What's in My Inbox...

So, I recently discovered a new source of information when Jeffrey engaged in email correspondence with a great aunt. It started out perfectly innocent; we were just trying to share some information regarding family history. We also were trying to stay connected to a potentially lonely woman who may be the only surviving member of the family in her generation.

However, we forgot an important rule: when interacting with individuals over 80, do not trust that they will follow the same general rules of etiquette regarding “newer” technologies as you would expect others to do.

As the political season has heated up, we have been being BOMBARDED with email forwards from great-auntie. Generally, these are just subject to the junk folder without being opened, but on a few occasions I have succumbed to my curiosity and actually read what was in the emails, which apparently needed to be forwarded to EVERY person that she knows.

Admissions: I am a political person with strong views. I do not necessarily consider myself “neutral” in all matters. I can get worked up about things and have tirades of my own, hence the official family policy that I was not allowed to read the local newspaper for the 45 days that the Utah State Legislature was in session, for fear that in my outrage I may just sell our house and move out of state without bothering to leave a forwarding address for my husband. Fortunately, now we live in Virginia, alleviating some of that pressure.

That being said, however, I have found the content of these emails so amazingly outrageous and amusing, yet insightful, that I just had to share a few prized examples.

Several weeks ago we got a message which performed a great service in helping me to understand how un-American and bad for our country a certain candidate for President would be. This is because he made a statement (included in the email, so it must be true) about how we ought to change our national anthem. He “believes” that the imagery of bombs bursting in air is too aggressive and a better substitute and representation of appropriate American values would be the song “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing.” Seriously!

I must say, I really do agree with the conclusion of this email. If said candidate had actually made this statement, he should not be President of the United States. It is not that he may turn out to be a closet pacifist who does not prefer to send American troops into battle, or even that he would devalue our nation’s sacred history by denigrating Key’s lyrics. No. It is simply that any politician stupid enough to actually make such a statement publicly while running for the Presidency would reveal such an immense lack of political savvy and intelligence that his/her ability to successfully lead the nation ought to be called into question.

Last week I received another message, among many, designed to set me on the right path. I was really grateful to have someone point out to me every act of violence perpetuated by a male Muslim over the past 30 years. In some ways, it was actually nice to see how limited the list was in relation to all the acts of brutality and violence during this timeframe; however, I think I was supposed to draw a different conclusion. In addition, the author of this piece, in compiling this list, made a resounding argument for why only male Muslims, like those who had perpetuated these acts, should be regularly targeted for security screenings and other investigations. Apparently, just like in Oklahoma City, this approach to identifying potential threats will lead to the most effective interventions.

Finally, this piece alerted me to the dangers (based on the Book of Revelations) of electing a male of Muslim descent between 30 and 50 years of age, particularly if he may be persuasive or charismatic. I was really grateful for this warning, as I may be in even greater danger than the rest of the American public. You see, I am married to a rather charismatic 30-something male of Muslim descent. Yes, he is a practicing Christian and patriotic American from all I have seen, but apparently, this doesn’t matter. In addition, my husband may be an even greater threat since his Muslim roots connect him to Pakistan, not Africa, and he was actually raised by his Muslim father.

As you can see, these are very serious threats to my family, and potentially to the nation, should my husband ever aspire to public office. In fact, given that he works for the federal government, I am wondering if I need to alert them to these damning realities. Nonetheless, I have not yet figured out how my children may be implicated by such realizations.

I will spare you an accounting of the other insights I have drawn from this new source of on-line correspondence. However, I have been interested to note that in the last week major political campaigns have decided to employ similar tactics to those of our great-aunt’s on-line friends. There is nothing like guilt by association, false allegations, and a wholesome, all-American helping of fear-mongering to ensure a quality election season.

Welcome to Fall

In just one hour, it will be fall equinox: one of two times a year that the day and night are of equal length, the worlds of light and darkness momentarily balanced before turning full-force to the shorter days of autumn. Each year I find myself awaiting this transition with eagerness, my excitement at the coming of the fall great enough to prompt adoption of some pagan ritual, my Celtic blood beating a little faster in anticipation of this season of harvest.

Fall’s arrival offers a much needed reprieve from the over-indulgent, scorching days of summer. The preceding season’s excesses necessitate the on-set of a more measured season. By September, I will happily bid farewell to fuchsia and aqua blue, to bare legs and over-exposed, bikini-clad bodies. I am ready for my more muted, earthy brand of life. It is time for russet days, amber-hued skies, and deep pumpkin-colored evenings that almost too soon turn to dark, retreating nights.

How I adore layers, sweaters, fleece, and boots. I long to wrap myself in the familiar comfort of something warm and soft, tantalize my senses with the aroma of apple, cinnamon, pumpkin or squash. I have had my fill of the tropics, the exotic. I prefer heaping portions of gooey macaroni and cheese with garden-ripe tomatoes or pots of soup simmering full of root vegetables, the harvest’s offering of bounteous simplicity, complemented by a chunk of cornbread.

Like the equinox itself, autumn is perfectly balanced. It beacons both inward and outward, both indoors and out. Even as I fall into cocooning behaviors, enveloping myself in the comforts of the season, staying in the warmth of my home, I am drawn out.

I must experience the change in the air and rejoice as the first hints of cold weather tickle my body with their long awaited refreshment. I breathe deeply from the drier, smoky air of autumn days. My eyes and ears feast on the texture, color, and crackle of dried, falling leaves. I wait as long as possible to pile them up, surrendering to the end of the season only at the last possible moment.

Autumn entreats with its own unique activities. It is time for football, a sport necessitating venturing out into fall’s days and evenings: the warm, the cold, and the perfectly proportioned. Basking in a game which symbolizes the season because it has a season. Football will not drag you along all year; you cannot put off its enjoyment for better weather or more convenient times. No, like autumn itself, it is short lived, few enough games that they can actually be tracked and remembered, and then, it too will pass away, only to be anticipated when the season arrives again.

The harvest also requires time outdoors. Fruit must be picked, vegetables gathered. None will keep until later; all must be enjoyed or stored at the present. Life laid into order, the unessential put to rest for a season. It is a season for labor, but labor which in itself is a celebration of plenty.

The exhaustion of vacationing, the free-reeling abandon of recreating and nights full of activity make the return to routine all the sweeter and more soothing.

Autumn means back-to-school, back-to-work, back-to-normalcy. The rigidity of early mornings and reliable sleep patterns returns. Autumn is measured. It is studious. It requires planning and anticipation. Clothes and school supplies must be purchased, lunches must be packed, the next day’s and week’s activities scheduled with greater care. It invites me back, bidding farewell to that which won’t -- which cannot -- last and surrendering to the familiar realities of living.

Autumn, for me, welcomes traditions and festivities which, like the change in colors, begin to unfold almost on their own. An anniversary, Halloween, birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, more birthdays, and a New Year. Each celebration building on the previous, propelling me forward, deeper into the season, until it has passed too quickly again, and I find myself in the stark, emptier space of winter.

Constant perfection would become common-place, lose its novelty and enticement. And so, I must each year stand ready, in great anticipation of fully experiencing all the wonder before I must once again rake up the leaves, discard the pumpkins, and note that the world has made another quarter of a turn and the perfect equinox of autumn has passed.


Note: In celebration of the official beginning of fall, watch my Emily’s Kitchen Blog for soups and other great seasonal recipes.

Expectations

Congratulations
“Congratulations!” is the phrase most often uttered when people find out I am expecting another baby. I suppose the sentiment is heartfelt and appropriate, definitely so for the birth of a child, don’t get me wrong. In that case “congratulations” are merited on two accounts: 1) you just welcomed a new life, a whole new person into the world (what could be more miraculous?) and 2) you just got that new life out of your body where it caused all sorts of discomfort and trauma. Congratulations! But, when it comes to pregnancy the sentiment, at least for me, has always seemed misapplied.

Given how I am feeling lately, hearing congratulations at the news of my “condition” feels a bit like being told, “Well done, I am so happy for you,” upon announcing that following a recent trip to South America, I have discovered that I am apparently a host to tape worms. These worms have been growing in my belly wrecking havoc on my gastrointestinal system. As a result, I find myself vomiting on average twice a day; I experience constant overwhelming nausea. And yet, by some amazing force of nature, this same parasite has also caused extreme constipation. I am constantly exhausted, to the point that showering, dressing my kids, pouring bowls of cereal for breakfast, and driving my daughter to school fatigues to the same point I remember being at after having run a half marathon with a terrible cold! In any case, the daily reality of providing a fertile environment for the growth of a new member of our species does not feel at present like any cause to celebrate.

However, despite how lousy I feel, for the first time in my life history, I really thought in advance about having this baby.

The First Time
My first daughter was such a surprise that, in addition to the above mentioned effects of pregnancy on my physical health, I spent the first few months in a state of nearly comatose shock. I was married, sexually active, and should have perhaps thought more about the fact that a child may arrive on the horizon at any given moment. But, I was also using birth control and planning a very different life path. I had just journeyed to Boston with my husband to look into housing options while we both were to simultaneously live out our dreams of an Ivy League graduate education. Everything was falling into place: I had paid a several hundred dollar deposit for my spot in the law and social work program at Boston College; I had been awarded a scholarship to attend there, and my husband was planning to attend law school at Harvard. Then, three weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant.

