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It’s true, I’m a Stranger Things junkie. Big time. Nearly ten years ago, my son - who had recently left home to start his military career - texted one day, instructing me to check out a new show on Netflix. “I think you’ll really like it, Mom,” he wrote. “It’s X Files meets Super 8 meets Stand By Me.” I comprehended and appreciated two of those three references - X Files and Super 8.  From the very first seconds of the first episode, I was hooked. The opening setting of the show - November 1983 - would have found this fair heroine teaching junior high English. The 1980’s was the first decade of my adulthood. Combine the nostalgia of a great decade - every detail nailed to perfection, with my own personal nostalgia of actually teaching little boys who reminded me of the main characters at that very moment in history, and I was totally invested in the ride I’ve been taking with this story ever since. And here’s the thing: I hate monster movies. Like - HATE them, with a much bigger font. Dale went to see every Alien and Predator movie alone; I would not partake. But Stranger Things is not about monsters. Not really. It’s about friends, and community. And outcasts and pariahs.  It’s about bullies and letting people into your circle.  And common causes and possibly lost causes. It’s about showing up for people who are counting on you that you wouldn’t have given the time of day to a couple weeks ago, because that possible lost cause is for sure a lost cause if you don’t work together.  It’s about showing up for yourself when you were pretty sure you wouldn’t. There are no monsters in all the wide world, real or imaginary, worse than the monsters every human lives with, the internal monsters of fear, regret, guilt, shame. Our darkest places of living, and the stories we take away from them, are the real monsters, and they often take a lifetime to heal. These very real monsters became the weapons of the metaphorical monster formed in the Abyss - Henry Creel, aka 001, aka Vecna.  What a brilliant, sneaky way to turn this sweet nostalgic homage to our pasts into a sobering analogy of facing our worst demons, shouting them down - that we’re not afraid of them  - and that they will not control or define us - anymore. This brilliant, sneaky story claims you can always choose to be different - better - and not let your past define you. This brilliant, sneaky story believes in redemption. And so do I. To me, this story will always be a parable that used monsters to reveal the real stranger things - us. I’ve spent ten years watching ordinary/extraordinary little kids show that humans are the stranger things. Strange enough to spend a lot of our lives feeling like aliens in our own bodies, on our own home planet, certain that we’re the only ones who feel this way. The monsters we need courage to fight feel stranger than anyone else’s - but a destroyer whispers that to us when we’re alone or afraid or discouraged - in the dark. The stranger things inside each of us might be uniquely ours, but we’re not the only human who has them.  Acknowledging that allows us to give each other kindness, knowing they’re fighting their own stranger things. The destroyer is an expert at isolating and whispering things that might be a little bit true, but the spin will always sound worse once he’s got you alone and in the dark. But a Creator whispers, “You are not your past. You aren’t your worst moments. You aren’t your habits. You can change right now, if you want, and I’ll help you. The only identity that matters to Me is that you are Mine.” The more I get to know my Creator - I call Him Father - and recognize the dark force that pulls me away from Him - the more I’m afraid I turn almost everything into a parable about Him. So from one stranger thing to another, I promise you this: I will do my very best to be kind to you when we encounter each other. I know your monsters are as real as mine, and we need each other to fight them. The first thing Father asks of us is that we love Him first. This is the only way we can recognize authentic light from counterfeit - choosing the authentic because we’ve learned to prefer it. And He wants us to love each other second so we can help each other do the first. Because while monsters might not be real, the darkness is. And the fight is on.

Let’s hear it - three cheers for difficult! Crickets. Humanity is not, as a rule, a fan of difficult - the thing that distinguishes this few minutes of eternity called mortality with the rest of our existence on either end. I don't know very many people who love hard. Of course there are the perverse few, but generally, humans don't just lean away from it, they'll go to great lengths to avoid it. The spectrum can be as broad as pushing a snooze bar repeatedly to preferring getting shoved in a locker over standing up to a bully. We even say it out loud from time to time, "Why can't it ever be easy?" The answer is short and simple: It can't. It can't ever be easy, because that's not what Here is about. "For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so,... righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad...." (2 Nephi 2:11) Gordon B. Hinckley has quoted a 20th-century journalist on more than one occasion, to the point where this has often been attributed to him. Nevertheless, Jenkin Lloyd Jones wrote: “Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he has been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, and most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. "Life is just like an old time rail journey…delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.” As I'm emerging from a particularly difficult few weeks, I'm thinking about the three reasons I think earth life was designed to be difficult because of the opposition at every turn. "We'd gone about as fer as we could go..." Living in eternal realms of glory before this earth life, there was only so much we could learn in our quest to grow up like our Heavenly Parents, from the safety of Their presence. The crucial sticking point for inheriting Their glory as Their heirs: we needed to discover what we preferred if left unsupervised with a constant array of opposites before us for the choosing. It was necessary to leave the actual presence of God, and go away to school. This is the place where we learn, by our own experience, to distinguish good from evil. More importantly - we're here to learn from that experience to prefer what is good, beautiful, and true - more than that which is evil, ugly, and counterfeit. "Who ya gonna call?" We didn't just need opposition to widen our field of choices, but to place us in a place that seems - for the entire time we exist there - irredeemable and broken. If we got even the slightest notion that we could do it on our own, we would never feel the necessary desperation that would cause us to look helplessly upward for power greater than our own to help us. Interestingly enough, thanks to temporal / temporary comforts such as wealth and luxury, or power and influence, there are many humans who believe just that. You need to know you are broken to consider searching for Someone to fix things. Enter: Jesus Christ - the Mender of broken things, the Healer of sick things, the Redeemer of irredeemable things. Jesus Christ was planned for from the very beginning, Father knowing we would put ourselves wrong with the glory we came from. However would we find our way back, if a Rescuer wasn't sent? C.S. Lewis wrote: "Christianity does not make sense until you face the sort of facts I've been describing. Christianity tells people to repent and promises them forgiveness. It therefore has nothing to say to people who do not know they have done anything to repent of and who do not feel that they need forgiveness. "It is after you have realized there is a real Moral Law, and a Power behind that law , and that you have broken that law and put yourself wrong with that Power - it is after all this, and not a moment sooner, that Christianity begins to talk. "When you know you are sick, you will listen to the doctor. When you begin to understand that our position is nearly desperate, you will begin to understand what the Christians are talking about. "All I'm asking you to do is to face the facts that Christianity claims to answer. And they are very terrifying facts. I wish it were possible to say something more agreeable. But I must say what I think true. "Of course, I