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/

Life and Death in Shanghai , Nien Cheng (original book review posted August 5, 2016) Word of caution: when you've been wacked out on general anesthesia is NO TIME to tackle a book with a lot of Chinese names in it. Just saying... A few months later when I had my brain back (ish), I tackled this book recommended by a good friend in my neighborhood. Nien Cheng spent 7 years in a prison in China BECAUSE SHE WOULD NOT LIE. Yep. Chairman Mao - the greatest mass murderer of the 20th century, was having a massive political shakedown, and Mao 's wife wanted to take out a political enemy by discrediting him. Only one problem: Nien Cheng would not lie to save her own skin, so they threw her in prison. Through numerous interrogations, she continued to tell the truth, much to the chagrin of those responsible. Finally, in exasperation and after the political wind had shifted, she was released. This book is an incredible look at the "cultural" revolution Mao perpetrated on the Chinese people to fundamentally change public perception of the government, and one woman who paid a high price for not riding the wave. Her account of the political climate that led to her arrest is presciently chilling - and her account of what she did to try to stay healthy in prison - both physically and spiritually - is inspiring. Mrs. Cheng wrote this book after she had immigrated to the U.S. in her 60's - in English! - her second language! She is an absolutely amazing woman that I am so honored to know through her simple, honest, solid, and true writing. I credit having read 4 biographies with my awakening; Eleni was one, this was another. Stories matter; well-told stories change the world.

I went to Narnia this summer. I've only been one other time; I took my son when he was 10; he's going to be 34 in a few weeks. These last few months I had the strongest urge to go again. I'm so glad I did. There are so many lessons to learn there. Also, the animals talk. As a much younger mother, I had read Lion and Caspian before venturing back and reading all seven books with my children. By the time the three of us went together, I had begun a random list of people I hoped to have lunch with some day in the afterlife. Lewis was definitely on the short list which included people like Joseph Smith, Anne Frank, and Helen Keller. I loved the idea of visiting with people who had not just made a difference in the world at large, but made a big difference in my world - in me . Then one day the most absurd and important idea popped into my head: What exactly do you have to say when you meet Mr. Lewis? I realized I might want to be more intentional in what I consumed mentally (see Louis L'Amour quote on home page) so I would have something substantive of my own to bring to the table. Dull lunch indeed, if all I did was reenact the hysterical Chris Farley character from SNL, interviewing various random famous people. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHPQFPdj8ko&pp=ygUoY2hyaXMgZmFybGV5IGludGVydmlldyBmYW1vdXMgcGVvcGxlIFNOTA%3D%3D ) But I digress. (Imagine) This summer, I revisited one of the loveliest journeys of my life as a mother - taking my precious children into a treasured book. In typical fashion, Megan forged on ahead of us and finished on her own, leaving Grant and me to carry on for most of the series. We read them in Mr. Lewis' preferred order, chronologically: The Magician’s Nephew The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe The Horse and His Boy Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia The Voyage of the Dawn Treader The Silver Chair The Last Battle This summer, I saw more deeply the themes of Christianity Lewis wove into the fantastical world. Lewis' ability to make profound lessons about human nature simple enough for children served to underscore them somehow. These endearing characters taught me through their own lessons. In The Magician's Nephew, my children saw strong people manipulate and exploit weak people. We read of an entire world destroyed by pride. We watched a little boy full of self-justification learn that despite all excuses and extenuating circumstances, it's impossible to lie to Aslan; your heart simply won’t let you, and neither will He. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we watched an innocent little boy become addicted before he even knew something was bad for him - all with the promise of importance over siblings with whom he often felt overlooked. It's so important to learn that if someone's offering you something which sounds too good to be true, it is . I love that my children saw Lewis' symbolic telling of the importance of sacrifice and atonement - gently teaching of the ultimate Atonement of Jesus Christ in the sacrifice of Aslan. In A Horse and His Boy, we saw the life of a seemingly unimportant little boy become terribly important in saving a kingdom. Every unfortunate thing that happened to him forged his character and taught him he was carefully watched over by a benevolent power much higher than his own - for a higher purpose than he could ever have imagined. In Prince Caspian, we learned your personal instructions from God may look completely different from everyone else's around you - probably will - but to trust what you know is true. We learned that power in the hands of evil is always for selfishness, but power in the hands of virtue is for service and sacrifice. In Dawn