I went to work the next day and stared blankly at the computer screen in front of me, just trying to keep breathing for the first week, accomplishing nothing besides letting the news soak in. For the first while, I thought – I must admit I even hoped – maybe I will just have a miscarriage. It was just part of my overwhelming state of denial. A way to escape dealing with the approaching reality of motherhood.

But, the pregnancy did not end. It progressed, bringing with it nausea and sickness. At work, I dismissed myself from multiple meetings with lobbyists and constituents to go throw up in the bathroom, pull myself back together, and return to pick up our discussion in a poised manner. Meanwhile, I reconciled myself to the fact that life was not going to be the same. I recreated my vision of the future, put on hold my own personal plans, and embraced the fact that if I was going to be a mother I would make it my highest priority, not something that happened on the sidelines of the life I had planned for without children.

I marveled at the great conspiracy of women who talk in glowing terms about the joys of motherhood and never disclose to you, until you are experiencing it yourself, the hefty physical price paid for the nine preceding months – and those following. (In addition to pregnancy, a year without consistent sleep can also do crazy things to your personal sanity and happiness!)

The Second Time
Pregnancy the second time came with a bit more planning. I knew much more what I was getting into. We also knew we wanted more than one child, and once the first had arrived, we had to think about how close or far apart we would like them to be and when it would be a good idea to conceive a sibling for our daughter who was growing up every day. I was still learning to see myself as a mother, to believe I really had a child, when people began asking when we may be having more. When my older daughter was 2 ½ was the first time I could even think about being pregnant again. And, that thought was about all it took. I thought it, stopped my pills for a week, and was expecting baby number two.

I had great hopes for my second pregnancy. Unlike time number one, which found me unprepared, overstressed by life choices -- a cross-country move, remodeling a new house, and constant sickness -- this time I was going to do it “right.” I had just run my first marathon; I was exercising regularly, in good shape, and had read up on safe ways to continue the regimen during pregnancy. This time I was going to eat right, feel good, and stay active. Or so I thought!

Pregnancy two was worse than the first time around. Not just in terms of how my physical body felt, but in terms of the mental effects of juggling the realities of sickness and a very active two year old. My daughter began pretending to vomit in the toilet regularly, “just like mommy.” She spent hours sequestered in the basement that spring and summer amused by a never ending stream of videos and little else. Her moody mother stopped cooking altogether, offering her easy mac out of the microwave and regular trips to Subway, where all Mommy ate were the Cheetos. I did NOT exercise. At some point, about 18 weeks, when some of the vomiting lessened, I took slow walks in the evening when my husband could do the stroller pushing. I am usually fast, leading the pace, he nearly running to keep up. Now, I would drag myself up the street, getting winded regularly and asking him to please, slow down. Worst of all, I felt far more discouraged and depressed than I did the first time, perhaps some combination of guilt and hormones. In any case, it was a rough nine months.

Somewhere in this process, I advised my husband that I was VERY satisfied with having two children. Two was perfect. I could handle two. I have never been a big crowd person. One-on-one conversations, small group gatherings, intimate moments have always been more my style. I hate large parties, mingling, small talk, noise, chaos. I crave being able to quietly sit with my children; I need to know what they are thinking and experiencing individually. I have never wanted or been able to figure out how I could provide this attention more than a few children. Plus, given my oldest daughter’s temperament, I was not certain that I could handle even two. And, the fact that any future delivery would mean another cesarean section and long recovery, well in sum, I was finished.

Being Finished
So after my second daughter was born, I was stunned by the random thoughts that would pop into my head. I remember rocking her one day, still a newborn, my older daughter playing happily on the floor, when this errant gem showed up: “You think you are happy now; you can’t imagine how content and happy you will feel when you have your last baby.” What?!? “This is my last baby. I am content now,” I wanted to scream back. But somewhere deep within it rang true. And, it did not happen only once. Several times I would feel like my mind was opened to a vision of the future, a similar moment of loving a baby, but not the baby I was then holding.

Then, there were all the trips to the temple. Spiritual feelings are always hard to describe and seem a bit put-on when you are not personally the one experiencing them, but I could not attend a session of temple worship from the moment my second daughter was born without feeling this sense of another child. It is so hard to put into words. But the more uncanny and concrete experiences started just after her first birthday.

One evening my husband said in passing, “You know, if we have another daughter sometime (to which I was still saying to him was going to be never!), I really like the name ‘Elsie.’” I did not know what I thought of the name, but from then on every time I would go to the temple, everyone I interacted with would be named “Elsie” – and it is not that common of a name. The woman who greeted me when I walked in the door would be named “Elsie;” the woman whose name I would be given on a card would be “Elsie;” the person who sat next to me, I would somehow discover, was named “Elsie.” The combinations and individual people varied, but a trip would not pass without at least two Elsie-encounters. We even moved across the country, and my first trip to the temple in Washington, DC produced three Elsie-encounters.

I felt like I was being bombarded. You don’t have to share my religious faith to recognize that when every worship service seems to contain the same message, perhaps God, or someone somewhere, is trying to communicate with you. Through all of this, I began to surrender to the idea of one more baby. Besides, my oldest daughter was relentless about wanting another sibling, and as I watched my children growing I could see that perhaps I could, possibly, handle one more. Maybe three would not break me.

So, of course, given that I finally came to really want and feel committed to having a baby, it took over six months to conceive. During this time I played the realist. I finished projects and put things in order so that when I laid on the couch for three months straight I would not be surrounded by unfinished messes; I tried to prepare myself for the worst, so that when I felt miserable again I would not be so disappointed. I told myself that I could handle this. I knew it would end (I had wondered at times during my first pregnancy if all I was feeling really was due to pregnancy, perhaps it was not, and I would never enjoy eating again!), and I recognized in my daughters the reality that it was worth it. But, despite all this mental self-talk and preparation, pregnancy number three has been no less trying.

This Time
I am not sure that all of the “preparation” has done anything to blunt the reality of coping with constant sickness. I have thrown up more and felt worse than in either preceding pregnancy. But, it has been the mental havoc that has been the most challenging this time around. Expecting my first daughter involved two primary emotions: shock and awe. I spent the first half in absolute shock and denial, the second half constantly in awe of what was happening inside of me. My second pregnancy found me experiencing greater depression in addition to more nausea, but it was nothing compared to this.

As this pregnancy began, I felt a fog descending upon me. I thought, “This is just because I am gearing up for the worst, dreading what is to come. I just need to have a more positive attitude.” But, all of my efforts to look on the sunny side of life seemed to fail. With each passing day I slipped further away. I began to feel despondent, hopeless. I wanted to spend all day every day in bed, not just because any movement made me feel like I would throw-up, but because I could not compose one rational thought of what I wanted to or could do with myself each day. I felt like an outsider in my own life with little power to control anything. And, I still do.

Three months down now, with six to go, I am a little less nauseous than I was several weeks ago. Sometimes, I even eat something that tastes good to me – for about five minutes – and last week I had four days when I did not vomit at all. But, I cannot shake the discouragement that clouds my days.

I try to tease it apart and provide coherent explanations, with the assurance that it will end – in six months, if not sooner. I tell myself: “What you are feeling is the complex result of a mixture of circumstances. 1- It is hormones. 2- Anyone who felt sick for three months would begin feeling down. 3- You stopped exercising cold turkey three months ago, your body is suffering from an extreme lack of endorphins – no endorphins, no happiness. 4- You can’t be the mother and person you want to be now. It is frustrating to you to not have energy and accomplish things, but you just need to accept that it is temporary and stop feeling guilty….” And so on and so forth all day. It makes sense how all of this would combine to create an overwhelming sense that my life is falling apart, that nothing I have chosen from my home, to where I live, to quitting work has been the right choice, and – worst of all – that there is little to nothing I can do to change it.

I think this powerlessness and sense of failure is the worst feeling that comes. Normally, I feel empowered. I face problems head-on and figure out how to solve them. Now any problem seems to consume me, to be far beyond the scope of what I can affect. I am impotent as I stare out of the obscure glass through which I view my life. Not even certain to what extent I am living in it.

Last year, while passing through the challenges of making a job change for my husband, selling a house, and moving across the country, I was working hard to learn the attribute of patience. I read an article from a nurse midwife that talked about patience in life and used pregnancy as a metaphor. Reading this article, I had an epiphany: I hate being pregnant, in part, because I am simply not a patient person. I don’t like having to wait nine months for the outcome. I don’t like the uncertainty of pregnancy -- the first half when I don’t know the gender of the baby, the fact that I don’t really know what the baby will be like, and all that can potentially go wrong, which provides ample grounds for worry. Besides, and perhaps worst of all, I feel powerless to affect the results. I can’t hurry up the process; I can't make myself feel better; I can’t control whether the baby will develop appropriately or arrive in this world safely; and I cannot assess the progress. I can’t see what is happening and reassure myself that all is well – I have to trust doctors and nurses and God.

And so, pregnancy provides a mirror through which I can view all of my greatest human failings. My impatience, my inability to let go and trust others, my desire to be in control of things, my inability to accept difficult and unpleasant circumstances – even when I know that they are temporary. It is never easy to confront your dark side, all your weaknesses at once. Plus, my performance as a wife and mother and person has been abysmal lately.

This is where the story finds me today. Still trying to piece together a life, some meaning in my existence. Feeling sick again, typing on the computer, trying to see out of the shadows that threaten to overtake me. I pull myself together each day as best I can and pray for patience. Deep down I know that life is much better than it feels. I find small moments of happiness reflected in the faces of my daughters and relish those.