quite agree that the Christian religion is, in the long run, a thing of unspeakable comfort. But it does not begin in comfort; it begins in the dismay I have been describing, and it is no use at all trying to go on to that comfort without first going through that dismay." (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity) The dismay Lewis points out comes living in a world full of opposition, sensing you're not really from that world, and begin - possibly wistfully at first, but eventually desperately, as he says, to work to put yourself more at home with where you came from. That means pushing against the opposition and not giving into it. That will mean more than just letting Jesus mend and heal you. He'll also have to help you as you carry the oppositional load of your earth life - carrying it right along beside you. He carried it alone in Gethsemane and on Calvary, so He could walk with you as you live it. "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30) Which brings me to the third reason earth life is so difficult: "[You're] here to PUMP... you UP!" There's something most mysterious about Grace - the thing that happens when the Savior breaches the gap of our current capacity and the higher capacity He possesses. You get really, really buff. Just like our bodies respond to resistance training, so do our spirits respond to pushing against the ever-present opposition of mortality. Avoiding or surrendering keep us soft as plump little spiritual marshmallows. But strapping on that yoke with Jesus yields results that are often not seen in this lifetime. I like to picture what it will be like when we're finished with this sphere of existence and move onto the next. My mind has conjured the scene in Forrest Gump when he is being bullied because of the braces he needs to wear to straighten his legs. Forrest must have had the braces sufficiently strengthen his legs by this moment - as he awkwardly runs away in the braces, his legs take over on their own, and the braces fall by the wayside. Forrest simply runs - and runs faster - on his own. The analogy doesn't work completely, because even after this life, everything we learn and achieve will be because of the help of Jesus Christ. But - when the restraints of mortality are behind us, I have a feeling the lack of that tug from opposition isn't simply going to surprise us. I suspect it's going to take our breath away. We have no idea how very earthbound we are, because in the here and now, we’ve never known anything but having feet of clay. But because we partnered with the One who beat all the opposition for us , Jesus offers to share what He alone could earn - with all of us. If we choose to grow the muscles. We will have been conditioned from our resistance training, having grown spiritual muscles we could gain in no other way - because we carried our yoke with a perfect Partner. I guess it's not the actual difficulty I cheer; I'm not one of those perverse few. But I tell you what, I cheer for what it teaches me, what it's growing in me, and Who I'm better acquainted with because of it. The fruit of difficulty is most definitely worth cheering about.

Three weeks ago, I got my annual Christmas present a little early: my epic, barking, you must've-started-smoking-at-age-4 cough. Once again, it was looking like I would not be able to participate in our annual ward Christmas program, and I was devastated. I used to hate being in the ward choir, but my experiences with ward choirs have forever changed how I feel about spending yet another hour to stay at church to go to the rehearsals. I used to be a lot like Fanny Brice when it came to singing in ward choirs; I only wanted to participate if they were singing songs that I liked. Though it pains me to admit it, I must confess: I was in the "Too Cool for Ward Choir Club." It's a malady that often afflicts musicians who are reluctant to swim in a musical pool of open plunge. The impetus that started my conversion happened in 2011 when I was ironically called to be the ward choir director. I cried. I tearfully told the bishop - a close friend - "You realize you've just called me to be the ward Amway salesman." And by that, I meant I would instantly become the neighborhood pariah from whom people ran and hid, terrified of aggressive recruitment tactics that would rope them into an odious 4th hour of church on Sundays. No projecting going on there... In spite of a musical background, piano experience did NOT equal choir conducting experience, and I continued to tearfully make my way through the next four years of the calling that was right up there with roadshow director on the list of Callings I Pray I Never Receive. Which I've also done, by the way - TWICE. I begged and pleaded with many ward members to support the choir, and endured a variety of responses, profoundly grateful for any and all yeses - even the reluctant ones. I attended choir workshops held by the local music store to find new music. My bishop generously extended a budget to purchase beautiful songs to entice people to WANT to come and serve. To worship and praise. I'm happy to say I had the calling long enough to be authentically sad to see it go, and here's why: I learned in a brand new way what it looks like to live the law of consecration. Hear me now: NOTHING will teach you about the law of consecration like participating in a church choir. Because it is an all-comers' affair, you get to witness, up close and personal, what happens when musicians and non-musicians alike bring their meager loaves and fishes to the Savior to be blessed. Trust me - there will always be enough and to spare. The challenge of the ward choir is that the loaves and fishes change from week to week. The week before our program this year, Dale came home from rehearsal very discouraged. I had been home, on time out yet again, because of the perennial cough. Along with my absence, other circumstances had brought fewer loaves and fishes that day. But when consecrated disciples are willing - and sometimes even a little less than willing, even begrudging - I am now and forevermore astonished with what the Lord can do with a little band of singers and non-singers. Last Saturday morning, I went to choir rehearsal with great trepidation and a pocket of cough drops - one already tucked inside my cheek. As I sang the beautiful songs Dale had prayerfully selected, I marveled at how these numbers had come together over the course of the last two months. Once again, the Lord had made our loaves and fishes enough to be a feast. The Spirit entered into the equation on Sunday morning, and made our offering holy by joining us, singing with us, making us sound better than we really are. I could barely sing the words with tears in my eyes and on my cheeks: "Her eyes are fixed upon His Face, Unheeded here is time and space; Her heart is filled with blinding joy, For God's own Son - her baby Boy." (Nancy Buckley, There is Faint Music) It might not have been literal fire coming down from heaven, consuming a soggy, wet, far less than ideal sacrifice - but it felt like it. We ended the program with words that teach this tender lesson: "What shall I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb. If I were a wise man, I would do my part. What I can, I give Him, Give my heart." (Christina Rosetti, In the Bleak Midwinter) Whenever we see that God has touched our offering and made it enough - and more than enough, with leftovers even - this will happen. We will marvel at what His power can bring to our feeble, clumsy abilities. But it will never be more tender than when a band of willing and reluctant musicians and non-musicians know they sounded better than they ever deserved to. A ward choir is some of the most active duty consecration you will ever experience. Five stars; highly recommend. Something else to consider: if you love Jesus here and now, there's a good chance you were a part of the heavenly host then. It's possible that on that quiet night over 2000 years ago, when Jesus made His anonymous entrance into the world the first time, you couldn't even help yourself, and begged to wake up those sleepy temple shepherds. Perhaps there were rehearsals involved. So consider: when He comes again, we won't be able to keep still - again. We're going to want to sing and shout Hosanna. "How long we have wandered as strangers in sin, and cried in the desert for Thee!" (Redeemer of Israel Hymn #6) . Maybe we'll be so glad we've been rehearsing.