Treader, we met a terribly obnoxious little boy who thought he could restore himself when he recognized what a rotter he was. What a valuable lesson: though more painful, at first - Aslan's way of redemption was a sweet relief. It was equally valuable to watch that obnoxious little boy not be completely transformed afterwards, but forever committed to practicing his new, non-obnoxious ways. In The Silver Chair - we ventured far beneath Narnia to rescue someone terribly beloved and valued - who had been enchanted into a complete forgetfulness of his true identity. We learned a lesson of following instructions as exactly as you know how, and that distractions can lead to a dangerous downward incline. In The Last Battle , we were surprised to meet a counterfeit Aslan - with so many horrendous things done "in his name" that when the truth was finally revealed - far too many were jaded and contemptuous of the real Aslan going forward. It was important for my wide-eyed little boy to hear the story of a king who knew it was worth dying to not disappoint Aslan. Just the other night, I relived one of the most tender moments of leaving Narnia with my little boy twenty-four years ago. I read with great emotion some of the last lines in our adventure: Spoiler alert: this is literally the last page of the last book: [Aslan speaking to the children, of never having to leave Narnia again]: "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning." "And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of the stories,... All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before." I was touched that there were tears in my little boy's eyes besides mine as I shut the book. There was that lovely pregnant pause at the end of every good book: that deep sigh of satisfaction of returning from a journey well worth taking. We smiled at each other with great affection. "Now that's someone I want to have lunch with some day," Grant said. I agreed most wholeheartedly. And twenty-four years later, I still do.

I’ve loved this phrase for many years. Before I painted my family room ten years ago, I had it in vinyl lettering on the wall with family and wedding pictures. Humans are so funny, don’t you think? Perhaps I project when I say that, but it seems we generally struggle with the whole concept of cause and effect - making the concept of loving a choice one made trickier than it might appear on the surface. Put another way, when most humans pick up a stick, we too often fail to consider the other end of that stick with much forethought. Which makes this statement quite profound, and put in simpler terms - NOT Simper terms - “Love what you have chosen.” This post will possibly not appeal to two groups of individuals: those who married perfectly, never argue or resent one another, or have never spent a day disenchanted with their choice. To those of you who may have achieved Eden: I salute you. This post will also most likely vex individuals who are on Attempt Number Two. Or Three. Or… Please know: I’m not poking at anyone who has made another choice because the first became untenable. Sometimes, dissolving a marriage is truly the only way forward. I do NOT speak to that when I press this issue of loving your choice - no need to feel triggered or targeted. I write this by way of finishing my review of Middlemarch , and to make the case for caution in the casualness in marriage in the current culture. It’s worth consideration to persevere with choices once both ends of the stick picked up are fully known. I write to those for whom the marriage pendulum swings pretty normally: with days of being certain Saturday’s Warrior could have been written about you and your spouse; and other days of suspecting you were possessed the day you decided to marry this… Other Person. In an 800+ page book where not much happens, three marriages are highlighted in Middlemarch - all of which underscore this statement: “Choose thy love, love thy choice.” The first marriage is a couple who marry quickly and fairly impetuously, knowing next to nothing about each other first. Dr. Lydgate, a newcomer to Middlemarch, is completely infatuated with a town beauty, Rosamund Vincy, the mayor’s daughter. Rosamund naively and somewhat selfishly marries Dr. Lydgate, imagining she will become a grand dame of social standing in the community by marrying a doctor. Coming from a financially fickle family herself, she quickly runs the couple into near-ruinous debt. Every attempt to treat her as a true emotional partner in the ensuing problems blows up in Lydgate’s face - leaving him confused as to why Rosamund would marry him if she didn’t want to be married to him. Rosamund is equally confused as to why her every desire is not indulged and accommodated, and responds to Lydgate's attempts at economizing with passive aggressive manipulation. Upon discovering the other end of the stick, both Lydgate and Rosamund continue in their marriage disillusioned, love lost, with nothing but disappointment ahead of them. The second marriage are young people who grew up in Middlemarch and have loved each other since childhood. Mary Garth’s family aren’t wealthy or socially prominent, but her father is a well-respected, hard-working land agent and farming manager. Fred Vincy is Rosamund’s brother, and at first he has selfish and short-sighted proclivities to rival his sister’s. In spite of Fred’s repeated attempts to convince Mary to marry him, Mary worries they will