ward's camping trip next week
snap
choir practice
snap
the casserole you need to make because someone in the ward died
snap
the novel you just got at Deseret Book
snap

After a while, you're going to notice two things:

that rubber band hurts
yes
you talk about church more than you thought you did
yes (but some of us could have told you that.)

As far as the pain goes, once you get sick of it, you'll find yourself trying to think of things to talk about that have nothing to do with the church. You don't want to snap that rubber band, so what's a safe topic? That apprehension you feel right then? That's what we, who are not LDS, feel when we want to tell you something about your life, but we are afraid we will be judged. 

snap

Avoid the pain. Think of as many things as you can to talk about that don't involve the LDS church. If your memory is as bad as mine, write a few of them down. 

Next time you're having a conversation with someone who is not LDS, talk only about those non-snap-worthy topics. Trust me. The non-LDS person will appreciate it.

Happy Thanksgiving!







Monday, March 7, 2016

Mother's Day

I don't believe in coincidences, at least not as a rule.

Today, while I was in my therapist's waiting room, a woman entered. She carried a small pet carrier. Within it, a small black and white dog whimpered, and the woman tried to shush her. 

"It's okay," I said. "She's not bothering me." And then I looked at the woman and said, "One of those days?" I thought maybe she'd taken the dog to the vet and that appointment went long and she didn't have time to take the dog home before her own appointment. 

The woman said, "She's my mother's dog. My mother just died two weeks ago and the dog can't be left alone. All I could think was to bring her with me."

I met her gaze and said, "I understand. Soon it will be six years since my mother's death." I added, "It sucks, doesn't it?"

And she said softly, "Yes, it really does suck."

Before we could talk any longer, the woman's therapist came out and seemed delighted to see the dog was with her and ushered them both into her office. Meanwhile, I started rooting around in my purse for a tissue.

As I did, I remembered an appointment I had a few months after my mom died. (No, I did not have a dog--or a cat--with me.) My mom and I lived together and her bedroom was by the back door. As I walked past her room, a wave of grief washed over me. My whole life, when I would leave the house, my mom would tell me I looked pretty. When she and I would laugh about her ardent feminism and how maybe she should have told me I looked smart or brave or confident, she would shrug. When she left the house, it was her mom's custom to tell her she looked pretty. Some things just get handed down.  

That day, I realized that I would never, in this life, hear my mom tell me I looked pretty. The thought almost made me double over in pain. Next I realized that if I did something crazy, like got married, she wouldn't be there to zip up my dress, smooth my hair, and tell me, before I walked towards the aisle, that I looked pretty. 

Already running late, I bit my lip, pulled myself together, and headed out to the car. 

When I arrived at the doctor's office, the elevator door opened and a young woman, maybe in her 20s, with Down's Syndrome* and accompanied by her mother, looked me straight in the eye and said, "You look so pretty today." 

I smiled, thanked her, and assured her that she, too, looked so pretty. I stepped into the elevator and, as the doors closed, I half-laughed and half-cried. It was just like my mom to find a way to tell me that and remind me that she wasn't as far away as she seemed.

During a recent trip to San Diego, I kept noticing dandelions. It surprised me that they'd escaped the hotel's gardeners. Something about those dandelions made me smile. I liked their wild determination. Today, I noticed some again, and scribbled a potential line for a poem: my path is strewn with dandelions. 

Tonight, I glanced at the note and remembered. My mom once wrote a poem about my brother, aged two or three, bringing her a bouquet of dandelions. I've looked everywhere for the poem and I can't find it. But I know she wrote something like this "Even though it was early March, not May, it was in fact Mother's Day."

I miss my mom, but my path is strewn with dandelions. 



*I mention the Down's Syndrome because people with Down's Syndrome frequently play the role of messenger in after-death communications. Some think it's that they are closer to the spirit world; some think it's because they are less inhibited. I think it might be both.