Knowing there is purpose in learning to wait changed waiting for me, but it still hasn't made me love it. Neither has looking for the lessons in it. Still not a fan. During my intense waiting curriculum, Father left me with the unmistakable knowledge that a LOT of His time involves waiting, and I'm so truly grateful for that inspired insight. For example... How long DOES it take for an earth to be ready for water? Light? Plants? Animals? How long does it take for the first humans to figure out they really need to eat that fruit? How long does it take to watch the dysfunctional covenant family throw their little brother in a pit, wait for one of them to prefer selling him over killing him, and then watch over him - the good boy - and them, the naughty boys? How long does it take for events to play out until Father has the good boy in a position to save the naughty boys and their families, and reconcile this family? How long does it take to plan and build a Star, and do the math and physics involved, to make sure said Star lands precisely when and where you need it to - on one specific night over one specific region of an entire planet? Seriously - the planning, the math, the physics, how long does that take? How long does it take for any one of Father's prodigal children to work themselves into a pig stye and look around for relief? How long does it take for them to consider Father again as a better option - the only option? How long does it take for his need to become desperate enough for him to come home - forget being an heir - happy to simply beg for a position in the household? Anyone who aches for a spiritually lost loved one knows this, even as she waits for the change of heart: God's ability to influence His children's agency is truly His mightiest work. Father's ability to fashion rescues from pits and prisons and pig styes is - without exception - the greatest of His miracles. And why do the rescues take so long? Why does it feel like it's longer than getting someone out of prison or building a star? One word: agency. Father honors individual agency above all else. Look what it cost Him to give it to us: the life and blood of His perfect Son. Because of that unspeakable cost, He will not force - C.S. Lewis writes that He will only woo. And with the myriad references to a yearning Bridegroom/Husband throughout the Old Testament, that's the word I like best. God woos His children with His goodness, His abundance, His unfailing mercy, His countless invitations to come home - invitations which will never be rescinded. Father woos us to "win our souls with love." (Hymn 175, O God, the Eternal Father) As someone who is waiting for this greatest of miracles, along with almost every single person I know, let me tell you THE Thing that has forever changed what waiting looks like for me. Moroni writes about seeing things in reality which had previously only been seen with an eye of faith (Ether 12:19). Because I've experienced miracles, practicing seeing with this kind of faith, I was inspired one day last year to speak with gratitude as if the miracle - the rescue - was already under way. Because, hello. That Star. WHEN did He start planning and building that Star? No way was my dearest Father in Heaven - my God - Lord and King of the universe - sitting and waiting for the desired change of heart. Of course He has to wait for the agency - for the softened heart to reach out. But idle waiting? No way. Can I imagine He's going to great lengths - every length - to allow life experiences to soften hearts? I've decided I can't even begin to comprehend what Father is up to, behind the scenes - make that - above the scenes - to facilitate the mighty rescues needed in the coming days. And that's when I started doing two things differently in my waiting: First, I started to thank Father - in advance - for the glorious rescue He is preparing. Saying it has taught me that there's power in exercising more than just an eye of faith. I love praising God with a tongue of faith - before the blessing ever comes. And since I love to imagine Father behind the scenes going to great lengths to get one of His children to the right prison or pig stye, or less dramatically - the right job, or the right neighbor - I've found myself imagining Him in a workshop, fashioning a life path that will bring a wayward child to the important crossroad. I'm sure it's because the Dad here at Maple Tree Haven is often busily working on something out of sight in his workshop, admonishing us to STAY OUT because the surprise isn't finished yet. Suddenly, the waiting takes on a feel of happy anticipation - what COULD He be doing down there? What will it look like? Then I like to imagine the look of pure - holy - delight in His face when the surprise comes - when the rescue happens - when the prodigal returns home. In the meantime, maybe we who "wait upon the Lord" (Isaiah 40:31) can wait a little more like a wait staff in a fine restaurant - asking our ever busy, working Father - "What can I do for You? Whom can I love and serve, for You? Since I'm asking for circumstances that will tip the scale for my prodigal, can I be the one to tip the scale for somebody else?" And that's the second thing that's changed waiting for me; it's less futile now. It's far more joyful, like waiting for Christmas to see what is being built in Father's incredibly busy workshop. And it's far more productive, because I'll tell you what - if you're willing to be God's little helper in the gathering - He has got stuff for you to do. There are scales to be tipped, and helping God tip scales in His favor is a completely delightful enterprise. With so many needing to be gathered, there's simply no time to wait idly. God's not waiting; neither should we.

