I Don't Know Why Everybody Doesn't Get This

My Dear Reader,

Today, it seems that I have something to say. I will spare you the context on this one, because trust me, you don't want me to go into it. This week's diatribe is as follows:

Right and Wrong are real things.

They are eternal. They are unchangeable.

Right and Wrong do not come into existence at our convenience. They do not appear once we pronounce them to be one thing or another. They do not bow to our judgements, our prejudices, or our selfishness. They take no notice of popular opinion or popular people. Something is Wrong or Right independent of us, our education, and our experiences.

Right and Wrong don't need us.

And while they're not changeable, they do depend on the situation. Not in what we see the situation to be, but rather, what the situation really is.

It is a great blessing that Right and Wrong are independent of human perception. It is how they are infallible.

Of course, Right and Wrong are devoid of purpose if they are not knowable or discernible. Thankfully, we have what we need to know what Right and Wrong are:

Right is what brings the Holy Spirit into our hearts.

Wrong is what drives the Holy Spirit away.

This is a universal and eternal truth.

Regards, best wishes, and self-honesty,

-Cecily Jane

Freedom and Coffee

My Dear Reader,

My new job as a barista at a cafe is strange, to say the least. Not because the job itself is weird, of course. As usual, weirdness is just one of the many things that I bring to the table all on my own. Any normal person who works selling coffee is one thing, but as a Mormon, me selling coffee is as strange as as Jew who sells bacon. Just to be clear, my job doesn't mean than I'm any less devoted to being Mormon than I was before, but it does open me up to a lot of questions. Most of these questions are things I ask myself. Today, however, I'd like to talk about a question that my co-worker asked me the other day:

"Do you ever feel like you're missing out?"

I knew exactly what she meant; after all, the part of my day that I spend at the cafe revolves almost exclusively around helping other people get a substance that I'm not supposed to have. It was a perfect, honest question.* My response was just as honest:

"No, I feel like other people are missing out."

It must have been a strange thing to hear, but it's true. I don't sit around and feel sorry for myself because I can't drink coffee; I sit around and wish that more people understood what it felt like to live a life without coffee. I know that to most people, that doesn't really make sense, and it certainly didn't make sense to my friend. I explained that not drinking coffee was just part of my religion, and it's kind of an all-or-nothing thing. She said that to her, a religious ban on coffee seemed very arbitrary, and wondered how I felt about being kept from something for seemingly no reason.

This question was just as valid and honest as the first, in fact, I often meet people who are confused by the fact that I believe in following certain rules that they see as arbitrary. A lifetime of following those "arbitrary" rules has taught me this: the act of following the rule (or, keeping the commandment) tends to teach me why the rule is necessary. I start doing it out of faith, but after time, I'm doing it out of a deeper understanding. Abstaining from coffee is a great example of what I'm talking about. Most people don't see why coffee could be bad for them because they don't think about it.

Of course, I can't help but think about everything.

And, I don't believe that God gives arbitrary laws.

So, to try to figure out why, according to my faith, God has banned coffee, I have to try and figure out what makes coffee different than other things. I think most people are aware that coffee's bad for you, but so are marbled meats and orange dreamsicles, and those aren't off the menu.

Of course, there aren't thirty different ways to have an orange dreamsicle, and people don't get mad at you if you get it wrong. And there isn't an entire culture centered around marbled meats. No one tells you that they need marbled meats to wake up or stay up or think.

That would be a strange world.

But stranger still, it is that way with coffee. It's something that runs people's lives. It's addictive, so the more you have it, the more you need it. And the more you need it, the less control you have over your own life. And if you aren't controlling your life, who is? A bean?

In a way, addiction is it's own kind of slavery, something that takes away your freedom by taking away your self-control. And isn't self-control the most precious thing we have in this life? Isn't it something worth protecting? If all you had to do to keep you self-control in tact was to not drink something, would you think that you were missing out?

I honestly don't.

There are lots of things in this world that strip self-control away, and coffee is only one of them. My faith teaches me to cut those things out of my life so that I can master my body, instead of having my body master me. I do my best to steer clear of those things.

And while it's true that it means that sometimes I don't fit in, or that people think I'm weird, it doesn't mean that I feel like I'm missing out on slavery.

That's one thing I'd gladly miss out on.

Regards, best wishes, and self-mastery,

-Cecily Jane

*Dear Reader, if you are of another faith, you should know that Mormons love nothing more than answering questions about their faith. Seriously. Ask us anything you want, and we'll be tickled pink to answer you. I dare you to try.

Oh, Hello There. I Remember You!

My Dear Reader,

I really hope that you don't hate me by now. Gosh. Please accept my sincere apologies for May and June. And most of 2010. I've seriously been in a funk.

Let me tell you what's been going on with me lately, and we'll see if that helps you forgive me. A little.

So, this past year-and-a-half have not been my favorite. All I can say is this: make sure you actually have plans after college, people. Don't just assume that you can take a year off and work while you figure things out. Something small might happen, like a global economic meltdown.