Abundance
Several weeks ago I sat down to search online for the meaning of the name that had been woven through the process of expecting this baby. (Still not knowing if it would be a girl or if we really wanted to name a baby “Elsie Jane.”) I figured I should know what it meant, think about whether I liked it. I found a few websites and read the information. “Elsie Jane,” in sum, means “God’s gift of abundance” or “God’s graciousness and plenty.” I had no idea what the name would mean – for all I knew it could have meant “ugly flower” or “shining reindeer” -- but reading this I felt a warmth descend upon me. I knew then, that despite the darkness and the sickness, the doubt and the worry, the gift of this child would be an overflowing of love and abundance. That somehow all the suffering of the moment would give rise to happiness and love so plentiful I could not now imagine it.

In scriptures, Jesus is always creating plenty out of the ordinary and the lacking. Wine from mere water, feasts for the multitude from a few loaves and fishes, medicinal remedies from clay and spit or a dirty pool of water. “God’s abundance.” That was the promise whispered to my heart when rocking my second daughter, still believing I just could not have another, and then repeated to me over and over again. This is the promise I repeat to myself each day, and when I do, I try to congratulate myself on the expectations of all that truly awaits me.

Cats...and Dogs -- written February 2008

Today, I have to return a cat. It arrived unexpectedly last week in a kitty to-go box; my husband a daughter both beaming, with slight trepidation on how I would react to the new “family member” they had just adopted from the shelter. “A cat?” said I. “Yes,” they said and opened the box to reveal a beautiful gray, brown and black striped tabby cat. She had a black streak running down her back, a black tipped tail, and sea-green eyes.

The cat was sweet and scared. I was nervous about integrating another animal into our family of four plus a golden retriever. I had previously expressed these concerns to my husband:

“Cats can jump up on the countertops and dining tables – places you do not want animals to be.”

“They really cannot be trained like dogs, what if the cat has annoying behaviors, what do you do about that?”

“Will a cat use its litter box? And, if not, what do you do?”

“How will it get along with the dog?”

“Who will care for it?” (The obvious answer being me.)

Hence, after my long string of worries and uncertainties the cat arrived without my consultation or confirmation. Still a little uncertain, I decided to like the cat. I spent the afternoon shopping for essential items: kitty litter, food, a litter box, deodorizer, a collar. The cat spent the afternoon hiding under the bed in the guest room: a safe place where neither the groping and erratic hand of my two-year old or the dog could access it.

Within a few days the cat seemed to be adjusting, and I seemed to be sneezing and itching on a regular basis. And, from there it just got worse.

I had always thought that people who claimed to have severe pet allergies were over-stating their case. It was a front, an acceptable way to not have to declare their true feelings (“I just don’t like animals” -- which is always seen as a heartless position to the bleeding-heart animal “parents” of the world, many who prefer their dogs or cats to their kids and often will admit to it – or “I am not willing or able to responsibly care for an animal” – the true sentiments of many a parent who is trying to convince their son or daughter that a goldfish is really an acceptable substitute for a puppy). But now, I wasn’t so sure. I was uncomfortable all the time, getting more congested – I felt that a small scale farming operation of springtime ragweed had just begun in my house. I knew I could not live with the cat.

I had never really lived with a cat before, so I had no way of anticipating what might occur to my sinuses when sharing my personal space with one. I had “owned” a cat before – twice actually – both times a gift from my husband. He had grown up with cats, being a child with parents with many excuses about why a dog would not work for them. I do not know exactly why he bought me the first cat. I really can’t remember. Perhaps the kitty was a way to make up for the only other pet I had ever owned: Ferguson.

I was five years old; it was a summer afternoon spent outside running and playing while my parents did yardwork when the neighbor walked towards our house carrying a cardboard box teeming with an energetic litter of puppies. A small, white male was selected, and I named him “Ferguson” – I think with some intended reference to the fact that he was furry. I had always had a fear of large dogs, but this puppy was a joy. I spent the rest of the afternoon running through the newly formed trails created as my dad cut away at the grass. The smell of summer; fresh cut grass and honeysuckle tickled my nose; the dog ran behind me, tickling my heels. I was enraptured, in love.

That night my parents helped me put the puppy in a box with some old blankets near the garage to sleep. Sunday morning dawned, and as I rushed downstairs to play with my puppy my parents broke the news. We could not keep Ferguson. He had cried all night; no one could sleep; they just could not handle having a puppy right now. As an adult, I now recognize the burden of a pet. There was certainly more than some whining that night, probably wet spots on the carpet, chewed items in the house, and there was my three year-old sister and one year old brother, as well as me, to care for. There was little room for less sleep and more messes in our family then.

The picture paints a thousand words. I am standing, a skinny, fair skinned child with curlers in my hair wearing a velour jogging suit my mom had sewn herself, holding my white puppy dog. My face is streaked with tears, my eyes red and puffy from crying. My sister, Erin, stands next to me looking rather bewildered as to the cause of the tears and the impetus for posing for the photograph. That was the beginning and the end of my childhood experience with pets.

I am certain that this emotional depravation from my formative years caused my loving husband, then boyfriend, to rectify all of my childhood hurts by buying me a cat. He was a very small kitten, a tiny black ball of fur with piercing blue eyes. He was the prettiest little kitty I had ever seen, and I named him “Solomon.” I loved the way he would curl up in a ball on my lap and chase items I dangled in front of him. But, he had been at my house less than a week when my four-year-old sister and I went to play with him and found him sleeping on my bed. As MaryEllen picked up his stiff body, I watched as the truth sunk in: my kitten was dead.

My dad buried him in the backyard. Later, Jeffrey tried again to buy me a cat. But, this time my dad did not want to have it live at our house. We compromised that it would be “mine,” but live with Jeffrey’s parents – a fact they loved to bring up if ever "Madison," a large, black cat, with six toes on each paw, was getting on their nerves. But, the day we dropped him off there, which was the day we bought him, the cat ceased to be my pet.

So, having never really lived with a cat before, I had little basis to know I possessed such a strong allergy. Despite being miserable, I balked at the notion of taking the cat away from my daughters and husband, all of whom were smitten. To be honest, none of my major worries had materialized. I liked the cat. She was not a trouble-maker, was adjusting well to the house, and would even let my daughters catch her sometimes. She liked to hiss at the dog periodically, and the dog would bark back, but even that was lessening.

My youngest daughter, Maggie, was struggling to even eat with the excitement of a cat in the house. Just as she would be about to take a bite of dinner, the cat would streak across the corner of the room, just in her line of vision. She would bound down from her barstool, running full speed and calling at the top of her voice, “Tat. Tat. Tat.” A chase would then ensue around the house until the cat found a bed, coffee table or similar piece of low-lying furniture to hide under. I would know it was over when the patter of feet stopped and full-scale wailing began; Maggie’s sobs broken intermittently to explain, “Tat, no reach. Tat, no reach.”

Mia was five and more measured in her demonstration of affection. She understood the concept, which was lost on her younger sister, that if she held still and quiet the cat was more likely to come to her. She had also spent large portions of the last few days on her belly in the guest room starring at, conversing with, and admiring her new cat. She spoke of nothing else. In carpool on the way home from school, to the dinner guests on Saturday evening, to strangers at the grocery store and the cashier at Walmart from whom we bought the litter box, she proudly announced, “I have a new cat. I actually have two animals now. My dog is a golden retriever, and now my dad and I got a cat.” When I first said I might be allergic to the cat, Mia stuck both her fingers inside of her ears. I was just bracing for the recommendation that I move out and they keep the cat. She did briefly suggest that she and her dad could find their own place to live where they could have their own pets, but I told her I was not to keen on that idea.

But, it was Jeffrey, my husband, that I most worried about hurting. The cat had really been his idea. His childhood had included a lack of the dog he always wanted, substituted for by two cats – Sophie and Ozzie – which he adored. They died in that order when he was still young, and it was not long after we married that we talked of getting a pet of our own. When we moved into our second apartment, where pets were allowed, we bought our first dog: a silky terrier that I named “Annie.” Annie was everything that a little dog should be. She was energetic, adorable, spunky, and temperamental. She did not like to be left at home alone. She thought she owned the whole street and, despite being under ten pounds, would bark at any other dog or human who attempted to cross near our home until they acknowledged she was boss. She would chase balls, but never bring them back. She would snuggle up on my lap to watch television, and on top of my legs at night to sleep. She was a delightful handful. It was out of guilt over Annie’s loneliness that we bought George, a Yorkshire terrier with a much more laid back personality. We would often joke that George was Annie’s pet, and in many ways he was. She still ran the household.

Annie found her way straight into Jeffrey’s heart. There was really never much room left there for George, even though he was the better behaved animal. We would take them on outings and buy all sorts of dog toys for them. We had them babysat, never kenneled, when we left town. Then, we had children.

The dogs were still loved, but never entirely okay with being demoted to just being pets. The demands of two work schedules, a baby, and law school began to take their toll. After our second daughter, Maggie, was born, I told Jeffrey something had to give. Annie and George were emotional basket-cases. They barked incessantly, waking the baby every time she napped. They ran off in different directions any time I opened an outside door, and since the yard was not fenced the regular task of corralling two small dogs and one precocious three year-old while holding a newborn baby was more than I could handle. My nerves were getting frazzled. And, I had little help in managing all of it as Jeffrey was launching the all-encompassing, ever-increasing, crazy-making schedule of a new associate attorney at a large law firm.