not be happy because of his impulsive decisions that land him seriously in debt - a debt which ends up costing her family a great financial loss. But Mary’s love proves a powerful motivation for Fred, who authentically grows up in the novel and humbly offers himself as an apprentice, willing to learn, to Mary’s father. Though the reader never sees the fruit of this marriage until the epilogue, Fred lives to make himself worthy of Mary. Her wisdom in considering both ends of the stick before the marriage gave the marriage a better than fighting chance afterward. The third marriage includes the novel’s central character - Dorothea Brooke - whose fervent and genuinely sincere ideas of a life of service make her easy prey to a pompous, ineffectual scholar more than double her age, Edward Casaubon. Guard your gag reflex as you read one of the most narcissistic proposals EVER WRITTEN. To sum up in modern vernacular: “Honey, won’t it be great for ME, if you marry me?” And bless Dorothea’s idealistic heart, she falls for it. Not long into the marriage, she realizes Edward really wanted nothing more than a secretary to catalog his massive collection of notes for a book he most likely will never get around to finishing. The thing that made Middlemarch unique for me is that two of these three marriages were constructed in such a way as to give the parties of those marriages ample modern justification for abandoning them in one way or another - if not technically, in affairs, then certainly emotionally. A much younger cousin of Edward’s - Will Ladislaw - is quite taken with Dorothea as early as Dorothea’s and Edward’s honeymoon. And dig this for a romantic honeymoon - Dorothea spends every day - IN ROME - visiting museums alone, as Edward cloisters himself in libraries, poring over documents in preparation for his book. In spite of this, Dorothea is faithful in every way to her husband, and innocently enjoys Will’s company over the course of her marriage. It isn’t until Edward Casaubon dies of a heart condition that she even begins to entertain the idea that she cares for Will beyond that of a friend. Her purity in this is somewhat unmatched in literature. Her extraordinary strength of character allows her to do more than grit her teeth through living with the untouched end of the stick she picked up in Edward Casaubon; it enables her to actually embrace it, as she comes to recognize him as almost disabled in his inability to love her in return. It’s fascinating to watch these couples go through the process of learning to live with the other end of the sticks they picked up in their marriage choices. Two had a limited view of that other, untouched end - as do all of us who choose a marriage. It’s a marvel that even in 19th-century literature, a writer would portray these marriages - each with differing degrees of happiness and satisfaction - as being faithful - peopled with individuals who dealt with both ends of their sticks with fidelity. Each, in spite of everything, in one way or another, ‘loved’ their choices by not choosing someone else in its place. The portraits of these very different marriages serve as cautionary tales in a modern world that too often views marriage as disposable. Loving our choice - learning to love both ends of the stick we pick up when we marry - is at the core of keeping the covenant of marriage - be it an earthly or an eternal one. It speaks to love as the verb that it is - as opposed to the emotional feeling it very often is not. It deepens the responsibility of the marriage as a covenant, recognizing that the feeling of love that ignites the creation of the marriage organism as simply that - an impetus, insufficient to sustain the marriage on its own. C.S. Lewis writes of this covenant - the formalizing of choosing our love and loving our choice: “The promise, made when I am in love and because I am in love, to be true to the beloved as long as I live, commits me to being true even if I cease to be in love. A promise must be about things that I can do , about actions: no one can promise to go on feeling a certain way. He might as well promise to never have a headache or always to feel hungry.” (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, emphasis added) Surrounding these three "love" stories, Middlemarch is also filled with a wide-ranging look at mid-19th-century rural living in England with the social attitudes and issues of its day. Plus, there’s a juicy scandal which has much to say of hypocrisy, hidden guilty consciences, and the lengths humans will go to in order to maintain their public image. But at the risk of my review being 800+ pages, I’ll tell you that simply as a teaser to further entice you to try this lengthy novel. I recommend watching the movie first to keep the characters straight before wading into the depths of this insightful human nature study. What I DON’T recommend is that you read it my way. My world record in taking nearly a half-century to read a novel isn’t worth attempting to beat. ( https://www.laureensimper.com/post/my-47-year-overdue-book-report-a-prelude )