Just saying.

Anyway, video editing is great work, but it's not steady. I can go months without having anything to do, and so what happens when no one on Earth is hiring? You end up watching a lot of TV, which is weird for me. I went five years without watching more than an hour or two a week, but when you're practically unemployed, you find ways to fill up your days.

And then those little things take over your life.

And turn your brain to goo.

And make your life so boring that you really can't think of anything interesting to blog about. And you're really frustrated and unhappy, because you feel that you've thrown your life away, somehow.

And then one day, you're sitting at the computer, your goo-brain sloshing from left to right, when you get a call from Padre. And then people start saying things to you. Things like:

"Cecily, your grandmother is in the hospital. We need you to come up here and take care of Grandpa. Be ready in an hour."

"Cecily, we think she has cancer."

"Actually, Cecily, you might have to move in with your grandparents to take care of her when she gets out."

"If she gets out."

And then . . .

"Here, Cecily, have a job."

"Here, Cecily, have two jobs. Five minutes away from Grandma's house."

All in the same day.

I could write about the days I spent next to my grandmother in the hospital, but I'll spare both of us. It was painful, but mostly really boring. What they found out was that she has advanced pancreatic cancer, a kind of cancer that comes out of nowhere and is almost always terminal.

She might have six months to a year to live. Two weeks before she was diagnosed, we had no idea she was even sick. I still can barely process this. My grandma.

And on top of that, my grandpa, her husband, is in the early stages of Alzheimer's. He knows who we are and how to do everything, but he gets lost sometimes. And he can't really be on his own. And he certainly can't take care of his terminal wife. That's my job, now. I'm the one with no commitments, right? Goo brain? The fit was so perfect, I'm tempted to use words like "destiny." We'll see.

On top of that, my aunt and uncle (married to, and own their own businesses next door from, each other) both decided that they need help, so they're sharing me. My aunt owns a cafe, and my uncle owns an insurance agency. Weird combination? Yes. Weird that a Mormon girl is learning how to make coffee? Definitely. And while it's just more crazy to add to the crazy, I think the weirdest part is that I'm okay with it. All of it.

I kind of feel like I was waiting for this moment to happen, where someone would need me for something. Or lots of things.

But, of course, my grandma is still dying from cancer.

So, we'll see how this works out. The only thing I really know is that I think the goo is starting to congeal. I think I might be in for a full recovery, if this doesn't break me.

So, yeah. I'll keep you posted.

Regards, best wishes, and some sense in what the heck is going on,

-Cecily Jane

Re: Contemporary Racism: Carefully Taught

My Dear Reader,

PetiteSouer wrote a quite excellent blog post about contemporary racism, and I found that I had too much to say on the subject to fit it all in a comment box. So, I'm putting it here. I highly encourage you to read and comment on PetiteSoeur's post before reading what I wrote, because otherwise, it won't really make sense.

I remember being in second grade when a new girl moved to our school. It was during the winter, and the entire class had their coats hung up at the back of the room. At the end of her first day, I thought it would be a nice if I went and got her coat for her. You know, as a way of welcoming her. I had no idea that she would think that I was stealing the coat from her, and I certainly did not expect her to think that I was stealing her coat from her because she was black. But she did, and was extremely offended by the gesture. We were enemies after that, and there was very little I could do about it. As a kid, I drew the conclusion that no matter what I did, I was going to somehow be racist.

And I hated that about myself.

As PetiteSouer says in her post, race was not really something that was talked about in our home, because it really wasn't an issue. My Madre and Padre didn't care if the kids I brought home were white, black, or whatever. But I lived in a predominantly white area, so most of the kids who came over were white. That's just the way it was. The only times I ever really came in contact with racism in my home was when I would go into my parents' room and slip their South Pacific soundtrack into their CD player. I've always loved that music, but one song called "You've Got to Be Carefully Taught" popped out to me, and I used to play it over and over again until I had it memorized. Here's the song, and the lyrics are as follows:

You've got to be taught to hate and fear

You've got to be taught from year to year

It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear

You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid

Of people whose eyes are oddly made

And people whose skin is a different shade

You've got to be carefully taught

You've got to be taught before it's too late

Before you are six or seven or eight

To hate all the people your relatives hate

You've got to be carefully taught.

I've listened to that song, literally, over a thousand times. I still listen to it, and sometimes hum it to myself while I do the dishes. This song and it's message of tolerance, is a very important part of my life.

During the same period of my life, I was exposed to two other songs that addressed the race issue, but this time, they were songs I sang in church. The first is called "We Are Different."

I know you and you know you know me

We are as different as the sun as the sea

I know you and you know you know me

And that's the way it is supposed to be

I help you, and you help me

We learn from problems and we're starting to see

I help you, and you help me

And that's the way it is supposed to be

I love you, and you love me

We reach together for the best we can be

I love you, and you love me

And that's the way it is supposed to be

The other is "I'll Walk With You."