Inigo Montoya really said it best, with pith and a Spanish accent: "I hate waiting." That about sums it up, eh? There isn't a big enough font: I HATE. Waiting. In any line, please make it less than 2 people deep, and be sure to check cart contents before committing For a medical appointment of any kind In traffic - particularly left turn lanes with any color arrow For an upload For a download For a laundry load - the last 5 minutes of the cycle? I swear it's 15 For miracles I'm not sure we're actually wired for waiting; in fact I'm pretty sure we're not. I mean, think about babies. Talk about a creature who wants what it wants 5 minutes ago. Apparently, we came to the planet with zero capacity for waiting. And then we wait. To turn 5 so we can go to school. WHAT were we thinking? For Halloween. For your birthday. For Christmas. For your first bicycle. Then we wait some more. For school to get OUT. To find out if you made the team. For your first job. Your first kiss. Did I get into yet another school? The waiting we do to master any skill is particularly vexing. This waiting involves work we very often don't really want to do. Whether it's mastering free throws, the splits, a back flip, or a Chopin nocturne, there is the legitimate pain of discipline that we have absolutely no other option but to work through. WAIT through. And that's not even the self-mastery of holiness: compassion, empathy, forgiveness, generosity, benevolence, patience. Wait. Don't you need patience to wait? Do you have to wait for patience? Is this one of those chicken and egg things? My most profound and important life lessons on waiting came from two completely different life events, and in different ways, underscore what I think might be at the heart of why we humans loathe waiting: usually waiting is part of a circumstance that is completely beyond our control. But these two circumstances have also taught me that while we might not be wired to wait, we are wired to learn to wait. Thanks to divine DNA, we have inherited a very important eternal skill. And that's for a very eternal reason - we're going to need it in the future. Story Number One: I'm sorry to bring this up again, but there was that time 4 years ago when I spent nearly 4 months hospitalized. Any institutionalized health care setting is going to involve waiting, but when that institution becomes your zip code? OY. With the waiting. And bear in mind, half way through the fun, I was transferred to a skilled nursing facility to learn how to do everything over again. Even talking; at my worst, I was weakly pointing to an alphabet chart to communicate, and at one point, I was certain it was NOT the English alphabet. I had to learn to breathe and swallow again before they even thought about taking out the feeding tube I'd been on for months. I needed a hoyer lift to get to daily dialysis sessions; hence, my going to a SNF 45 minutes from home. It was one of two in a 4-state area who had in-house dialysis. I bring this all up again to tell you about the funniest thing Heavenly Father told me the night I was transferred to Heritage Park in Roy. I tell you because it has to do with the point about our waiting lessons. I heard just two words in my head - several times - during the process of that transfer: " DAY TWO." This statement was part of a shorthand of sorts, built through the Spirit over years of my life. Does that happen with you? I know it happens in families; one word or phrase captures an entire series of ideas or a reminder of past events. All this to facilitate brevity in communicating something complex. Early in my adult life, I read Stephen R. Covey's Spiritual Roots of Human Relationships. In it, he writes about progressively growing into healthier relationships, and how sometimes we get impatient to move through necessary developmental stages by skipping essential first steps. He used the analogy of the Creation - for example, how God needed to have a solid earth mass before He could cover it with water - how there needed to be a division between water and land before vegetation could be planted - how that vegetation had to be well established before it could feed animals, etc. The shorthand created from reading that book was the idea that in our growth, we humans often impatiently want to skip Days 1-5, and land happily on Day 6, with most of the grunt work finished, poised to enjoy the fruits of the planting, and skipping the planting - including the digging, pruning, dunging - altogether. That sounds very human of us, doesn't it? Surely, it's not just me. On January 6, 2022, after a difficult yet tender 45-minute ride from IMC in Murray, Utah to Heritage Park in Roy, I got the distinct message from Heavenly Father, unmistakably: "DAY TWO." Father may as well have given me an entire pep talk, but with those two words, brought to remembrance by the Holy Ghost, it was if He actually said: "You have a long way to go, Daughter. You're just beginning this journey of recovery. Be patient,; you've got a lot of work to do. You can't skip any of the steps - you need to do all of it. I will help you and be with you every step of the way." That was on the 64th day of my captivity. Little did I know I was still 48 days away from the day I'd walk back into my house. Through those next seven weeks, there was a day when I remember hearing - feeling, really - DAY THREE." Another time, when I was feeling most impatient to be finished with daily dialysis - something which made daily occupational and physical therapy far more grueling if they happened afterwards - I didn't hear a day number, but something I came to realize was connected: "I DO THINGS IN THEIR PROPER ORDER." Impatient with the process and tired of waiting for my kidneys to function on their own, I had failed to consider the implications of what that would look like when I still couldn't sit up on the edge of my bed on my own - much less walk to a bathroom. Proper order, indeed. So grateful for the gentle reminder. As I began to be able to sit up on my own and walk the length of the physical therapy room several times, I remember a night when I had the impression: "DAY FIVE." Even still, that was a few weeks from my discharge. The acid test came the day before my discharge - climbing down a huge flight of concrete stairs to the boiler room and back up, on my own. The night before, the nephrologist made a special trip to my room to announce I was finished with dialysis, and wouldn't need to continue it when I went home two days later. This singular experience taught me that there's a purpose in waiting - even in God's waiting - but I also need to talk about what Father has taught me about how to wait differently. Learning how to wait differently has changed everything.