After Annie peed all over the bed where the baby was resting one afternoon, I finally convinced him that as much as I loved the dogs, they would be better-off with someone who could make them their babies, just as they wanted to be. With the new baby, Mia had a sibling other than the dogs, and I felt less guilt about the loss she would experience. I knew Jeffrey was reluctant, but since he was also unable to spend anytime with the dogs himself, I rationalized that it was his choice too. I ran an add in the paper, and found an old woman whose husband had recently passed away who was willing to take both dogs – an important condition to me. She had everything we lacked: a large, fenced yard, ample time and attention to give. We took some pictures, a little less sad than those with Ferguson, packed up all their supplies, and waved good-bye to our first two pets.

But, the hole left in Jeffrey’s heart on losing his first dog, even if it had been the right decision, mirrored the hole left in mine so long ago.

Six months ago, we moved to a large house with a large fenced yard, and adopted a golden retriever, “Lucy,” from the animal shelter with the intent of lessening some of the loneliness and loss our daughters were experiencing in the separation from home, family and friends. Lucy turned out to be a godsend: an ever patient, easy going animal who easily fits into our family life. But, Jeffrey still yearns for his own pet -- one that will curl up on his lap to be petted while he watches a movie, one that adores him uniquely – an Ozzie or an Annie. And so, we got the cat.

I have taken pictures: my daughters and the cat. They are smiling, not crying. Jeffrey is at work – he did not really want to say goodbye. I seem to be the most shaken up, probably because I feel guilty and responsible for the situation. I tell myself that there will be a multitude of times to have other pets down the road, but it does not ease the pain of the moment.

Jeffrey had already chosen a name for the cat before he found the particular animal he brought home. Chairman Meow. Mia wanted to name it “Tigery,” but Jeffrey told her he already had selected a name. Since Mia could never remember the name, we looked for nicknames that may more easily roll of the tongue: “Meow,” “Cherry,” “Tabby.” But, none stuck. In the days since the cat came home all anyone has really called it is “cat” or “kitty.” Maybe, it is for the best. Maybe, somehow, it was not meant to be; it never was intended to work out, and so without a name the cat will fade more easily into anonymity. There will be no “Ferguson, “Solomon,” “Ozzie,” “Annie,” or “George” to bid farewell to this afternoon. Just, goodbye “cat.”

If Mitt Weren't a Mormon -- written February 12, 2008

It has been a week since Super-Tuesday, five days since the Republican presidential field narrowed considerably from three to two with Mitt Romney’s decision to leave the race. During this time journalists and political hacks have engaged in a dizzying level of analysis regarding the many dimensions of candidate appeal revealed in last Tuesday’s contests. Since Romney left the race there has also been a fair amount of discussion about what “went wrong” for him. How did the successful business-man and big-spender on media fail to garner enough support to stay in the race? Was he too perfect? Too liberal? Too conservative? Or, could it possibly have been his religion? The final question, tacked on to every story, but never fully explored: Did Mitt lose because he was a Mormon?

This question easily calls forth polling numbers that demonstrate that large proportions of the US population are reticent to vote for a Mormon. But, it fails to fully address the issue of the role Mitt’s religion in the race. The question that should be asked, and may be more revealing, is this: What if Mitt weren’t a Mormon? What would his fate have been if his religion had not been the defining characteristic of his campaign?

I am not saying that he set out to make it a race about religion, nor that he made a mis-step on the campaign trail over the issue of his religion. In fact, I think he handled it pretty well. Admittedly, as a Mormon myself, I watched the Romney race with interest. I never intended to vote for Mitt. A committed Democrat, the fact that we share a belief in God or modern prophets does not over-come our differing views on healthcare, taxes, education, the economy, war in Iraq, and a plethora of other issues when I sit down to decide who I think should run the country or serve as commander-in-chief. However, like many other members of my faith, I noted how frequently press centered on his religion – more than almost any other qualification, characteristic, or experience.

Which leads back to the unanswered question: What if Mitt were not Mormon?. What if Mitt were a Baptist, a Methodist, a Catholic, almost any other Christian denomination – what would have been his fate then?

It’s simple. If Mitt were a believer in a more “mainstream” denomination of Christianity, but precisely the same in every other respect, he would be the front-runner right now.

If Mitt’s views on Jesus had been identical to those of the evangelical base of the Republican party, there would have been little basis for Mike Huckabee to sweep into Iowa and rally home-schoolers and the Christian-right around the banner of the “true” Christian. The Baptist-preacher-musician turned politician would not have had the in-road he needed to make a splash; his campaign would have fizzled, because the business-man, family-man, devout Christian extraordinaire would already have wrapped up the votes.

The problem in this race was that the more conservative candidate, with whom the establishment was comfortable (as compared to Maverick-McCain who regularly angers the ultra-right) did not provide an adequate degree of comfort due to his religious views, providing an in-road for a strong, southern evangelical who missed no opportunity to talk about his belief in God and brand of Christianity. So, as Mitt had to distance himself from his faith and ask people to look at him as an individual, Mike Huckabee came along as the embodiment of his faith, in every reference asking the public to look at him as a fellow-Christian.

Thus, the more progressive, independent wing of the party turned out for John McCain (as they have in past races) and the other two candidates split the remaining, more conservative votes -- handing McCain a victory with under 50% of the vote in every state he won except NY, NJ, and Connecticut.

In all, it is hard to imagine that such a splintering among the more conservatives and such a well-spring of support for Mike Huckabee would have developed if Romney had been a Baptist too.

However, the fascinating thing is that not only did Romney’s religion lose the Republican primary for him, but even as the Democrats are embracing two trend-setting candidates of their own and demonstrating that the doors of their large, open tent can be flung wide open, there have been comments made to reveal that even Democrats may not yet have room for a Mormon. The ideal candidate, the one most likely to be supported by all across the political spectrum, seems to be the individual who professes faith in and belongs to the “right” Christian denomination, but does not follow the religion too strictly or believe in the Bible or religious teachings too literally. Such a devout follower of faith is also politically untenable.

Thus, it is not only those of us who are Mormons who should pause at the fate of Mitt Romney. Religious individuals of many stripes throughout the country ought to stop and wonder what Romney’s fate means for them: can a Muslim, a Jew, an atheist, even, be elected in such an environment? Is purity in political ideology inadequate to recommend a candidate if their personal convictions and ideas about God vary? Are we less reluctant as a country to accept various races, genders, and socioeconomic backgrounds than differing religions?

In reality, the only true answers can come as actual candidates venture into actual races and their actual fates are known. But, Mitt Romney’s failure to secure the Republican nomination says a lot more about our country’s prejudices and preferences than it does about Mitt.

Remarks for Young Women in Excellence -- November 2007

I have done a lot of speaking in my day. I have lectured in graduate school courses, addressed conferences of hundreds, spoken at conventions and before groups of policy-makers and civic leaders in my professional life, but for some reason it is always an assignment to speak to the youth of the church that overwhelms me the most. I have been pondering why this is over the last week. I think, in part, it is that unlike these other forums, I feel that the standard for be interesting or amusing may be higher with young people – educators at a conference will listen to me drone on about legislative process very politely for quite awhile, teenagers do not always have that same reputation! But even more so, I think it is because I sense the importance of the responsibility of speaking to you.

I know that you face tough circumstances. I know that you are young and trying to find yourselves, making important decisions, and formulating your testimonies, and I feel immensely the need to actually say something that may be helpful to you that may touch your hearts. As I have thought and prayed about what to share with you tonight, I have been overwhelmed with a deep and abiding sense of the love that our Father in Heaven has for each of you, his daughters. I have felt impressed that nothing else I can say would be of more value than to let you know that in every possible way you truly are “daughters of a Heavenly Father who loves you.” I hope that you feel the reality of those words, no matter how often you may hear them.

I have done a lot of construction in my life. I know, my big muscles and strong physique would naturally lead you to assume that I spent my professional life in construction! Actually, I am far from professional. However, five years ago my husband and I bought a 70 year old home in need of some significant remodeling and restoration. We did not have a lot of money. But, we decided that two capable, college-educated people could figure out how to do basic home improvement projects on their own. I have come to believe whole-heartedly in the Home Depot slogan: “You Can Do It; We Can Help.” Despite Jeffrey not being a natural handy-man (he really isn’t), and my physical state at this time being 7 and 8 and 9 months pregnant, we managed to do demolition, move walls, lay tile, frame, sheetrock, tape and texture our basement, do basic plumbing, and paint and paint and paint. Through these experiences I have learned several lessons about construction that I think are equally valuable to building a life.

First, in life as in construction: “You Can Do It; We Can Help” or to be more accurate “You Will Do It; We Will Help.” From a broad perspective, as an active and committed member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, you are part of the greatest construction project of all time: building the kingdom of God on Earth. You have been born at a time when there are great forces of evil, but when there is also great opportunity and blessings being poured out. Sometimes, I fear you hear too much about the wickedness of the world in which you live. Parents and leaders want so much to warn and protect you, that it would be possible at times to feel discouraged, even impotent in the face of the world in which you live. Maybe you have even wondered if it is worth trying, whether in the final winding up days of the earth it is worthwhile for you to plan and prepare for your own futures, as individuals, wives and mothers in Zion.