If you don't walk as some people do

Some people walk away from you

But I won't, I won't

If you don't talk as most people do,

Some people talk and laugh at you

But I won't, I won't

I'll walk with you, I'll talk with you

That's how I'll show my love for you

Jesus walked away from none

He gave His love to everyone

So I will, I will

Jesus blessed all He could see

Then turned and said, "Come follow me"

So I will, I will

I will, I will

I'll walk with you, I'll talk with you

That's how I'll show my love for you

Yes, they're cheesy, but they're for kids. And I realize that none of them talk directly about racism, but in my mind, that's always what it was about. Why? Because in the songbook, "We Are Different" is right below a picture of a black kid and a white kid playing together, and because a lot of people of other races talk differently than I do.

So, I guess you can say that I've been carefully taught, but to the opposite effect described by Rogers and Hammerstein. But that doesn't mean that it solved the problem of racism for me. It doesn't mean that some kid isn't going to think I'm stealing her coat, and that I don't still fear that all black people are going to hate me no matter what I do, or that sometimes, I want to avoid black people altogether so the issue will never come up. That's still something I have to grapple with.

Because it's true that racism is still around, just different. It comes from the natural impulse to stay away from what's unfamiliar. But I very much despise the idea that it only occurs in white people, and doesn't just affect people of different races. It affects people with disabilities, people who have "strange" beliefs, and etc. We have our own "tribe," and we naturally fear or try to avoid people who aren't in the tribe. This is all natural. It's a defense mechanism. We're programmed to avoid conflict, so exclusion is very human. It's the hate that has to be learned. Both have to be overcome. Of course, this all completely relative. It depends on where you grew up and what you consider your "tribe" to be. If you're like me, and you're a white girl who grew up with lot of Asian people, it's easy to consider Asian people as just part of the tribe. When I talk to Asian people, I don't have a constant dialogue in the back of my mind where I'm asking myself if the slightest slip of the tongue will make them hate me. I do have that in the back of my mind around black people until I get to know them.

In fact, I find that the best way to overcome racism is to find similarities with people in a group that you have an aversion to, and befriend them. It's amazing how well this works. When you overcome your fears and start to trust someone who comes from a background that's completely different from yours, your entire worldview changes. But you generally don't dare to try unless someone has taught you that you should.

And if you're like me, even if you've been carefully taught, you still have to continue to teach yourself how to be a better person.

Regards, best wishes, and a continuing education,

-Cecily Jane

Of Idea Babies and Rope Bridges

My Dear Reader,

So, you know how a month ago, I told you that things were going to go back to normal? Yeah, sorry about that. I feel awful. I've just been writing so much fiction lately that by the time I get to personal non-fiction, I'm little writing-ed out. Just ask PrimerGemelo, who has yet to receive a letter from me the whole time he's been a missionary. (If I've been a bad blogger, I've been an even worse sister. But worry not, Gentle Reader, for I am turning to repent.) Anyway, since this fiction I've been working on isn't quite ready yet, I thought that while you can't see what I'm writing, I'd share with you a little bit about how I write it.

There really is no right or wrong way to write, as long as whatever you're doing is working for you. That is, you spend more time putting words on the page than you do pulling out your own hair. I've heard of some published writers who always put on a playlist of orchestral background music, or who light a candle with a specific smell designed to tell the brain that it's Writing Time.* There are others who always write at certain times of the day, while others always write in certain places. These are all mechanisms that people use for consistency and motivation, but I don't really do any of that. Sometime I have music on, sometimes I don't. Sometimes it's four in the afternoon, sometimes it's four in the morning (lately, it's been more of the latter). Most of the time, I write at my computer desk, but sometimes I write in the kitchen, or while I'm waiting in the car, or I scribble down notes while I'm in church.** For me, it's not really about having a system as much as it is about having a good idea.

Whenever I get a good idea, and I mean a really good idea, it's kind of like how it feels when you've just eaten something really tasty, and then realize that you have to throw it up: this thing is awesome and it must needs come out of me! I usually try to find the closest writing instrument and put that thought down on paper. But normally, it doesn't come that easily. Most of the time, instead of coming to me like a lightning bolt, an idea will sting me in the back of the head like a small dose of static shock. Sometimes the sting is just a fragment of a plot, or maybe it's a single line of an unwritten argument. Whatever it is, it's really just an infant that needs a little mothering before it can stand on two feet. So, I find that I must do whatever it takes to help that baby grow. (Grow baby! Grow!)

This usually means a set of behaviors that kind of seem strange, because people don't know that when it comes to idea babies, the perfect baby food is drama, and plenty of it. How do you add drama to an idea, you ask? You act it out. Oh, yes. I do it all the time, and I am not ashamed. You have to do what works, and this helps somehow. I'm not exactly an Oscar winner or anything, but I find that if I say the dialogue fragment out loud, or I try to act out the partial scene, the rest of it just starts coming. Also, it's really fun. It's like I'm feeding my idea baby and my inner child all at the same time. That's what I call efficiency.