When I was a growing up, and as a young adult, I would occasionally meet a person who claimed he didn't believe in God. It didn't happen often, and because I lived such a sheltered life, while I didn't care much one way or the other, I felt bad because I grew up calling God Heavenly Father, and who wouldn't want an all-knowing Father looking out for them? Since we obviously didn't share beliefs, faith wouldn't end up on the short list of things to discuss; we picked up the shattered pieces of our disillusioned lives, and somehow found a way to move past the breach of this major schism in our world views. Of course, that was before social media. Back then, my impression of an unbeliever - agnostic or atheist - was that they didn't really care all that much that I believed - much the same way I didn't care that they didn't. They were no more invested in convincing me that I was disillusioned in my belief system than I was in convincing them that they were. In fact, if you'd asked me back then what my impression of an atheist was, I would have conjured in my mind a person who - at worst - had feelings of condescension towards me - dweeb believer they imagined me to be. Or best of all - maybe they didn't waste the brain power thinking about me at all, as it should be. Those who thought condescendingly, when confronted with my belief in a God and Creator, I imagined their attitude would have been communicated - not necessarily in words - along these lines: "Isn't that cute? YOU GUYS are adoooorable - you think prayer reaches someone else - and that someone else hears you? That is SO. SWEET. And hey. If it gives you comfort in a weird world, more power to ya!" Maybe followed by a little pat on the hand. I don't know anyone like that anymore. They're probably still out there, and kudos to them for not being sucked into the vortex of anger that generally surrounds this conversation anymore. But to call this conversation a vortex of anger might be dialing back what I've seen at large in the last 10 or so years. Those happy atheists of yesteryear? They feel nearly extinct in my world. Now, all I see - or hear - are the ones who want you to SHUT UP about your beliefs because THEY don’t believe it. Almost like a little kid who puts his fingers in his ears and shouts, “LA LA LA LA LA” to drown you out. For ages, believers and unbelievers have managed to live side by side and help each other, care about each other, be friends with each other. But it's almost like the schism in beliefs became a literal schism in the earth itself, leaving one of us on one side of the widening gap, and the other one of us on the other side, the schism growing into an impassable canyon. In 2007, David Kupelian wrote: "I conducted a little thought experiment a while back, while looking out over the Pacific from the Oregon coast. Drinking in the vast expanse of the ocean, the pounding surf, the seagulls, the salt air - ultimate serenity and ultimate power all in one timeless moment - I asked myself: How can one experience all this magnificence without believing in a Creator? "So I tried, just as an experiment mind you, to conceptualize the existence of the fantastic creation I was beholding, yet without a Creator. I consciously tried to adopt an atheistic worldview, even for just a minute, to see what it was like. "What I got was a headache, a psychic shock, a momentary taste of another realm - an empty, prideful, appalling dimension of hell-on-earth, masquerading as enlightenment and freedom. [emphasis added] "That's why the conflict between theism and atheism is not just a philosophical topic for polite debate over tea. It's a spiritual war of the worlds. That high anxiety I felt momentarily, as I tasted the 'other dimension' that animates those who reject the very idea of God, was minor and passing. But I'm quite sure hard-core atheists feel agony when the opposite happens to them - that is, when they chance to experience a fleeting moment of realization that God exists, and that they are accountable ultimately to Him. "This would account for the near-explosive emotion that always seems to surround this 'objective, scientific' subject. Underneath all the scientific pretension, it's all about man being master of his own destiny, about freedom from accountability to God, about being released from Judeo-Christian sexual morality, about making up your own rules, about sustaining the life of pride and individual will. "In a very real sense, it's about being your own god." David Kupelian, "How Atheism is Being Sold to America," October 11, 2007 ( https://nicholicious.wordpress.com/2007/10/11/how-atheism-is-being-sold-to-america/ ) Which brings me to a new thought I've had recently about happy or unhappy atheists. I believe the happy atheists are the ones who still have a fairly neutral opinion, if not condescending, towards believers. But unhappy atheists? I've decided maybe what they really are is dishonest atheists. Kupelian sort of nailed the description of the angst certain unbelievers surely live in: what if there really is a God, and what if I really must face Him one day to account for my life? That's troubling enough information for believers! - sans Jesus, that is. But what if you don't believe that there really is a Creator, and that Someone was sent to intercede for you, be your advocate at that judgment bar, have your back, and give His back to the smiters for you, because you chose to give your heart to Him? If Kupelian is right, such people live in the worst sort of cognitive dissonance: I don't want there to be a higher power in the universe, because I like being my higher power, and doing exactly what I want and living my life as I please. But what if...? As Kupelian said, what if his little thought experiment leaves atheists a little less than happy, and gives them something a little more than a headache upon contemplating a universe with authority and consequences? No wonder they're ornery. If unhappy - or somewhat dishonest atheists are even a little nervous there really might be a God, then even the slightest mention of His existence might send them over the edge with an anxiety they might not even be willing or able to admit they're experiencing. The biggest reason I feel badly that anyone lives with this kind of suppressed terror isn't simply because that's no way to live, but because - at the risk of expressing an irreverence I absolutely do not feel - I think God is truly the coolest Person I know. I cannot get over how God does things. He does art projects every single day - sunrise and sunset, tides, etc. Then there are thunderstorms, and dew, and water in general. And there's music - explain that one without a Supreme Intelligence, please. And babies. Don't even get me started with the babies. God's love for us is RIDICULOUS. If you read the Old Testament, listen for the voice of a spurned husband pleading for His unfaithful bride; you will hear a voice of love and devotion that will absolutely melt you. He. Wants. Us. And not only does He want us, He wants US to want Him as much as He wants us. He wants a faithful partner in this relationship. And the history of the Bible teaches that He is willing to wait for millennia in order to give His children as long as they need to learn, and practice, and grow into the marriage. "For all this his anger is not turned away, but his hand is stretched out still." (Isaiah 5:25) I like to imagine unbelievers - happy and unhappy alike, honest or slightly dishonest in their hopeful denial of God's existence - having the inevitable moment of discovery that He is real. I get excited to consider them realizing He has walked beside them every day of their lives, protected them, given them brilliant ideas, provided them more strength than their native strength in difficult seasons, and almost like a wallflower at a junior high school dance, waited patiently for His beloved child to notice Him, pick Him, stay with Him. Because He is God, every single unbeliever's story of discovery is going to be epic - truly, one for the books. For THE book - the Book of Life. Every story is HIS story - the HIStory of God in each life He created. Then all the thing that looked like happiness will become true joy - the real thing that never goes away, because its source is eternal: our Creator, God, and Papi.