I wish I could remember when Charlie Kirk hit my radar; my best guess is 3 or 4 years ago. I remember marveling how intelligent he was - inherently so, because of his ability to speak with such clarity. But it was also apparent he was well-read. I assumed he had attended college until I learned he was publishing a book, The College Scam , about the uselessness of most college degrees. I was surprised to learn that Charlie had never attended college.  What?? By then, I’d done a 180 on my position on a college education and agreed with him completely that it was very often a waste of money. But then there he was, with a knowledge of classical writers which seemed quite extensive. How had he learned all this without attending college? As I continued to listen to him talk to college kids across the country, I continued to be amazed at both his depth and breadth of understanding of what would be considered a classical liberal arts education - the kind that’s getting harder and harder to find in a modern university setting anymore. How did this young man get to a place of such solid understanding of the Bible? Natural law? How did he refer to Sir Thomas Aquinas or James Madison or Cicero - their ideas at the ready in his mind the way someone like me might keep lesser ideas at the ready - like lyrics to Eagles or Tom Petty songs, or great one-liners from MASH or Seinfeld? Then I heard Larry Arnn speak at Charlie’s memorial, and suddenly, I got it. Dr. Larry Arnn is the president of Hillsdale College, one of the last bastions of higher learning that offers an authentically classical liberal arts education. The word liberal used to describe a person who entertained all ideas with liberality, unafraid of any of them, because all who debate them have only one goal - to determine what is truth, and discard everything else. Everyone in such a debate is unconcerned about winning or jockeying for power. No one cares who is right, only about what is right. As the word university - one truth - suggests - those in such a debate recognize that the true winner is truth. Idealistic much? Dr. Arnn recounted a conversation with Charlie, grilling him as he might an incoming freshman at Hillsdale. Charlie didn’t know much then, and Dr. Arnn related that Charlie recognized it, and humbly asked what he could do about it. Dr. Arnn suggested he get to know the Bible thoroughly, and then to work through classical writers and the American founding. When they parted, Dr. Arnn said he never expected to hear from this kid again. Interestingly, Dr. Arnn used the word “suffer” as he spoke of what would be required of Charlie to become a man of learning. He said he would have to suffer into the night and at the crack of dawn, suggesting the legitimate suffering of discipline. He said he would have to suffer in connection with studying and thinking, suggesting that to really grow and learn, there is actual effort against our unruly brains - which quite enjoy hanging out in the huge nothing box compartment in our brains far too often, and far too long. One month later, Charlie had managed to get a hold of Dr. Arnn’s contact information, and texted him a screen shot of his first certificate of completion - from one of the many Hillsdale courses available free online. Dr. Arnn told how Charlie went on to complete THIRTY-ONE courses - a truly Herculean task, academically speaking. I’ve wanted to work my way through them myself, but… life, ADD, yada, yada, yada….  Meagerly, I have completed one. This entire short speech moved me deeply, but my tears renewed when Dr. Arnn spoke directly to Mrs. Erika Kirk to tell her that Hillsdale was awarding an honorary posthumous degree to Charlie at their spring commencement in 8 months. Honorary, indeed. And then Dr. Arnn used the word suffer one last time when he said, “Charlie has suffered enough. He has gone to the Lord; he has earned his reward." Dr. Arnn very skillfully and subtly - almost subliminally - acknowledged two beautiful truths: - He intimated that true learning involved suffering. He may as well have said that Charlie had learned enough in his 31 short years, and had earned the right to go home. - He further intimated that his posthumous honor of a Hillsdale degree paled beside his eternal reward of having served the Savior well in those 31 years. Charlie may have learned enough to go home, but I continue to mourn the loss of such a valiant spirit. I mourn for the empty arms of his family and loved ones. He lived his life in such a way that all who followed him - watching in awe as he unapologetically spoke truth with respect - feel that emptiness ourselves, even if we’ve never met him. I dearly wish Charlie were still here to continue to teach those of us who admired and respected his ability to articulate truth, to draw on it so readily, to share it with no didactic posturing, but with the authority of one who has done the homework of suffering for the knowledge. But Dr. Arnn left us with a huge clue as to how to live life the way Charlie did - with humility, and discipline, and with commitment to suffer in order to study, to think, and to learn. Since Charlie’s death, so many have said, “We are all Charlie.” If that is true, Dr. Arnn suggested our marching orders: make a sacrifice to learn. When I consider what my church teaches about God and His plan for His children, this is the only way we’ll feel at home in His presence - if we’ve developed a capacity and love of learning. If it is so, Charlie is terribly at home right now: "No more a stranger, or a guest, but like a child at home." (My Shepherd Will Supply My Need, Isaac Watts) Thank you to Dr. Arnn - for teaching this to Charlie - and thank you to Charlie - for showing us what it looks like to make learning a lifestyle. The fruit of this kind of suffering is beautiful and delicious.