Eventually, the idea baby grows into an idea toddler, and when the idea toddler tells you that it's not a baby anymore and it wants to play with the big kids, then it's time to sit down at the keyboard and turn the idea toddler into a story.

Wow, that sounded a little barbaric. I'd change metaphors, but I thought that one was exceedingly clever, don't you?

Anyway, the old saying goes that it takes one idea baby to make you look like an idiot, but it takes an entire play group full of idea babies to create a story. The longer and more complex your story is, the more idea babies you need. But like real babies, I find that idea babies don't always come in the order you intended. It would make the most sense to start a story at the beginning and write it all the way through, but I find that it's pretty rare that I can do it that way. Most of the time, I get an idea baby that goes at the front of the line, and then one that goes halfway to the end, until I eventually have a word document that is more like a pile of boards, that if I strung together with rope, would turn into a very nice rope bridge.

Did we lose anybody on that train of thought? The idea babies just turned into a rope bridge. Yes. Full steam ahead.

You see, a rope bridge is kind of like a story in the sense that it's made up of a lot of different, distinct pieces that all need to be woven together in order to facilitate a journey.*** If you were trying to build a rope bridge out of a bunch of rope and a pile of boards, it may not be very obvious at first which part goes where. Sometimes, it may not even seem to matter which board goes at the beginning, and which goes at the middle or the end. After some experimenting, however, you figure out that even though there are limitless combinations, only one or two work the best. You then choose which of the better ways appeals to you personally, and voila! you have a nice, juicy story.

Are you confused about my writing process? Well, so am I. Half of the time I have no idea what the heck I'm doing. All I know is that most of the people who read my stories don't end up hating me forever, and that's all the encouragement I need.

So, in conclusion: when your brain gives birth to an idea baby, do whatever it takes to turn that baby into a rope bridge. Remember, you heard it here first.

Regards, best wishes, and scores upon scores of idea babies,

-Cecily Jane

*I tried that, by the way. Didn't work for me. I had a really hard time finding a scent that would be unique enough to signal my brain, and yet not annoy me. At the time, I was also limited to the candles sold anywhere within walking distance, so the selection at the dollar store was less than satisfactory.

** Yeah, still fell guilty about that. I try not to do it anymore, and sometimes it's a real struggle.

*** Oh yeah, I totally just wrote the awesomeness of that sentence.

Assigned Reading!

My Dear Reader,

I don't know how to apologize for my recent absence, except for to just say that I'm sorry. I made the choice to temporarily focus on other projects, but I'll be back as usual next week, I promise.

I wanted to write a post for you today, but I found out that someone else wrote it for me. I know it sounds like a cop-out, but the truth is that this is much better than anything I could have posted today. Also, I spent all of my available free time for the day reading it (I'm a little low on free time just now; no worries). And here it is:

Text of Theresa Rebeck Laura Pels Keynote Address

It's about female playwrights, and I read this thinking about my role as a writer. Someday, I'd like to be able to get paid to write plays and screenplays and novels and poems and short stories. And (spoiler alert!) I happen to be female.

I believe that men and women were created by God to be different so that they could work together to create beautiful things. I also believe that the most beautiful things in the world are only possible when both men and women contribute. Some people would say that that makes me a feminist, and some wouldn't. So, I suppose that some people would call this speech feminist, while others wouldn't. I'll just say that it isn't sexist against men, as many who call themselves feminists are. It's just a story about what the environment is like for female writers in 2010, with implications that reach all of us. Once you're finished with that, I would like you to read this article, by the same woman who helped me find the above speech:

Kathryn Bigelow And The Man-Off Conundrum

I agree with most, but not all, of what these articles say. I'm eager to know what your opinion is, so I would ask that you leave it in the comments section. There will be a quiz!

Regards, best wishes, and stories,

-Cecily Jane

Literally.

My Dear Reader,

I think that everybody should take an English usage class at one point in their lives or another. It opens your eyes to so many things that you miss, and if you have the right teacher, you realize that language is absolutely hilarious. If you pay attention to things that people say every day without thinking, you start to notice that we often say things that we think are completely reasonable, when in reality, they are inherently ridiculous.

Now, I'm not the kind of person who will judge you if you say something incorrectly; I'll just find it incredibly amusing. So, I often try to point it out with the intent that you'll laugh with me. Let's try that, shall we?

One of the funniest mistakes that people make involves the word "literally." It's a word that you use when in order to make it clear that you're not using a metaphor or exaggerating, right? And yet it's often used to mean "really" or "in effect," when an exaggeration or a metaphor is used. For example: when you're watching sports, it's not uncommon* for the announcer to say, "He's literally on fire!" But he's not on fire, not literally. Metaphorically, sure. Literally, he's just doing really well. If he was literally on fire, we would have to call the fire department and remind the poor guy to stop, drop, and roll.

Don't be upset if you do it--everyone does it. I probably do it. But instead of getting down on myself or someone else when someone misuses the word "literal," I try to imagine a situation in which it actually is literal. For example:

Person 1: "I'm sorry I'm late. I was literally stuck at the office all day."