I love the response to similar concerns given by Elder Jeffrey Holland shortly after terrorist attacks in 2001. He quotes from three different modern prophets regarding the way that previous prophets looked forward to and rejoiced in our day and then summarizes as follows:

“They faced terribly difficult times and, for the most part, did not succeed in their dispensations…apostasy and destruction of one kind or another was the ultimate fate of every general dispensation we have ever had down through time. But…those great men and women, the leaders in those ages past, were able to keep going, to keep testifying, to keep trying to do their best, not because they knew that they would succeed but because they knew that you would. I believe they took courage and hope not so much from their own circumstances as from yours—a magnificent congregation of young [people] like you tonight gathered by the hundreds of thousands around the world in a determined effort to see the gospel prevail and triumph….Ours, not theirs, was the day that gave them “heavenly and joyful anticipations” and caused them to sing and prophesy of victory….In a very real way, their chance to consider themselves fully successful depends on our faithfulness and our victory.”
I love this concept. It creates a great sense of duty, but it also means that if we live up to our duty, if we fully embrace our responsibility as members of the Lord’s church, as Latter-day Saints in the truest sense of the word, we will not fail. We are part of something that we know in the end will be successful. No one else has ever had that sure knowledge, but we do. No matter how bad it gets around us, no matter how challenging our lives may become, our efforts to share and live the gospel will result in the eventual triumph of the Lord, not a falling away and great darkness. In short, You Can and Will Do It.
It would be really nice if my construction projects carried this same certainty of success, because there always seems to be a point about half-way through when I wonder what in the world I have done. Things always get messier and look worse halfway through than they did when you started. A room with a wall torn down, only partially rebuilt or a half-painted wall, or the exposed ceiling required to replace the electrical or plumbing system, always looks worse than what you started with.
There is a new show on the Home and Garden Channel (for which I am a real sucker – Jeffrey goes out of town, and my solace is non-stop HGTV in the evenings, somehow I feel less lonely when contemplating a home improvement project!) in any case, the show is called Carter Can! and the premise is that an expert, Carter, comes in to bail people out of the messes they have created by starting projects that they simply cannot finish. People on this show have ripped out their whole ceilings or taken off their whole roof and for 6 months, a year, two years later still cannot figure out how to get it back together. The interesting thing is that, without fail, their downfall is always that they have not thought through the project well enough in the beginning, they dove into it without an adequate plan for what they were trying to do.
Hence, my second lesson from construction is: have a plan.
This encompasses two of the other areas of competency that I found in studying the personal progress manual: developing an ability to set and achieve goals and focusing on the future. It is absolutely essential in life that you have clear vision of what you are trying to accomplish and goals to get you there.
Elder Holland has given you a big picture vision, but you need to figure out what that means your personal goals should be. There are several already emphasized in your personal progress and young women’s theme: being worthy to enter the temple, preparing the skills and personal attributes that will strengthen your future and present homes and families, and preparing for exaltation. Your personal commitment to these goals, the extent to which you make them your own personal goals, put them in your own words and tailor them to your own life and circumstances, is critical because they can give purpose to your daily, regular decisions.
In addition, you need to set personal, more short-term goals. These may be very measurable things like doing well in your school work, preparing to attend college, mastering a specific skill, or reaching out more to others. Often, the more important personal goals have to do with the development of who you are, and involve things like being more patient and loving in family interactions or being absolutely honest in your scholastic endeavors.
One of my most instructive personal experiences related to the power of goal setting occurred several years ago. It was early spring and for reasons still rather unknown to me, I decided to try to run a marathon. Now, to some of you this may not seem like that big of a deal. But, to me it was huge. Early in my life I had developed beliefs about my own aptitudes and strengths and any athletic ability was far at the bottom of the list. You need to understand that I was always the smart, ballet dancer girl who HATED gym class. I had a fear of balls and other objects being hurled at me in any sport; I got a side-ache when I ran, and I accounted myself of very little capability when it came to such activities. As I contemplated the prospect of running a marathon, I was more scarred than I have ever been about my potential to fail, because running seemed like something that I just could not do. Yet, that was part of the appeal. I had always set previous goals well within my comfort area. I was proud of my academic and creative accomplishments, but when I was completely honest with myself, I had only done what came easily to me. This did not feel easy.
In addition, to the prospect of actually running the over 26 miles on marathon day, I also had to successfully carry out the 16 week training program, and I was worried as a mother of a one year old, who worked part time, and had a multitude of responsibilities about whether I could really commit myself to training four or five days a week, often for several hours. Despite all this, I signed up and got into, and completed the St. George marathon. And, in the process I discovered that I loved running. That was the greatest thing of all. I not only met my goal, but I discovered that I could do something that I had always thought was beyond the realm of possibility for me, and even more, I discovered something that I really love.
In the process of working towards this goal, I learned several important lessons related to goal setting. First, having the big vision is not enough if you don’t break it down into a specific plan. Without my very prescribed training program, in which I trusted that if I completed it I could finish the race, I would have been at a loss as to how to prepare to do something so big and overwhelming. My training plan made it a possibility, but I had to abide by the daily goals, and often focus more on them than on the approaching “big race.”
Second, in the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “That which we persist in doing becomes easier, not that the task itself has become easier, but that our ability to perform it has improved.” Nothing was more true than this in my training experience. My first five mile run was hard; I thought I would not finish at about mile four. Then, over time, as I continued to train, I found that a five miler was easy, in fact, I developed a belief that the perfect run is actually a ten miler. Who would have thought that I would enjoy and find a ten mile run easy! The distance and the complexity never changed, but I had.
Finally, attitude and thoughts make a big difference in getting to your goal. Positive thinking may seem trite, but nothing goes more slowly than a run in which you focus on how hot, and thirsty, and tired you are. I learned this best during the actual marathon. I had come up with this strategy that starting about half-way through the race I would dedicate each mile afterwards to someone important in my life and run that mile for them. This strategy made the miles fly. I ran a mile for my daughter. I thought about how much I loved her. I thought about the fact that one of the things I wanted her to gain from my experience was a knowledge that she could also do hard things. I focused on the lessons that could be taken away and the people I really cared about, and by holding in my mind the vision of what I was trying to do, the actual physical exertion required to do it seemed easy.
In constructing your life, set goals. Set big goals, set the goals you are afraid to set, because with effort, and vision, and consistent small accomplishments, you will reach them. In addition, remember that we are here on earth to become something, not to accomplish something. While you may DO a lot of worthwhile things in your life, in the end the races you run or the accomplishments you attain will matter little in comparison to the degree to which you have become a devoted disciple who has fully integrated the attributes of Christ into your very being. So, remember, that in the end what you are building is you. The only thing that you will take with you into the next life is what you have become and the relationships you have nurtured, so focus your goals on self-development. Your biggest success may be becoming a patient, loving, generous person. And, these goals require the same vision, consistent work, and ability to make easier that which now may seem impossible through regular, focused practice.
My third, and final, lesson from construction is: Don’t give up. As I mentioned before, in every construction project there is a point where I have wondered what I have gotten myself into. The small bathroom re-tiling project, often reveals rotting walls and plumbing leaks that also need to be replaced. Things get bigger or harder than they seemed when I commenced, and I can begin to question whether it was wise to undertake the project to begin with. Someone once told me, and I have found it to be true, that when you are doing a remodeling project you should decide how long it will take and how much it will cost, and then double it.
Similarly, in life, often when you have set a course, and are striving to a worthy goal, opposition will arise, challenges will come, and at times you may even question whether the goal was worthwhile to begin with, whether you are on the right path. My advice to you in such circumstances comes from the title of another talk by Elder Holland and the writings of the apostle Paul: Cast not therefore away your confidence.
In Hebrews 10:35-39, we read this counsel: “Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward. For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise…we are not of them who draw back into perdition; but of them that believe to the saving of the soul.”
Even when you have set good and righteous goals, even when you are living the gospel worthily in your life, hard times will come, unexpected events will unfold. You may righteously desire the blessings of marriage and family, and yet find that you remain single or without children for many years. You may long for opportunities to serve and develop yourself, and yet find that the doors you expected to open for you remain closed. You may long for your family members or friends to embrace and support your efforts to live and love the gospel, and yet you may continue to experience ridicule or rejection. In ways I am certain I cannot know or fully appreciate, you will find times when your goals seem out of reach. At such times, “cast not therefore away your confidence.” Remember, that it is after you have done the will of God that the promise will come.
In his talk by this title, Elder Holland relates the account of the Children of Israel who, after having been miraculously led out of Israel, find themselves on the borders of the Red Sea with nothing but water before them and the armies of Pharaoh pressing in behind them. We read in Exodus: “And when Pharaoh drew nigh, the children of Israel lifted up their eyes, and, behold, the Egyptians marched after them, and they were sore afraid.” And they turned to Moses and said: “Wherefore hast thou dealt thus with us, to carry us forth out of Egypt?...It had been better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness.”
Elder Holland then says: “‘What about that which has already happened? What about the miracles that got you here? What about the frogs and the lice? What about the rod and the serpent, the river and the blood? What about the hail, the locusts, the fire, and the firstborn sons?’ How soon we forget. It would not have been better to stay and serve the Egyptians, and it is not better to remain outside the Church nor to reject a mission call nor to put off marriage and so on and so on forever. Of course our faith will be tested as we fight through these self-doubts and second thoughts. Some days we will be miraculously led out of Egypt – seemingly on our way – only to come to yet another confrontation, like all that water lying before us. At those times we must resist the temptation to panic and give up. At those times fear will be the strongest of the adversary’s weapons against us. ‘And Moses said unto the people, Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord…The Lord shall fight for you.’”
And so it is in our lives, the Lord will fight for us. One of the great lessons for overcoming challenges and opposition is to remember, as the Children of Israel failed to do, what we have known and experienced in the past. I was impressed that one of the competencies that you are encouraged to develop through the personal progress program is this very skill. You are to learn to reflect on your personal experiences and record your spiritual insights and blessings. The journal you keep will provide the text from which you will learn to recognize and trust the Lord’s hand in your life.