Every. Time. No matter how many times I watch the 1946 film, It’s a Wonderful Life, I cry like a little girl, or the Cowardly Lion. I love everything about this film - every single thing. Jimmy Stewart - come on. Donna Reed. Buffalo Bills, won’t ya come out tonight… Clarence… Zuzu… Tommy… “Excuse you for what???”  “I burped.” I love the higher human lessons portrayed in the ordinary life of an ordinary man like George Bailey, choosing others before himself over and over again, making a lifestyle of it, building a character from it. There are 4 minutes in the film which serve as a remarkable microcosmic snapshot of human nature: the run on the bank on George and Mary’s wedding day. Dozens of Bailey Building & Loan customers come in a panic when the Bedford Falls Bank has closed.  It’s Depression time: people are out of work. The bank won’t open for days; there are bills to pay, mouths to feed. A time of universal fear and uncertainty always brings out the bottom feeders: enter Mr. Potter, a two-bit despot who has made a vocation of capitalizing on his neighbors’ misfortunes. George Bailey manages to rally his neighbors when his bride offers their own hard-earned honeymoon money to tide everyone over until the bank reopens. And thus begins Frank Capra’s most insightful lesson on human nature. We see very different kinds of people in the next few minutes. First we have Tom, who somehow can’t manage to read the room. He can’t be swayed; his mind is made up. He’s worried about his own concerns, and it’s immaterial to him that this is someone’s private property and not even his own principal in the business.  If you’ve seen the movie as much as I have, you can probably hear him chirping repeatedly like a stubborn little cockatoo, “I’ll take two hundred and forty-two dollars!” Next: there’s the likes of Ed, who, like most humans, follows the lead of Tom, and asks for his full balance. But George can convince him to be reasonable and think about making that $2000 last for everyone in the room. He ends up taking $20. George mutters, “Well, now we’re getting somewhere.” Third: Mrs. Thompson, completely cognizant of the sacrifice George and Mary are making, also follows the lead of Ed before her, and asks for $20. And finally, we have Miss Davis. This is always where my tears start, long before the final denouement of the movie. My heart and tear ducts catch every single time I hear that sweet little lady say, “Can I have $17.50?” Every. Time. When I watch this scene, I find myself asking myself: who are you? Whom do you wanna be? Who are you becoming? Can you only see your own needs? Or are you becoming increasingly capable of choosing to sacrifice for someone else? This is the true meaning of looking out for “the greater good” - a phrase that’s become truly cringe-worthy for me. The way that thinking is applied now, someone decides what the greater good is for someone else , besides himself, rarely if ever sacrificing himself. These few golden minutes of one of my all-time favorite films has become a profound human nature quiz for me. Who am I? And do I like who I am becoming? I think I wanna be Miss Davis when I grow up. https://youtu.be/iPkJH6BT7dM?si=e_1h3SE4UBrjPms5

Tuesday night was our monthly Inklings discussion; ladies in my neighborhood gathered to study general conference talks. We range in age from early 30's to 80's, and on any given evening, there are three to fifteen women present. This week, one of my friends told us of a family member who heard a therapist speak about a term new to them all - scrupulosity. The speaker said he was seeing scrupulosity more and more in his practice. He knew of many people - particularly women - leaving the church because of their need to get rid of their obsessive need to be perfect. It was too much; walking away from the church was the only way to stabilize their mental health threatening to shatter. This drove the conversation as we went on to decide: IS perfection the expectation - doctrinally - or merely culturally? If so, what does it look like? Does it help or hinder actual progress? If it's only a cultural expectation and you're steeped in it, how do you abandon it without throwing the baby out with the bathwater and abandoning the church altogether? Most women I know have felt the cultural tug of these expectations. Working on human imperfections can feel like the hopeless task Hans Brinker had keeping back the sea with his finger in the hole in the dike. It's too much, our faults are relentless as the sea, and the practice to tame and subdue them, like the sea - OY. But Jesus. When you're overwhelmed and discouraged, this isn't the point in your life where Jesus should exit - this is His entrance cue. He isn't the reason for the overwhelm and discouragement - He is the solution. But He only comes when He's invited. He's so terribly polite, and He's paid such an excruciatingly high price to honor our agency, He will only come when we knock. Or in the case of the overwhelmed and discouraged - when we pound on the door. "I can't do this alone. It's too much. Please help me." In April 2025, Sister Tamara Runia taught: "I've learned that if you wait until you're clean enough or perfect enough to go to the Savior, you've missed the whole point!" (Tamara W. Runia, "Your Repentance Doesn't Burden Jesus Christ; It Brightens His Joy, https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2025/04/43runia?lang=eng ) And... "We don't stay on the covenant path by never making a mistake. We stay on the path by repenting every day." Repentance has two parts. Before you're yoked with Jesus Christ, repentance looks like stopping anything that is in between you and Him. But when you've asked for His help and entered a covenant relationship, repentance doesn't mean you never make a mistake again, it just means you keep starting over. With help. I had a piano student many years ago who had come to one of those lessons fraught with peril: a lesson of accountability where there was no good for it but to simply announce at the door: "I had a terrible week, I didn't get to the piano once." As I tried to give an encouraging pep talk, a version of that idea came out of my mouth. I said something like, "You've had weeks like this before, and you'll probably have them again. But you aren't a failure at this unless you quit piano lessons altogether. You just have to never stop starting over." It was at this point the Holy Ghost nudged me and said, "That's true for you, too, you know." Perfection isn't about walking the path without deviation. It's about course correcting as you go, shame-free, and continuing the process. Or as C.S. Lewis refers to it, going in for the "full treatment." Repentance isn't shame-ridden self-flagellation, which Sister Runia also talks about. It's simply turning around, facing the Son, and starting over - over and over again, for the rest of your life, knowing full well you can't do it without Jesus' help. Elisha told Naaman his leprosy would be cured if he bathed in the River Jordan seven times (see 2 Kings 5). While this story is often told to underscore the need to listen to the voice of a prophet, there's another terribly important principle. The number seven has significance in the scriptures; it symbolizes and signifies perfection - in this context, perfection meaning " being complete." As in finished. The prescribed cure for Naaman was to complete the process of bathing the number of times which signifies completion. So what would have happened if Naaman had bathed in that filthy river water two or three times - examined himself - and thought, "This isn't making any difference at all." Read that to mean: "this process isn't making any difference." What if he'd continued on and thought the same hopeless thoughts after the fourth, or fifth, or even the sixth time, and for his mental and emotional health, given up on the entire process because he couldn't see a difference? Repentance isn't an act; it's a process. In a world riddled with scrupulosity, where some would tell you the answer is breaking up with Jesus, I would implore you to stick with Jesus. In a world where we fall short by design , Jesus Christ is the very point of our falling short: to see what we'll do next - which way we'll turn. Sister Runia: "I testify that while God cares about our mistakes, He cares more about what happens after we make a mistake. Are we going to turn to Him again and again? Are we going to stay in a covenant relationship?" That's what the covenant is for. I'm in for the full treatment, and no matter how many times I get it wrong during the treatment - until it's completed, I won't be. That's what it means to be perfect IN Jesus (see Moroni 10:32-33). The covenant relationship gives me access to HIM - His power and perfection - while I finish the process. And the loveliest part of the covenant relationship - with me on one end in all my flawed splendor, is that on the other end is someone upon whom I can rely completely. It's against His nature to not be all in for my full treatment as well, because He's already paid for it. How could I possibly break up with such a devoted Friend?