If this were truly literal, then I could only imagine scenario in which Person 1 was trying to leave the office to make it to his/her appointment, when they are foiled by a clever and devious villain, who causes buckets and buckets of a white, sticky substance to come seeping out of the floor! Yes, our hero/ine is stuck in his/her office, quite literally, because of the Elmer's glue that is flooding the desks and cubicles, and no matter how Person 1 tries to escape, fleeing is impossible! S/he tries to wade through it, but it's too thick! S/he struggles with every ounce of energy available, but the glue is only starting to harden! But Person 1 doesn't give up, oh no. With courage and valor, our hero/ine perseveres, step by sticky step, to make it to freedom, but alas! the grueling effort wastes so much time that by the time s/he escapes, the day is gone.*

Meanwhile, the villain watches the entire episode playing on his big screen television, stroking his cat and laughing maniacally.

See? Grammar is fun! All it takes is a thoughtless mistake and a very silly imagination. I encourage you, Gentle Reader, to have as much fun with language as I do. Literally.

Regards, best wishes, and a good sense of harrowing drama,

-Cecily Jane

P. S. No one participated in my experiment! I want you to go sit in a corner and think about what you've done. Or, you can still participate. Your choice.

*Yes, I just used a double negative. BWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

**I hope I put enough exclamation points in that for you.

The Community Scripture Journal

My Dear Reader,

One of my new year's resolutions was to spend more time reading The Book of Mormon, and since I recently acquired a Zune HD, I now have a device that lets me read scripture and write about it without leaving the comfort of my own covers. Sweet, right? I can be pretty lazy, so it works. I just pull up the webpage, pick a chapter at random, and if I can still keep my eyes open after, I write a personal mini-blog of my impressions. Here are two of those entries (also picked at random), to give you a taste of what goes on in my head as I read:

Jarom 1

• I'm glad not all of Jarom's people are stiffnecked. I wonder if this was a big problem, or if Jaron was a glass-half-empty kind of guy.
• You need humility in order to recieve revelation. The kinds of messages that God sends to prideful people usually involve going blind or something.
• If we've already received all of the gospel knowledge we need by the time we reach Jarom, then maybe the scriptures really are all about explaining the same, simple truths over and over again.

Alma 38

• All of our misery stems from our distance from God. God doesn't cause our sorrows--He is the antidote. The closer we are to God, the easier it is to be happy. Whatever we have to sacrifice to be closer to God is well-worth it, as the blessings in return are infinite.
• God knows when we do the right thing, and He remembers. He remembers our sufferings better than we can.
• God designs His commandments as a grand conspiracy meant to steer us directly into happiness and away from self-destruction.
• The work of righteousness is never done. You are never safe until you are dead.
• Good people don't have easier lives. They just hurt other people less. The good are well-acquainted with anguish.
• Jesus' healing power is as potent as it ever was. He touched the Jews physically to heal their bodies. Now, He touches us spiritually to heal our souls.

Okay, I know what you're thinking, and you're welcome. I know this is exactly the information that you've been craving, right? But it gets better! Oh, yes.

As an experiment, I would like to formally challenge you, Gentle Reader, to read one or both of these two chapters and add your own impressions in the form of a comment. Yup, you read that right. It can be short or long, just type whatever insights pop into your head as you read. The idea is that this will result in a community scripture journal of sorts, where we can be inspired by each other as we read the words of God. And even if you don't share the belief that The Book of Mormon is divinely inspired, I still want to hear what you think. All respectful comments are more than welcome. In fact, I dare you.

No, I quadruple dog dare you. Just click the links above, read (both chapters are less than 800 words), and write what you thought about it. Right now. All of the cool kids are doing it.

If you're stuck for something to comment about, try answering a question I recently posted on Twitter to get the creative juices flowing: both of these chapters mention long-suffering. What does long-suffering mean to you?

I can't wait to see what you come up with.

Regards, best wishes, and thoughts,

-Cecily Jane

The Jolly Green [g]od

My Dear Reader,

Our celebrity class is one of the most morally corrupt groups of people on Earth. We all know it; the evidence is there every time we turn on the television, or read the newspaper, or get on the internet. When it comes to morality in the celebrity class, things are topsy-turvy with respect to the rest of the nation: deviance is the norm, morality is the minority. In this day and age, you have to go looking for the decent people among the celebrities. We watch them spit on religion, drink until they vomit, sleep around, cheat on their spouses, divorce-remarry-divorce, do drugs, beat their girlfriends, and break the law in more ways than we knew were possible.

So why do we let these people tell us what to do?

Why do we let these people tell us how to vote or what to buy?

Why do we let these people tell us that we are bad people of we don't do what they want us to do?

I bet you could come up with plenty of ways that these same celebrities (and remember, the more morally corrupt ones are the ones who get the most attention) influence us. But recently these people have come off their sets and catwalks and have planned a new way to get into our heads, and it just flabbergasts me. They have decided that they are all going to come together and tell us that we are bad people if we don't, as they say, "go green."