On a related note, remember that blessings and answers do not always come in the form you may expect. I love to think of Nephi. I have a suspicion that when he said so boldly to Lehi that he would “Go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” that he may have expected things to go a little more smoothly when he encountered Laban. I expect that he thought that he would walk in, ask for the plates, and the Laban, under the influence of the Lord, would turn them over. He must have thought similarly, when he came up with the idea of buying the plates with his family’s wealth that now he had hit upon the answer. I doubt he expected to be chased by guards, his life threatened, and in the end to have to gain the plates through the sword. Moses expresses a sentiment that I think Nephi may have shared. After having gone to Pharoah asking him to let the children of Israel go, Pharaoh responds by increasing their burdens requiring them to now both collect the necessary straw and make the bricks that they were making before, and the children of Israel return to criticize Moses for only making matters worse. Moses then cries out to the Lord, “Why is it that thou hast sent me? For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in thy name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all.” (Exodus 5:22-23)

You may at times wonder with Moses “why?” Often this occurs when the promised blessings are longer in coming than we expect, remember all the miracles and experiences it took for Pharaoh to actually let the Children of Israel go or how many times Nephi tried and failed to get the plates from Laban before they were secured. Often blessings also come in a manner different than we would have predicted.

I learned this lesson, in part, at the birth of my oldest daughter, Mia. All of my life I had had a burning desire to further my education. I felt that it was important and essential in my life for me to gain as much skill and capability as I could. After years of study and preparation, of prayer and seeking, I thought I had settled on the right course for me. I had just been accepted into several of the top law schools in the country with joint programs in social work. My husband Jeffrey and I had visited Boston to look for housing, put down a deposit to secure my spot, and thought we were on the cusp of having our dreams of ivy league education and the opportunities it would open for both of us become a reality, when I discovered I was pregnant. At first, I thought I could still make it work, I called the school and had them arranging a field placement for me that would be front-loaded and complete before my November due date. I knew I could work it out. And, then, we thought about what we really wanted. When I called to turn down a scholarship and forfeit my deposit and Jeffrey told Harvard Law School to take him off their list, it was not easy. But, our willingness to sacrifice has literally led to every blessing we have in our lives today.

I can now see the wisdom and mercy of a Heavenly Father who knew, better than I did, what would make me happy. I rejoice in the options available to me, and a Heavenly Father that taught me that while I may be able to “have it all” in life, I don’t need to have it all at the same time.

Like Nephi and Moses, you too will be delivered. You will obtain the promised blessings. Your prayers will be heard and they will be answered. Perhaps not exactly when you think they will or in the manner you expect, but they will come. So, don’t give up.

I promise you that as you fully commit to living the gospel, set and strive for worthy goals, and persist throughout the obstacles and set-backs of life, that if you are observant, you will see the hand of the Lord manifest daily on your behalf. You will see your capacity to do good things for the right reasons increased beyond what you may now believe is possible. You will see miracles occur as the waters part before you, and you will realize your deepest, and most righteous desires in ways that you cannot fully comprehend now.

Remember, the Lord loves you. You are his daughter, and he has sent you forth at this time in life to succeed in becoming like he is, and in so doing building up the Kingdom of God on Earth. If you remember this and you integrate the lessons you are truly learning through this program, you cannot and will not fail.

Gaining a Personal Testimony -- given October 2007

In the April 2007 General Conference, Elder Glenn L. Pace of the Seventy gave a talk entitled: Do You Know? He opened with a story about a girl who was the only member of the church in her high school. He asked what the hardest thing about it was for her, and she responded, “believing something is true when everyone else believes it is false, and believing something is wrong when everyone else believes it is all right.” He then asked her in relation to the truth of the restored gospel the same question that he posed to all of us in his talk: Do you know?

This is the question that I want to explore in more detail today: Do you know? Do I know? Do each of us know for ourselves the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ?

The importance of knowing for one’s self, of gaining a personal witness or testimony of the truth, cannot be overstated. In our most recent General Conference, Elder Callister put it this way: “In the genius of the gospel plan, there ultimately only has to be one witness, but that witness must be you. The testimony of others may initiate and nourish the desire for faith and testimony, but eventually every individual must find out for himself… If you want to know that you know, a price must be paid. And you alone must pay that price. There are proxies for ordinances, but none for the acquisition of a testimony.”

President Hinckley has counseled us: “Every Latter-day Saint has the responsibility to know for himself or herself with a certainty beyond doubt that Jesus is the resurrected, living Son of God.”

Similarly, Elder Heber C. Kimball taught: “The time will come when no man nor woman will be able to endure on borrowed light. Each will have to be guided by the light within himself. If you do not have it, how can you stand?”

This principle is precisely what the Savior was teaching us in the parable of the 10 virgins: we cannot make it on borrowed light. At the end of the day, when our lives are over, when our testimonies are put to the test, and ultimately when the Savior returns – and the bridegroom cometh – there will be one test of whether we will be invited in, ready and able to attend the Lord’s feast, do we have our own light? Or, in Elder Pace’s words: Do we know?

Hence, the question “Do you know?” becomes a question of greatest eternal significance and worth our highest consideration.

To begin considering whether we know, I would ask you to ponder personally with me a series questions posed by Elder Richard G. Scott. He says, quote: “Honestly evaluate your personal life. How strong is your testimony? Is it truly a sustaining power in your life, or is it more a hope that what you have learned is true? Is it more than a vague belief that worthwhile concepts and patterns of life seem to be reasonable and logical? Such mental assent will not help you face the serious challenges that will inevitably come to you. Does your testimony guide you to correct decisions? To do so, fundamental truths must become part of the very fiber of your character. They must be an essential part of your being, more treasured than life itself.”

We each may find our testimony at various places throughout our lives. When you listened to Elder Scott’s words, did you wonder how strong your testimony really is? Did you recognize that there is more you need to do? Did you feel that your testimony is firm, but worry about keeping it that way into the future? Did you even wonder if you even have a testimony at all? Wherever your personal, honest assessment places you along this continuum, the eternal importance of obtaining or strengthening your testimony applies to you.

Having studied this topic, I have found that the pattern for gaining and the pattern for maintaining a testimony are the same. Testimonies are very personal, so the life experiences and personal revelation that are part of an individual’s process of gaining a testimony will differ, but the steps that must be gone through to acquire and strengthen a testimony are universal.

These steps are most eloquently set forth in the seminal address on this topic given by Alma. In Alma Chapter 32, Alma compares the word of God, or the truth, to a seed.

First Alma says one must desire to know.

“If ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.”

Desire is a critical element because, as Alma says, it helps to provide a place in which a testimony can grow. Alma’s agricultural metaphor is very instructive. It is easy to understand why ground that is completely overrun with other plants and weeds and has no available room would not be a conducive place to plant a fragile, tiny seed. Similarly, the hardened, closed, or even distracted person who does not have enough of a desire to know the truth to make room for it within, will never be able to effectively nourish a testimony.

Second, once a sincere desire is present, the next step is to “exercise faith.”

Faith is the first principle of the gospel and the first principle of testimony because it helps us move from the condition of not knowing to knowing. As Alma states: “faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore, if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” So it is with each of us, in the beginning there is always something we do not know, some matter upon which our knowledge is not perfect, but with faith we engage in the necessary actions required to test whether it is true. As Alma says, this exercise of faith is like planting a seed. We may not be certain that a seed will actually grow into a plant, particularly if we have never planted one before, or we may not be certain of what type of plant may be produced from the seed we have. Other people may be able to tell us that they have seen seeds grow into plants, but initially we must hope that the seed will actually grow and believe in it enough to decide to try planting it. Similarly, with gospel truth, we can listen to the witnesses of others and we can trust in them some, but in the end we have to exercise sufficient faith in the truthfulness of their words to try them out for ourselves if we are ever going to gain a testimony.

Once we are ready to, as Alma says, “plant the seed,” or test the word of God in our lives, we must understand the full meaning of what Alma means when he instructs us to “plant the seed.”

Just as a seed could not grow if we placed it in dirt and then hid it in the basement for two weeks, but must receive water and sunlight and nourishment to begin to sprout, so it is with our testimonies. Interestingly, Christ himself taught us in metaphor that he is both “the light of the world” and “living water.” The two life-sustaining, absolutely essential elements to life and growth of a testimony are literally the light and water referenced by the Savior.

How do we access the life-sustaining and enlightening power of Christ? The two primary methods are prayer and scripture study. After this discourse of Alma’s that we are presently discussing was delivered, many of the people present did not fully understand how they were to go about this process of planting the word in their lives. Alma then gave more specific instructions on how this was to be accomplished, admonishing the people to: pray in all circumstances, read and understand the scriptures, and believe in the Son of God (Alma 33).