When I was in college, I would come home from my last final of fall term to find a gift waiting for me from my mother. This was usually a couple weeks before Christmas, but this gift was never wrapped in Christmas paper - no, no. Just ordinary wrapping, a mysterious, book-shaped package, whatever could it be? My darling mama, having hooked me on the magic of books at age 2, always had a book gift waiting for my first day without homework reading. Christmas break meant diving into a book I CHOSE - huzzah! If you're watching/listening from heaven: thanks, Mama. <3 It's hard to remember if I got George Eliot's novel, Middlemarch, as one of those Happy End-of-Term gifts, or if it was an actual Christmas gift that year. But Middlemarch, behemoth that it is at 800+ pages, found its way into my library. In spite of the book cover touting it as one of the greatest novels ever written, I undoubtedly felt daunted by it because: A. It was 800+ pages B. As an English major, I had been drowning in classic literature for weeks C. It was 800+ pages Middlemarch never got read. It moved from house to house with me after I married. I attempted it more than once, but never got past the first 50 or so pages. Did I mention it was 800+ pages? At some point, I watched BBC production from a DVD box set of George Eliot novels. Our book group had read another Eliot novel by then, Silas Marner (5 stars, by the way, highly recommend), and my mother lent me the whole set of DVD's for that. I quite liked the movie, attempted the novel again, and made a little progress in getting past page 100. If you think I sound 4, you would be right. However, by this time, I really was intrigued with the main character, Dorothea Brooke, and her high integrity and character, particularly in contrast to her choice of a husband. For the record and in my defense: I have read big books before: Jane Eyre and the original Les Miserables, Count of Monte Cristo and Atlas Shrugged, Witness... It's not like I'm afraid of big books, except for the part where I kind of am. And it's very often not the size, but the age of the thing; ardent readers, please be so kind as to back me up on this. Older novels take their sweet time telling a story and sometimes, modern-day or ADD brains can grow weary of the set-up before they're properly hooked. Time passed, I read the book in 2-5 page installments, half of which was part of the previous read in an attempt to remember what was going on. At some point, Audible got involved, and I started listening while I sewed. I made some serious headway while listening and put the physical novel away altogether. On a side note: British actress Juliet Stevenson is a top-drawer narrator; I’ve listened to novels by her more than once. That thing that happens with complex, classic novels - finally happened. Almost imperceptibly, the multiple plots had started to intertwine sufficiently where I was finally interested in all of them, and it wasn't odious to jump from one to the other. Does this happen to any of you, or is it just me? Another huge hiatus with less time to sew, and I swear, at this point, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to pick this dang book up ever again. I decided I'd watch the movie again for a sense of closure already and be done with it. But the movie changed my mind. I was actually interested in these people - particularly the 6 people who comprised the 3 love stories of the novel. I decided to get serious about listening ONE. MORE. TIME. If you're still reading this, I have to say - is it only me who is wondering at this point: what is wrong with this book? Or: what is wrong with this woman? As I embarked on listening - AGAIN - something struck me about why this book was such an ambitious climb. Virginia Wolf once referred to Middlemarch as "one of the few English novels written for grown-up people" - and I. AGREE. It has one of the most complex characterizations - of everyone - of any novel I've ever read. It's a massively in-depth commentary on human nature - no stone of any internal motivation is left unturned. As I jumped in this last time, it surprised me to discover I was genuinely interested to learn what Ms. Eliot had to say about this person... or that. I realized an impediment from earlier attempts was this very depth of delving into the motives of human nature. There's not much of a plot, so in a way, you could say Middlemarch is a 19th-century Seinfeld - very nearly a book about nothing. If you're not interested in what makes characters tick, I should warn you: you should probably just re-read Hunger Games. The final joke on me over this 47-year project: I was busy during the holidays a few months ago and wasn't in my sewing room much. By now, I was completely into the story, and decided to dig out the physical novel again so I could read it nightly before bed. I couldn't find it. After FORTY-SEVEN YEARS of the biggest schizophrenic, hot-and-cold, on again-off again literary project of my lifetime, I could not find that stupid book, and ruefully realized I had no doubt gotten rid of it in a recent literary purge. Two days before Christmas, I scooted over to Barnes and Noble to purchase another copy of the book that had almost literally become my literary albatross. I'm sorry, Mama. I finished it last week. I loved it. In spite of the most scattered approach EVER - to a project that deserved better - it was worth it. I'll have to tell you why later, as this prelude is a tale all its own. It's my homage to lengthy 19th-century set-ups. Those of you who haven't been scared off by this harrowing tale - stay tuned. https://www.laureensimper.com/post/choose-thy-love-love-thy-choice