Now, I'm not anti-green. In fact, I believe that one thing The Holy Bible teaches us is that God gave us the Earth and charged us to take care of it (Genesis 1:26-28, 2:15). I just think that there are limits. Bruce Wayne knows what I'm talking about:

Yeah, that's right: people come first, Lady. You tell her, Bruce.

Anyway, without debating the merits of the green movement itself, I have to say that I've been concerned when I see that those who are the most vocal about going green just happen to be the worst offenders in the morality department. It probably wouldn't bother me if they didn't get all high and mighty about it, as if they had the credibility to tell us the difference between right and wrong. According to them, if you don't buy the right light bulbs or put your thermostat they they want you to, you're a bad person. It's like getting a lecture on chastity from a person who is in the act of committing a bank robbery. No thanks, Buddy. I'm not taking directions from that moral compass.

After all, the green movement isn't a substitute for the kind of moral structure that is traditionally found in religion. There's not some jolly green god that says that it's okay to drive drunk if you do it in a hybrid. These are the people that told us not to judge them on their choices. These are the people who told us that we weren't allowed to tell them how to live their lives. If we did that, we were bad people. So when did it become okay for them to judge us, and say that we're bad people because we don't all have solar panels?

Whether global warming is what it's supposed to be or not, it's incredible (read: unbelievable) that we give certain people a free pass, only to let them come back and wag their fingers at us. I say that we don't let them. I say that we make our decisions on our own, and not because they told us what to do. I say that if they ignore our way of life, we're free to ignore theirs, if we want.

Of course, I also think that they should have just done the right thing in the first place, but that's just me.

Oh, and am I the only one who's gotten sick of the word "green" already?

Regards, best wishes, and making good choices at all times, in all things, and in all places,

-Cecily Jane

The Stove Principle

My Dear Reader,

I've recently spent a little time as a Sunday school teacher for the gospel essentials class in my ward (read: congregation). It's been an interesting ride. When I went to BYU, I was required (and very much loved) to attend religious courses taught by the finest religious scholars Mormonism has to offer, and we spent a lot of that time learning the details about the scriptures. In contrast, as a gospel essentials teacher, I had to spend a lot of time thinking about the most basic principles of the Mormon faith. After taking the vast and very complicated scriptural account of God's interactions with humanity and boiling it down, I was surprised at how simple it all really is, and how much I learned from that simplicity. One of the many very simple things I've learned is something I like to call "the stove principle."

The stove principle is a metaphor I made up to explain why God interacts with us the way He does. It comes from when I was a very little girl, and I would watch my Madre as she cooked on the stove. I'm sure you, Gentle Reader, have a memory very similar to this. As Madre stirred a pot or brought water to boil, I used to look up at the stove in amazement and wonder. Many times, I tried to reach my hand so I could feel what was going on up there for myself, and every time, Madre would say, "Cecily, don't touch the stove!" No matter how many times I tried, I'd get the same answer: "Cecily, don't touch the stove. I'm serious. Stop it."

I remember that it used to make me so mad that Madre was so darn bossy, you know? I mean., what right did she have to tell me what to do? I was five, after all; I'd spent years and years on this planet already. Couldn't I decide whether or not I could touch that stove for myself? What was she trying to keep from me, anyway? I was pretty sure that as soon as my fingers met that shiny surface, candy would start raining from the sky. I thought it was going to be one of the best experiences of my life. So one day, I waited until she wasn't looking, and I went and touched that stove.

Bad idea.

My burned fingers taught me one lesson: when you touch a stove, it doesn't rain candy. As I look back over the years, I realize that another lesson was in play there: a loving parent will put rules in place in order to prevent you from hurting yourself.

As a child, I had no real understanding of what the word "burn" meant, and I had no reason to suspect that touching a red-hot surface would be so damaging. If I had, I would have never made the choice to touch that stove in the first place, right? That brings me to God, figuratively.

God is really, really smart. Like Madre, He understands the way the universe works better than I ever could, and thus, He knows every possible way there is for us to hurt ourselves. Oh, does He know.

Now, since God is our Heavenly Father, and since He loves us, He strongly desires us to be healthy. The problem, of course, is that we are often too ignorant of the consequences to our actions to realize when we're hurting ourselves in the first place. Most self-destructive behaviors don't burn as fast as a stove, but instead, simmer slowly over time. God realizes this problem, and since He cares about our well-being, He puts rules into place with the express purpose of preventing us from hurting ourselves. We call these rules "commandments."

Now, it's natural to dislike commandments. It's normal for us to think that God is trying to boss us around or keep something from us, and meanwhile, Satan is whispering to us that if we break those commandments, it will rain candy. More often than not, we are too ignorant to understand why the commandment is there in the first place. Compared to God's understanding, we're all infants, and a lot of things don't really make sense. But if we were smart, and if we trusted God to have our best interests at heart, wouldn't we just do what He tells us, and keep our fingers away from that stove?