True story 1: Many years ago, a friend was telling me about something he/she had observed in his/her in-law's marriage that had been less than ideal. Translation: this was a normal marriage. Clutch your pearls now, Lucille. Yes - we were talking about a HUMAN marriage in a FALLEN world. The weakness wasn't something egregious like abuse, but it was definitely unrighteous dominion - the garden-variety kind that we often fail to recognize AS unrighteous dominion - the passive aggressive manipulation many of us resort to when we feel a loss of control with another fallen human - too often with those we allegedly love the most. Since at least one of the couple had passed away at this point, I said something along the lines: "Well, hopefully he/she's has learned not to do that anymore, and has repented." I was truly surprised at my friend's reaction to what I thought was a fairly innocuous comment; he/she was scandalized. "Oh I don't think it's something he/she has to REPENT of!" he/she exclaimed. True story 2: Many years ago, a young woman in my neighborhood had a baby out of wedlock. Gratefully, she had chosen to have the baby, even though marrying the father wasn't an option at the time. I remember being so impressed as she moved through the pregnancy. It was apparent that she wanted to make things right with the Lord. As a member of our ward, I saw her attending church regularly, staying close to the bishop, etc. This topic cropped up in a conversation - as these things are wont to do - with another neighbor who didn't attend church anymore. I remember him/her asking how the young mother was doing. I wanted to say something positive and uplifting, and not succumb to the level of gossip - not always easy to do, right? So I said, "She seems to be doing so well - she's repenting and getting on with raising this baby on her own." I was surprised at my neighbor's reaction to the 'R' word, and he/she gently reproved my use of it, "Oh - don't you think that's a bit harsh?" So today we need to talk about this insane idea that repentance is a bad thing and not to be discussed in polite company. Or at least, that repentance is a good thing, for bad people. So can we just start with this and get it out of the way? WE'RE ALL BAD PEOPLE. "Let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up." (Princess Bride) When Paul says: "All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23) - he means that literally. God's glory has been lost to all of us mortals because of the Fall. Going into that highest eternal level of glory in our current state of misalignment would feel like coming in from working in your yard all day on Saturday, and immediately showing up at a black-tie event. Only worse. It would actually, physically, kill us. God's glory is so glorious, that without Jesus Christ, we are irretrievably lost. Goners. ALL OF US. Even people who are trying to be good are - in this sense - bad people. Because of - say it with me - the Fall. Russell M. Nelson taught this in the April 2019 General Conference: "Too many people consider repentance as punishment - something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ, who stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify , and sanctify us. "The word for repentance in the Greek New Testament is metanoeo . The prefix meta- means 'change.' The suffix -noeo is related to Greek words that mean 'mind,' 'knowledge,' 'spirit,' and 'breath.' He goes on to say this - which maybe should be cross-stitched on our foreheads: "Repentance is not an event; it is a process. ( https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2019/04/36nelson?lang=eng ) I'm not sure where we got this notion that repentance is not to be discussed in polite company, that surely you don't need to repent, or me , and certainly an imperious in-law doesn't need to repent, and certainly a young girl who made a baby without benefit of being married doesn't need to repent! Surely we don't think repentance isn't for good people - but only for bad people! It's like we think we need to live in such a way that every minute of our lives is worthy of an article in a church magazine. We've somehow managed to create a counter-culture where we don't discuss repentance - ours or anyone else's - in anything other than hushed undertones of scandal. I remember hearing a church speaker once laughingly wonder what his neighbors would do if we said to them at church one Sunday, "Good morning, Brother So-and-So - how is your repentance coming along?" And then he asked why - when repentance is the priceless gift that it is. So when my neighbor wondered if I was being harsh - rather than loving - at noting an unwed mother was busy repenting - don't even ask me how I managed to reply counter to that counter-culture. I wonder if maybe the Holy Ghost took charge of my mouth for a little minute. I don't remember my exact words, but pretty close: "Oh, I don't think it's harsh to say she's repenting - I'm watching her turn into a person who wouldn't even dream of making a baby without being married first!" And that is when my new favorite definition of repentance was born that until that moment, I didn’t know that I knew: "Repentance is the process you go through to turn into the person who wouldn't dream of doing the thing that you did." (Book of Laureen) Which is captured in the Hebrew definition of repentance: "teshuvah" literally means "return" and signifies turning back to God after straying. This is what turning around looks like. Fallen from glory as each and every one of us are, this is the process we go through to transform our attitudes and desires and realign them with the glory we came from, so we can be restored to that glory without feeling like we're in our yard clothes, or also dying. I invite all gentle readers to consider joining me in my campaign of making repentance fashionable - nay, joyful - again. No more hushed tones, no more shame attached. If Jesus suffered the cross because of the joy of our repentance set before Him (Hebrews 12:2), then we can be joyful as we talk about our chance to participate in it. Repentance isn't a gift begrudgingly offered as a last resort for nearly lost causes. It's been joyfully offered at great cost to allow any and all comers through the door He opened with His atoning sacrifice. If we want it. Let's get polite people everywhere buzzing with happy anticipation because of it.