"Take My Hand," Greg Olsen If you go into a Deseret Book store, and look for the book Like Him, and turn to page 49, you'll find this essay from 2021: I’ve had the blessing of learning from some gifted clinical psychologists about the nature of the brain—particularly, the different cognitive functions of the limbic system and the frontal cortex. It’s had profound spiritual implications on my better understanding the spiritual gift of temperance.   The limbic system of the brain is where our instincts reside, such as eating, breathing, and mating. The baser emotions of fear and anger, often referred to as the fight-or-flight response, come from the limbic system. In spiritual terms, the limbic system of the brain controls our natural man (see Mosiah 3:19).   The frontal cortex is where our humanity lies, where the difference between man and other animals is manifest. The development of the frontal cortex allows reason and principle to override instinct and emotion.   Because humans have a frontal cortex, there is what has been called a “pause” between an external stimulus and a person’s response to that stimulus—in either a thought, a word, or a behavior. The frontal cortex serves as a filter for our brain, stopping us from acting on every unhealthy impulse our limbic system wants to act upon. In spiritual terms, the development of the frontal cortex is what allows us to tap into our divine nature we have inherited from our Heavenly Parents (see 2 Peter 1:4–7). And parenthetically speaking in a spiritual sense, the frontal cortex begins to develop in humans at age eight. Imagine that!   Our Heavenly Father has given us the capacity to learn, reason, and ultimately choose to change (aka repent) so we’re not doomed to stay in the limited existence of merely reacting to outside stimulus. Because of the way our brains are created, we’ve been given the means to act rather than be acted upon (see 2 Nephi 2:13). It is here where temperance is born.   Jesus Christ was perfectly temperate. He had the infinite capacity to live within that millisecond pause between stimulus and response and, with perfect righteousness, override His human instincts of hurt, fear, or anger. His eons of perfect obedience to the Father gave Him the power to temper the baser instincts and, instead, choose to act on higher, holier principles of forgiveness, faith, and charity.   We fallen mortals will struggle to develop temperance—this mastery over our own instinctive existence—for two basic reasons: The first reason is our fallen natures themselves, which will create the resistance and opposition necessary for us to change and grow. Oh, how our feet of clay hold us down! The spirit may be willing, but our flesh, indeed, is weak (see Matthew 26:41). The limbic system was designed to keep us alive, but inherent in that is the lifelong struggle between spirit and flesh.   Human nature (inherent limbic system) will always be in opposition to our divine nature (developing frontal cortex) because it’s built into us. But there is a second reason we will struggle to bring forth that divine nature. The wickedness of the world at large provides an unhealthy nurturing environment in which to do it. To use Book of Mormon vernacular, the voices of the world—media, social media, government, even academia—“stir up” emotions. Sadly, this is often used to pit groups against each other, just as that strategy was used time and again in the Book of Mormon. Remember, emotions reside in the limbic system. Emotions, unchecked— untempered —make it difficult, if not impossible, to find our humanity—our divine nature—within the pause between the stimulus and the response.   We can take great hope in overcoming instinctive living where we merely react emotionally to our environment. The reason we can govern ourselves when we know correct principles is because  principles have the power to subject emotion.  This is temperance—the ability, enabled by the Spirit, to control our appetites, passions, and even ideas.   Temperance is at the heart of every other Christlike quality. Christ had the ability to fast for forty days because of His perfectly developed temperance. He had the ability to ignore Satan’s temptations—when Christ was at His weakest—because of temperance. He had the ability to say exactly the correct and necessary thing in every situation because of temperance. His perfection turned that millisecond pause between stimulus and response into an eternity, allowing Him the power to make every single human choice intentionally.   Jesus Christ has the ability, because of His infinite atoning sacrifice, to widen that pause for us. To develop temperance is to cultivate the ability to develop all other virtues. To develop temperance is to cultivate the ability to do the most intentional living our Father in Heaven hoped for us. It requires more than reading or even studying doctrine; it requires metabolizing it—writing it on the fleshy tables of our hearts (see 2 Corinthians 3:3).   As God’s word and will become ever more a part of us, we will know the correct principles sufficiently to govern ourselves, as the Savior governed Himself. It is temperance that will widen the pause between stimulus and response, allowing us to   truly choose  to be like Him.