A great example of this principle in action is found in Doctrine and Covenants 89:8, which I would like to paraphrase as the following: "Tobacco equals bad." We Mormons believe that God told this to His prophet, Joseph Smith, in 1833. At the time, it must have made absolutely no sense at all, don't you think? It would take almost a hundred and fifty years before we humans could figure out why smoking was such a bad idea, and some of us still don't get it. But God got it, so He tried to stop us from giving ourselves cancer. It's true: reading the scriptures can save your life.

Those who trusted God, yet didn't understand, did what He asked and reaped the rewards. The same is true of many of God's commandments. When we follow God's commandments, we stop ourselves from getting burned, spiritually and physically. If we're smart, when God tells us not to touch the stove, we won't touch the stove.

Anyway, I hope you found that simplicity as inspiring as I did.

Regards, best wishes, and healthy fingers,

-Cecily Jane

Everything Is Poison.

My Dear Reader,

I suffer from Alzheimer's, just not in the way you think. So do you.

When my beloved grandmother (and consequently, our whole family) fought a long and brave battle with the disease, I first became acquainted with the reality that a person can endure suffering from an illness that someone else has. Even after the battle is over and lost, the psychological effects remain. It's hereditary, so does that mean that we've got it? Do we each have to spend the rest of our lives fighting a disease that we may or may not have? If we don't, does it mean that everything we already went through was meaningless? That, Gentle Reader, is just more suffering. It's also the earliest signs of a nasty disease I like to call "Paranoia."

But, in a way, aren't we all suffering from all kinds of diseases that we've never even come in contact with?

When I was a kid, it seemed that my Madre put every food imaginable into two distinct categories: things that will give you cancer, and things that will stop you from getting cancer. I always wondered why everything I wanted to eat was in the first category, and everything I hated was in the second. I also wondered why none of the other kids seemed as nervous about their lunch.*

Now, it seems, everything either slows Alzheimer's down or speeds it up. And it's not just what's in your brown paper bag, oh no! It's cell phones, dairy, word puzzles, and chocolate. It's dyes, curries, and cholesterol. Yes, that's right: cholesterol may kill you, but it will also save your life. Next week, who knows what else will be added to the list. AIDS, maybe? Does AIDS cure Alzheimer's?

Remember when margarine was this great thing that all the smart people loved and the stupid people despised? Remember how it was going to stop heart disease and feed that poor kid in Rwanda? Remember how we then found out that margarine was just a big glop of poison? Poison, I say! Run back to your artery-clogging butter, citizens of America!

Now, I know that my Madre was dead wrong. The two categories aren't cancer and no cancer: we're not close to being that lucky. There is only one category: death. Everything in the world causes one horrible ailment or another. The only thing you can do is choose whichever kind of agonizing death seems the most friendly. It's like we're all in that Star Trek episode, you know? The one with the space hippies that made absolutely no sense until it turned into this cool allegory about the Garden of Eden? And where the Garden of Eden ended up just being a big ball of poison? That is the place we're living now. Poison Planet.

The Garden of Eden is poison, people. You heard it here first! Close that Bible!

Oh yeah, and this blog will kill you. Sorry.

Of course, the fact that we live on Poison Planet isn't all bad. As with every bout of mass paranoia, there are the heroes that emerge from the smoldering remains of sanity. Remember how celebrities used to be cold, unfeeling people who had no morals and spit at everything decent, but now, they're all cuddly people who hate breast cancer? Remember how before, you couldn't find a hand mixer in pink? I mean, even your M&Ms are fighting breast cancer now. Breast cancer is IN. Sometimes, I'm jealous of breast cancer.**

I mean, behind all of the scare tactics and the merchandising, have we completely forgotten that life, as a whole, is pretty good? Have we forgotten that true love still exists, and that babies are beautiful? We shouldn't. We shouldn't forget that a good, gracious God loves us enough to give us stuff as heavenly as cheese, chocolate, and air. I myself, am a big fan of air. I just can't get enough.

Raise your hand if you were just thinking about how air is going to kill you.

Darn it.

The truth is that my grandmother did die of Alzheimer's, that lots of people are in a lot of pain, and that I always buy the cancer-fighting M&Ms.**** The truth is that there's a lot of bad stuff out there that we're smart enough to know how to prevent, and if we can prevent something, we should. The point I'm trying to make is that we shouldn't unnecessarily burden ourselves by worrying about every disease known to man. I mean, there has to be a balance, right? There has to be a point where you should just eat the darn chocolate bar.

Otherwise, we're all going to spend our lives suffering from diseases we don't have.

So, just take a deep breath. Please? Nobody likes a Herbert.*****

But I like you.

Regards, best wishes, and a dash of sanity,

-Cecily Jane

*Thanks, Madre. How you had six children and still had enough energy to care about whether or not we ate our brussell sprouts, I will never know.