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I just want to start by saying that I love the way Jesus does things. The more I pay attention to what He does and the way He does it, the more I think, "Boy, I'm sure glad HE's in charge!" He's always kind and compassionate. But He's never nice. He's always meek and lowly of heart. But He's never weak. He always speaks the truth. But He's never harsh. He has great power - over the very elements He created. But He never abuses it by using it to control us. Somehow, He manages to micro-manage every element of this universe with breathtaking precision without micro-managing His children's choices. How does He even do that? He always wants you to come as you are. But He never expects you to stay as you are. The One put in charge didn't send someone else to do the dirty work of saving and exalting the human family; He came Himself. And in so doing, He didn't create a top/down approach for our salvation, beckoning, "Come up here, if you can, and by the way - you can't." Jesus came down to our level - He came into our world, as one of us - so He could say, "Come with me. I came to get you out. Stay with me, and I will stay with you, and we'll go home together." Watching the way Jesus set things up for us to get home has taught me a lot about direction - the way He moves. As I said, His gospel isn't a top/down affair; He works from the bottom... up. He was born in the humblest circumstances. His parents were on the run in a foreign country at the beginning of His life. He was just a little kid in Nazareth who grew up in a poor home. When He announced His true identity to His neighbors at synagogue, their response was, "Is not this Joseph's son?" (Luke 4:22) He came to the bottom of society. He lived and taught at the bottom of society. The elites He largely ignored, unless He frankly exposed their narcissistic patterns of prominence and priestcraft, to their chagrin and fury. Meanwhile, He ministered to one person at a time. Crowds, yes, but mostly one person at a time - at a table, at a well. One by one, He not only saw individual hearts at those tables and wells , but He spoke to those hearts of the beauty and nobility He saw in them, and urged them, "Come. Follow me." It's not terribly efficient on its face. Talking knee-to-knee, face-to-face with just one person equals a lot of knee-to-knee conversations. But one person, forever changed by Jesus Christ, then changes the world. Okay - not THE world - but certainly his or her world - his or her relationships. That person then has a knee-to-knee experience with someone else, who then has an experience with someone else, and someone else. It's like the Suave commercial. While not efficient, it's the only truly lasting way change can take place in a fallen world where humans can choose either light or dark. Because it's the only way humans can truly be allowed to choose their preference to either light or dark. Ezra Taft Benson taught: "The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of the people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. The world would mold men by changing their environment. Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature." (Ezra Taft Benson, "Born of God," General Conference, October 1985) President Benson makes a notable distinction in the direction in which the world works versus the direction in which the Savior works. Learning this has helped me see why top/down approaches to solving the world's problems is never going to be a lasting, sustainable solution. Knowing which direction the Lord is coming from - versus that of the world - has become vitally instructive in my life - to know whether policies, programs, or institutions are of God - or of the world. Even well-meaning groups can too often attempt to impact change coming from the wrong direction. Recognizing where God starts - with His trajectory outward and upward - makes it easier to recognize the counterfeits from the world which will always - no matter how attractive they sound or how well-meaning or well-funded they may be - be moving in the wrong direction for meaningful, lasting change. Learning where God is coming from has also helped me recognize His expectations of where I'm coming from - and what direction I'm heading. It's an extremely easy direction to pin down: am I moving toward Him - or away from Him? That's pretty much it. Hugh Nibley wrote: "Who is righteous? Anyone who is repenting. No matter how bad he has been, if he is repenting he is a righteous man. There is hope for him. And no matter how good he has been all his life, if he is not repenting, he is a wicked man. The difference is which way you are facing. The man on the top of the stairs facing down is much worse off than the man on the bottom step who is facing up. The direction we are facing, that is repentance; and that is what determines whether we are good or bad." (Hugh Nibley, Approaching Zion , p. 301-302) God's trajectory can be recognized by its direction: is it outside going in? Big projects on top going down? Or is it inside going out? One heart at a time changing individuals, then families, then communities, and eventually the world? (see Gary L. Stevenson, General Conference, October 2025 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0Bax6NvKbo ) Mankind's best trajectory can be recognized by its direction: are you facing Him? Or away from Him? Recognizing God's direction can help recognize counterfeits and deception. Recognizing our intended direction can help us recognize the need for the most simple course correction in the world: Turn around.

Jane Eyre , Charlotte Bronte (original book review posted August 1, 2016) I first read Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre when I was about 12 or 13 years old and obviously, didn't get much of its richness. I was young enough to be terrified by Jane's childhood experiences, and naive enough to not understand Jane's parting with Mr. Rochester. The ending was less than satisfying because of Rocheste r's injuries attempting to save his wife - how could I have seen that as the fulfillment of foreshadowing from earlier in the novel? Fast forward to my adult self, after having seen every film version of this novel ever made, and reading it again in book group a couple of times... I love that Jane has a strong sense of herself as a person of inherent worth, that she doesn't view herself as less than Rochester because of being younger, poorer, plainer, or of lower station socially and financially. And I love that Rochester doesn't see her as lower than himself either. I love that they actually SEE each other - equally. No mother-son relationship, no daddy-daughter date - this is a full-blooded relationship between an equal man and woman. I find that terribly romantic. Paul refers to relationships in heaven as seeing as we're seen, and knowing as we're known. Jane and Rochester come as close to that kind of love between a man and woman as I've seen in literature. I love that Jane denies herself the one thing she has longed for her entire life because of that strong sense of self, and her relationship to God. As she tells Rochester why she can't be with him, she says she should be willing to pluck out her eye, or strike off her hand, if either offended God. That is the statement that is literally fulfilled, as he becomes worthy of Jane during their time of separation. Being true to self and God, true romance, integrity, redemption. Besides the absolutely gorgeous language, Bronte teaches powerful eternal truths in a timeless and quintessential love story. This may be my #1 favorite novel.