Through prayer, we, like a plant, turn towards the source of light, draw near unto it, and are promised that He will then “draw near unto us.” We seek guidance and inspiration through this method of direct communication with Deity in the name of the Son, and enlightenment is promised. Our prayers to know must be sincere; they must be intent; they cannot be formulaic or rote. Like Enos, we must “wrestle” before the Lord, denoting a deep, soul-wrenching intensity. Elder Eyring has also taught that prayer that leads to a knowledge of truth must include a humble intention to obey the direction that comes.

We drink deeply and thoroughly of living waters and feast on the nutrient rich word of God through scripture study. It is here that we can gain substance and nutrients necessary for strength.

If we want to know, if the gospel is true, if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, if Joseph Smith was a prophet, if Christ is truly our redeemer, the one and only source of this information, the essential element is a study of the scriptures themselves which witness to each of these points.

Elder Eyring has promised: “The Spirit will testify the truth to [your] hearts every time [you read] in the scriptures which came to us through the Prophet Joseph Smith. And the Spirit will confirm again that God spoke through His prophet…ponder the scriptures every day, with faith that [you] will be taught by the Spirit….You…will receive the word of God by obeying it.”

Third, once the seed is fully planted and receiving the necessary nourishment, then the next step is to observe.

Alma says: “the [good] seed swelleth, and sprouteth, and beginneth to grow.” We are taught in scripture that we can recognize that which is good by looking at the fruit it brings forth and that that which inviteth and enticeth to do good is of Christ. Similarly, we must be observant to the result of prayerful study and searching of the gospel in our lives. What are the feelings that come? What sort of changes do we begin to see in our lives, are they good? Do we feel enlarged? Alma says we may say that the principle or truth we have made room for in our hearts, “beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it enlighteneth my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.” Through these signs we can recognize truth.”

As we work to develop our testimonies, it is important to be clear about how we can expect to gain the answers we are seeking. Sometimes we can question our testimonies or fail to recognize them because we expect to get answers in ways they are unlikely to come. We may try to reason everything out in our minds or wait for a new and dramatic witness. However, the witness of truth, particularly as related to God the Father and Jesus Christ, is always the Holy Ghost. It is through the whisperings of the spirit that we will come to know truth. Therefore, we can expect to know through both quiet and poignant feelings of peace, comfort, enlightenment, and joy.

In a 1988 address entitled The Soil and Roots of Testimony Elder John Carmack, taught: “Testimony isn’t achieved by logic and study….I don’t believe it was ever intended that the gospel be proven true by physical or documentary evidence acceptable to all. In this life, the believer must come to his witness by faith, not by logic and proof alone.”

Shortly after Jeffrey was baptized, I had a time when I questioned the strength of my testimony. I had watched his testimony grow. I had seen it change his life, but for me I had not had any similar, defining single moment in my own life when my testimony was obtained. I began to wonder whether I really knew for myself, or whether I simply had been taught something all my life and believed it because my parents believed it. It seemed like many people could point to one time, a defining moment as a missionary, convert, or in personal study, when they knew that they knew. As I searched for answers to the question of whether I really knew, part of the answer I needed came from the teachings of the prophet David O. McKay. President McKay relates the following about his own experience discovering his testimony:

“Somehow in my youth I got the idea that we could not get a testimony unless we had some manifestation. I read of the first vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith…I heard my father’s testimony of a voice that had come to him, and somehow I received the impression that that was the source of all testimony. I hungered for it; I felt that if I could gain a testimony, all else would indeed seem insignificant….I remember riding over the hills of Huntsville one afternoon, thinking of these things and concluding that there in the silence of the hills was the best place to get that testimony. I stopped my horse, threw the reins over his head, withdrew just a few steps, and knelt by the side of a tree…. I knelt down and with all the fervor of my heart poured out my soul to God and asked him for a testimony of this gospel. I had in mind that there would be some manifestation; that I should receive some transformation that would leave me absolutely without doubt. I got up, mounted my horse, and as he started over the trail, I remember rather introspectively searching myself and involuntarily shaking my head, saying to myself, ‘No, sir, there is no change; I am just the same boy I was before I knelt down.’ The anticipated manifestation had not come….” President McKay then goes on to say the sure, undisputable testimony he sought as a boy did come, but it came over time and as the result of years of living the gospel and doing his duty.

Reading President McKay’s account at that time filled me with a reassurance. If a prophet of God’s testimony was gained over time, not in a single miraculous moment, mine could and would be too. Knowing that the Lord will speak to us consistently in small whisperings that over time will accumulate into an unyielding knowledge of the truth is important in recognizing the growth and power of our own testimonies.

Elder Pace explains some of a similar principle in this manner:
“When seeking a testimony, those of you born into the Church may be looking for some spectacular spiritual feeling different than anything you have ever felt before. You may have heard converts testify of their conversion and wonder if you’re missing something. One reason it seems so spectacular to them is that it is new. You have had the same feeling your whole life during family home evenings, youth testimony meetings, seminary classes, scripture reading, and on many other occasions…. Spiritual witnesses come at a young age to those who are exposed to spiritual experiences…Once you recognize those feelings for what they are, your faith in them will increase. Soon you will find that you have developed a spiritual sixth sense which cannot be misled.”

Knowing what the Spirit feels like and recognizing it in our personal lives will help us to know when the Lord is testifying to us of truth. Once we have observed in our own lives the goodness of the gospel, then we are ready for Alma’s final step.

Fourth, we must nourish with great care.

Alma instructs: “And behold, as the tree beginneth to grow, ye will say: Let us nourish it with great care, that it may get root, that it may grow up, and bring forth fruit unto us.”

I love the imagery of nourishing WITH GREAT CARE. This involves lovingly, tenderly doing all that is required to keep our testimonies alive. It is this aspect of on-going growth that is so essential to really knowing. Of course, the two first and most important aspects of this ongoing nourishment are those that we already discussed: prayer and scripture study.

An excellent example of the continual need for prayer and scripture study comes from the prophet Joseph Smith. He did not stop at one manifestation. He did not think it adequate to know for a surety only about the nature of God and Jesus Christ or to get an answer to his first question. It was continual prayer and study and pondering that brought about every other revelation and blessing of this dispensation, from the Book of Mormon to the restoration of the Priesthood, to temples and the sealing power. If God did not just give information to the prophet Joseph without his effort, if personal searching and contemplative beseeching was required for him, if truths were not all unfolded at once, but one at a time, as he was prepared, why should we believe that it would be any different with us?

President McKay’s experience also demonstrates that it is actually living the gospel, testing the principles over time, that allows our testimonies to flourish. The Savior taught “If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.” (John 7:17) It is impossible to gain a testimony of a doctrine that you are not living. It is through continued, sustained righteous living, that an immovable testimony of the gospel is gained.

Alma emphasizes this continual process of growth by reminding us to exercise “great diligence” and “patience.” Ongoing, concerted effort is critical to having a vibrant testimony of the gospel. Elder Scott explained: “Your testimony may begin from an acknowledgement that the teachings of the Lord seem reasonable. But it must grow from practicing those laws. Then your own experience will attest to their validity and yield the results promised. That confirmation will not all come at once. A strong testimony comes line upon line, precept upon precept. It requires faith, time, consistent obedience, and a willingness to sacrifice.”

It is our cumulative personal experience that creates a personal testimony. We come to see over time the consistency with which the Lord answers our prayers and grow in our knowledge that He lives, loves us, and will answer prayers. We notice all of the times we feel a deep spiritual stirring while studying the scriptures or worshiping in church. When we observe, and as we have often been counseled record and remember, what we have known and how we have felt throughout our lives, we can build a foundation for spiritual strength.

In this process of truly coming to know, Alma gives us several another valuable piece counsel. He teaches: “if ye neglect the tree, and take no thought for its nourishment, behold it will not get any root; and when the heat of the sun cometh and scourcheth it, because it hath no root it withers away…Now, this is not because the seed was not good, neither is it because the fruit thereof would not be desirable; but it is because your ground is barren, and ye will not nourish the tree.”

It is possible for a testimony to die due to neglect. It is also possible for it to be over-taken if weeds and rocks and thorns are allowed rampant in its soil. We must be careful that we both nourish and stand guard against that which can destroy. Because the Holy Ghost is the conveyor of testimony, being clean and worthy of His companionship is essential. Anything that would cause the Holy Ghost to withdraw from us would also weaken and neglect our testimonies.


In the end, a testimony is built over a lifetime. If we want to truly know for ourselves, it will require a lifetime of care. Then, “because of your diligence and your faith and your patience with the word in nourishing it…by and by ye shall pluck the fruit thereof, which is most precious, which is sweet above all that is sweet, and which is white above all that is white, yea, and pure above all that is pure; and ye shall feast upon this fruit even until ye are filled, that ye hunger not, neither shall ye thirst.”

Patriotism and Christianity -- given July 2007

I have always struggled a bit with church talks on patriotism, so of course, I was asked to give one. It is just that too often patriotism seems to border a bit on pride or self-righteousness. I cannot espouse a brand of patriotism contains an implicit arrogance, when I know with all my heart that God is truly “no respecter of persons.” (D&C 1:35) Similarly, I baulk at even a hint that either of the temporal and self-serving organizations we know as political parties could be more sanctioned by the Lord. Yet, so often it seems that our discussions related to loyalty and gratitude for political freedoms teeter on the path of espousing the idea that as Americans we are more justified, more loved, and more moral than all other nations.

Some of this quandary is captured well, but in much more eloquent prose than mine, in Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address. Lincoln reflected in relation to the North and South during the Civil War: “Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces, but let us judge not that we be not judged.”