**If Edgar Allen Poe were still alive, he'd write this great short story about a secluded group of people who cured their breast cancer by infecting themselves with AIDS. Could you imagine how popular that would be when it was made into a musical? Of course, it would only work if Idina Menzel is in it.***

***Sorry, everybody I just offended. Sorry.

****I wish they made some that fought Alzheimer's, though I realize how problematic that would be. It's hard to fight something you also cause. How does cholesterol do it?

*****Did you get that? Really? I love you.

******Sorry about all the asterisks, people. I got a little excited.

Sister Moments: Another Wedding, Another Dress

My Dear Reader,

My sister, HermanaMayor, just got married. So out of the three of us girls, I'm the only single one left. If you are well-acquainted with Mormondom, you know that I now have a large target painted on my back. Do not worry, Gentle Reader. Any self-respecting Mormon girl who has had the audacity to graduate college without acquiring a husband knows several ways to dodge the when-are-you-getting-married question. Here's one example:

Relation: So, you're what, twenty-four? When are you getting married? Are you even dating someone?

Cecily: Did you hear that China's going to the Moon?

Relation: Wow, I'm thoroughly distracted.

Cecily: Yeah, I thought so. BWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!

So, no worries on that front.

You may remember that when PetiteSoeur got married, I wasn't too excited about the bridesmaid dress. This time, HermanaMayor made it easy for me: all I had to do was go to a website and buy this dress. Easy, right? I was pretty happy about it until it came in the mail. That was when I realized that instead of a dress, it was more like a stylish robe. It was a wrap dress, meaning that it had no way of fastening in the front. I tried it on the first time, and I thought, who designs a dress like that? Don't they know that a dress's main purpose is to cover the skin in between my shoulders and my knees? I don't care how pretty it is, if it can't clothe you, it has failed. FAIL!

But the dress was already bought, so what could I do? It did look pretty good on me, after all, and it's not like I could tell the bride that she should pick another dress after all the other bridesmaids have already bought it. (I tried, it didn't work. And I felt like a really big jerk.) So, after coming to terms to the fact that I was stuck with a failure of a dress, I put it away, and forgot about it for three months.

Note to future bridesmaids: this is a bad, bad idea. Never forget about a dress that you're required to wear later. Ever.

So, the day of the wedding came up, and everything was going just great, right? I mean, you know, for a wedding. I had just taken a shower and was doing pretty well on time when I got out my dress to iron it and discovered that it wasn't in my closet, where it was supposed to be.

Oops.

I looked three times in my closet, it was nowhere to be found, which was just great. I had bought it so long ago that I couldn't remember for sure if I'd actually put it in my closet in the first place, and add to that the fact that objects tend to sporadically appear in and disappear from my room*, and it seemed impossible to ever find that dress again. It was too bad that I was going to a place for the express purpose of being photographed in it. It seemed that I was going to single-handedly ruin the most important day of HermanaMayor's life. Awesome.

We looked everywhere. Every closet, every nook and cranny, every conceivable hiding spot. Nothing. Eventually, I had to just give up on it and head to the photo shoot. My lovely, gracious PetiteSoeur offered to let me wear her bridesmaid dress, while she assembled something of her own that looked almost similar. Why a screw-up like me ended up with a sister like that, I'll never know.

So I went to the temple to take pictures. In a blizzard, it turned out. Snow was coming down like it was going out of style, in Oregon, of all places.

The reception was the next day, which meant that I had just a little more time to try and find my uniform, and hopefully, not completely ruin everything. Of course looking for a piece of clothing is somewhat difficult when Padre wants you to go the venue to help Madre, and Madre wants you to go home to get out of the way, and Padre calls you while you're on the road to go to the store and buy pitchers. By the time I got back home, I had about ten minutes to look for my dress before I had to start getting ready. Blarg.

I didn't expect to walk in the door and find out that PetiteSouer and Schwager had located my prodigal dress. It turns out it was in the coat closet the whole time, and since it was black, opened at the front, and had a collar, it had fit right in with the other coats. It blended in so well, in fact, that they only found it after searching that closet multiple times. So, I got to wear the dress to the reception, and everything else was happy ever after. Once again, I don't know how I could deserve a sister like PetiteSoeur. Or a brother-in-law like Schwager. Or a sister like HermanaMayor, who was very gracious about the fact that I was single-handedly ruining everything on her special day. I'm a big dork, you know.

So yeah, that's more drama than I ever thought I'd have involving a dress. It's definitely more than I ever thought I had to write about one.

So, Gentle Reader: if you're going to be a bridesmaid, know where your dress is! Trust me, when the business of a wedding is going on, you don't want to be the one who screws everything up. Leave that to one of the little brothers.

Oh, and BTW, wrap dresses work just fine when you have a friend/sister who is willing to help you safety pin the fabric in place. Just so you know.

Regards, best wishes, and sisters,

-Cecily Jane

*One of the many tragedies of living at home is that you have absolutely no control over your own belongings. None. People just come in, shove your stuff around, reorganize it, take it, hide it, add their own junk to it, and there's little you can do about the whole thing. I probably shouldn't care anymore, but I feel like it's one of the few ways of expressing adultness that I have left. It's futile, I know.