To Kill a Mockingbird , Harper Lee (original book review posted August 2, 2016) To this day, I get soft somewhere in my gut when I think of the beauty of the language of this book. It evoked emotions in me as a young teenager that changed the way I looked at the world. I love the characters - those hysterical children, Jem, Dill, and Scout - a town rich with side characters, and the gem of a father that everyone wishes he had - Atticus Finch. I'm getting emotional as I think of everything I learned fro m being 13 and watching this imaginary man teach his imaginary daughter. I learned right along with Scout about the injustice of prejudice, the potential smallness and pettiness of human nature, along with its potential nobility and greatness. I love the easy, unpretentious meandering of a well-structured plot that almost takes you by surprise in that meandering. It's characteristically southern in its casual pace, and almost seems to be going nowhere. But Lee knew where she was going, and because of expert story-telling, the destination doesn't just take you by surprise - it takes your breath away. Oh, how I love a writer who can weave such a story! I love the important lessons in a seemingly unimportant time and place, told in a seemingly unimportant way. That Lee is capable of seeing the Finch's neighbors with both compassion and stark honesty as she takes their masks off at various points in the story is masterful. I only got a broad sense of the spectrum of humanity Lee was painting when I was 13 - but it continues to move me, just writing about it today. To use the ordinary to do something extraordinary is the best of art; it's God-like. One of the best lines in the book is where Scout's neighbor tells her that God puts some people on the earth to do the ugly things that none of the rest of us wanted to do, and that Atticus was such a man. Lee writes it in such a way as to make you want to be such a person - to do what is right, even when it is hard, simply because it IS right. I have at least 50 books that I sort of cram into a "top ten" list. But this one is in the REAL top ten. It has mattered that I've read this book.  <3

Eleni , Nicholas Gage (original book review posted August 3, 2016) Eleni Gatzoyiannis was executed by Greek "freedom fighters" - her own countrymen - when she helped her children escape from their little mountain town and go to their father in the U.S. - rather than have them taken from her and sent to live in communist countries. This biography of her life is written by her only son, Nicholas, who became an investigative journalist. It is a powerful testament of the power of motherhood as a force for g ood. There are three things that made this book important to me - first - it helped me connect dots to the political landscape in my own world. As the communists advanced their agenda in Greece, the propaganda techniques they used were blatant enough to start forming a repetitive pattern I could recognize. I found myself thinking, "We hear garbage like that!" It changed the way I accepted news sources, and got me searching for voices I could trust. I attribute 4 biographies as waking me up to the conditions in the world; this is one of them. Secondly, as a wannabe writer, I loved the brilliant writing of this memoir about a memory of a mother, more than an actual mother. Nicholas Gage was 9 when he escaped Greece, so much of the book is written as dispassionately as any unknown biographer would about a researched, but personally unknown, subject. But then, suddenly, Gage was 9 years old for a moment, and the few cherished memories of a living, breathing mother who poured her life into her children, would tumble out. Because these moments were random and scarce, they took my breath away. They kept this tribute from a son from becoming overly sappy or sentimental. The thing that made this book most meaningful for me was the profound statement it makes on the importance of motherhood, in two great acts. As Eleni was being executed, after being vindictively and brutally tortured by a small tyrant (is there any other kind?) - before the firing squad fired, she flung her arms high in the air and shouted, "MY CHILDREN!" It was an incredible punctuation mark of a life lived - and given - completely for her children. Years later, as an adult, the son who did all this research to find that small tyrant responsible for his mother's death, drew upon that great example of his mother to keep him from taking the man's life in vengeance. It has mattered that I've read this book. I only gave up a career for my children, but it reminded me most powerfully why I did, that it mattered that I did, and that it will matter. In September 2020 I was fortunate to join my friend Dana Robb on Big Ocean Women's podcast and discuss this seminal book. https://open.spotify.com/episode/2FhxZ2jq85nEKttHCrxRVG

Watership Down , Richard Adams (original book review posted August 6, 2016) Summer 1978. I'm at   Kim Mutch Emerson 's house, and pick up a paperback sitting on her kitchen table. It has a rabbit on the front - a really beautiful, sleek rabbit. "What's this about?" I inanely ask. "Rabbits," she said. Duh. If I close my eyes again, and Cat Stevens' "Izitso" is playing - the music that will forever be the soundtrack of this novel - it's 1978 and I'm 21 again. I was so completely lost in a world of the most  incredible characters of RABBITS, that when I finished the novel, I wept like a little girl because I was finished. Never in my life, before or since, have I wanted a story to go on more than this one. At the risk of sounding like a complete dweeb I must confess: to this day, I love each and every one of those rabbits who trusted the runt of the litter, the one who saw destruction, and left their old home in search of a new home. The prophet, the leader, the warrior, the storyteller, the jokester, the thinker, the runner - what does this say about a novel to have such characters remain beloved for nearly 40 years? And - hello! Did I mention - they are RABBITS! There are lessons to learn from the rabbits who ignored - and those who heeded - a prophetic warning from one of the lesser of their own. Lessons to learn about the value of each individual - INDIVIDUAL - in a society - what each brings to the whole that makes the whole stronger. There are lessons of the dangers of the welfare state - how it erodes faith and makes us less caring of our brothers. There are lessons of the dangers of a totalitarian state - where fear of the outside world and the desire for safety and security trump the desire for freedom. Most importantly - and the moment of the story I'll treasure most as I remember reading it aloud to my 150% engaged 10-year-old son - there are lessons about doing what you promised you would do to fight evil - at all costs - BECAUSE YOU PROMISED. Rabbits. Schmabbits. This book is about life and what matters most. This is one of the first books I read where the idea began to germinate that perhaps there is no such thing as fiction - just new ways to tell the truth about life as it really is. Adams used rabbits to do it - what a storyteller. Now...I'm kind of in the mood for a little Cat Stevens... Thanks for this beautiful art by my dear friend Kirt Harmon. I fancy this is Hazel. https://harmonart54.blogspot.com/