It is with a recognition that people throughout all nations invoke and deserve the blessings of God and that individuals of all political persuasions can feel equally motivated in their cause, that I have determined to speak today about an aspect of patriotism in which there is broader application: specifically, the relationship between citizenship and discipleship.

To put it in a different context, given that members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints live in widely diverse nations and communities throughout the world, yet share a common belief expressed in the 12th Article of Faith regarding being subject to their respective governments and participating in their various communities, how is it that our knowledge and testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ should affect our interactions and behaviors in relation to our communities, geo-political divisions, and nation-states?

I want to share five lessons that I have drawn from the scriptures related to the concept of being good citizens.

Lesson 1 - We must know where our higher allegiance lies.
In the book of Matthew a group of Pharisees trying to trap the Savior question whether it is lawful to pay tribute unto Caesar. In response, the Savior asks to see their tribute money, and inquires of them:
“’Whose is this image and superscription?’ They say unto him, ‘Caesar’s.’ Then saith he unto them, ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.’ (Matt. 22:20-21)”

While the Savior’s response is noteworthy because it reinforces the principle of being good citizens, obeying the law, and respecting governmental authority, it is also important to note what is to be rendered to “Caesar” -- or the authority figure of the day -- namely, “the things which are Caesar’s.” So while we are to give our government its due, particularly it seems in relation to temporal matters, there are things which the Savior seems to be saying are not “Caesar’s,” but rather “God’s.”

What things are God’s in our lives? If we use the same standard employed by Christ in determining to whom tribute should be given, we would look to see what it is that God’s image is engraven upon. The scriptures counsel us that the “image of God [should be] engraven upon [our] countenances” ( Alma 5:19) and that God’s law should be written on our hearts (Isaiah 50:7). If we are fully God’s, then our highest allegiance should be reserved for God.

This test can be useful in navigating many sticky situations regarding civil obedience, such as those encountered by Daniel or Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego. Similarly, it is a valuable tool in examining where our greatest commitment lies and ensuring that we always render ourselves God’s first, not letting any other affiliation or loyalty supersede the standard of behavior required by discipleship.

The next three lessons about citizenship and discipleship are taken from the section of the Book of Mormon containing the greatest degree of political intrigue.

The latter part of the Book of Alma describes the situation: Amalickiah, a dissenter from the Nephites, has led away a group of Nephites, joined himself with the Lamanties, beginning to incite the Lamanites to anger against the Nephites. Captain Moroni is chosen to lead the Nephite armies against the Lamanite attacks; he erects the Title of Liberty, fortifies cities, and helps quell an internal land dispute. During this time, the chief judge, Nephihah, dies and his son, Pahoran, is appointed in his place. Another series of internal disputes ensues in which Pahoran barely maintains the judgment seat against the threats of the King-men. Meanwhile, there are more Lamanite attacks, leading to a series of battles, including that fought by Helaman and the 2000 stripling warriors. Moroni learns of Helaman’s victory and solicits the government for more troops to strengthen Helaman and his young men. While waiting for a response, another attack occurs and, due to a lack of man-power, the city of Nephihah is lost to the Lamanites.

At this point Moroni is quite frustrated over the seeming indifference of Pahoran to his pleas for additional help, and fires off a strongly worded epistle stating his displeasure which includes such gems as,
“Can you think to sit upon your thrones in a state of thoughtless stupor?” (Alma 60:7)
“Ye have neglected them insomuch that the blood of thousands shall come upon your heads for vengeance.” (Alma 60:10)
“We know not but ye are also traitors to your country.” (Alma 60:18)
and culminates in a threat that “except ye do administer unto our relief, behold, I come unto you, even in the land of Zarahemla, and smite you with the sword.” (Alma 60:30)

In the following chapter of Alma, Pahoran responds. He informs Moroni that rebellion has driven him from the judgment seat, but that he has been building support for the cause and many are joining him. And then, despite the political and personal turmoil that Pahoran has been experiencing at this time he says to Moroni,
“In your epistle you have censured me, but it mattereth not; I am not angry, but do rejoice in the greatness of your heart.” (Alma 61:9)

While there is no specific account of Moroni’s response to this, we do know that he quickly reinforces his other captains and goes directly to Pahoran’s aid, bringing the military resources necessary to strengthen and defend him.

While there are many lessons within this larger story, the first for today about citizenship and discipleship comes from Captain Moroni.

Lesson 2- Look before you leap.
Captain Moroni is a man of great faith, devotion, and valor and the recipient of nearly the greatest compliment for personal strength given in the Book of Mormon. But, in this case, he provides an example of how hasty behavior can too often be ill-informed and regretted in light of better information. It is a case of how not to behave in challenging, demanding, and trying times.

Quick, thoughtless, and offensive speech is too often the norm in our modern discourse. It is so easy to jump to conclusions or see only our own perspective, but it is critical in merging our citizenship with our discipleship to often take a more measured and slower approach.

In the April 2006 General Conference Elder Robert S. Wood counseled:
“Have we who have taken upon us the name of Christ slipped unknowingly into patterns of slander, evil speaking, and bitter stereotyping? Have personal or partisan or business or religious differences been translated into a kind of demonizing of those with different views?... We should avoid caricaturing the positions of others, constructing ‘straw men,’ if you will, and casting unwarranted aspersions on their motivations and character.”

We would be wise to follow the counsel of President George Albert Smith who said, “Whenever your politics cause you to speak unkindly of your brethren, know this, that you are upon dangerous ground.”

We would also do well to ask ourselves, as disciples of Jesus Christ, whether we are “suffering long, being kind, envying not, not being puffed up, behaving not unseemly, seeking not our own, not being easily provoked, not thinking evil, rejoicing in the truth, and bearing all things” before we speak or act. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

Lesson 3 - Seek reconciliation, even in cases of great offense or difference of opinion.
The scriptures record the words of many great men, but few compare in my mind to the humble response of Pahoran, which so fully demonstrates the stature of his character: “But it mattereth not; I am not angry, but do rejoice in the greatness of your heart.”

What would similar words do for many of our interactions and discourses? I cannot help but think of how often my response falls so short of Pahoran’s example. As did the Savior in the face of great injustice, inaccuracy, and accusation, he unhesitatingly forgave and he looked for the good in another’s heart and intentions.

So often we seem to live in a world that creates and fosters divisiveness and contention, but the scriptures clearly state that these are tools of the devil, not the Spirit of Christ. In addition, by seeking reconciliation, by searching for common ground, so much more was accomplished in this situation, and could be accomplished in so many of the similarly vexing political and social challenges we confront.

Lesson 4 - We have a responsibility as citizens to be engaged.
The underlying truth in Captain Moroni’s reprimand of Pahroan and the implicit understanding in Pahoran’s response is that each of us is responsible for far more than just our own welfare. We have a duty and obligation to others. We are not able to withdraw from the turmoil around us or pretend that it does not exist, but we are accountable for the degree to which we stand up and participate in furthering the causes we espouse and promoting the welfare of others.

Elder Wood, in different address entitled On the Responsible Self printed in the March 2002 Ensign, states:
“We bear responsibility not only for our own acts but also for those conditions in society that we can reasonably influence…. For too many, responsibility seems to end with hand-wringing and exclamations of dismay. Yet talk without action accomplishes little. We need to be vigorously engaged in the world. If our schools are inadequate…we must work with fellow members of the community to bring about change. If our neighborhoods are unsafe or unhealthy, we must join with the civic-minded to devise solutions. If our cities and towns are polluted, not only with noxious gases, but soul-destroying addictions and smut, we must labor to find legitimate ways to eliminate such filth while respecting freedom of conscience.”

This leads to the related and final lesson for today, which is drawn again from the teachings of the Master.

Lesson 5 – The scope of our responsibility as citizens is broad and not limited by common divisions.
This final point comes from the familiar story of the Good Samaritan told by the Savior. While often used as an example of charity and service, it is also very instructive on how to blend our citizenship and discipleship. It is a noteworthy response to the question of “Who is my neighbor?” or “What is my responsibility?” because it specifically sets no bounds. Indeed, the Savior seems to be stating that our responsibility to others does not know any political, racial, ethnic, religious, or other constraints. In reality, all of God’s children are equally deserving of our concern and love. Similarly, he is instructing us that our responsibility to care for others is not limited by our profession, training, or expertise. In our roles as citizens of communities, states, nations, and the world, we are to think of and love all others as ourselves.

This is a standard that is far too lacking in the world in which we live. Too often it seems that the choices pursued by the various social and political organizations to which we belong are devoid of a desire to treat others as ourselves, to see in each a son or daughter of God. Yet, this is the pattern that was set by the Savior and the way in which our Father in Heaven deals with us. We read in First Nephi: “And he gathereth his children from the four quarters of the earth; and he numbereth his sheep, and they know him; and there shall be one fold and one shepherd; and he shall feed his sheep, and in him they shall find pasture.” (1 Nephi 22:25)

It seems clear that our discipleship requires a higher standard of citizenship from us. It requires us to be engaged, informed, and capable participants in our communities and nation, but it also requires us to do so in a constantly Christ-like manner, with a sincere love for all of God’s children and an ability to esteem all, despite their differences in opinion or persuasion, as ourselves.

To conclude where I began, I think this very thought is expressed beautifully in the conclusion to Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address: “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on… to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have bourne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.”