Happiness

Happiness is
loving a borrowed book

so much

so much that I can't wait for my own book
to arrive in the mail

so I can turn every marked page
into a page I can mark

encouraging the phrases
to finally

Become

MINE

Words

I was listening to NPR  the other day, and they had an award wining poet on the show,  he said "Words are cheap."  That instantly brought to mind the opposite, "Words are expensive". Then, the skeleton of this poem popped into my head and it started writing itself. I'm no poet, but I liked this idea.


WORDS

Words mean nothing

Words are cheap
They have no cost

Words are light
They float effortlessly around us

Words are fleeting
Spoken without thought
Chosen at random

Words are harmless
Words wound

Words are permanent
Their meanings never forgotten
Permanently emblazoned

Words are heavy
Their weight makes us sag

Words are expensive
Their cost we are sometimes unprepared to pay

Words mean everything

Prayer

I have had an analogy buzzing at the edges of my conscious for many months now.  I have wanted to flesh it out in writing, but I'm not sure that I will be sharing this on Facebook.  There are all sorts of concerns that I have about making these very personal feelings public.  I guess I will write it down for myself, and then let it rest a while before I decide what I will do with it.  The metaphor that won't go away begins like this:

Imagine a child who wants to love their parent, but their parent seems distant and difficult to talk to.  They have been told all of their life that their parent is easy to talk to, is readily available, and is easily accessible.  But, that seems a foreign concept to the child.  That certainly hasn't been her experience.  Then, after years of effort of differing degrees of intensity, a beautiful relationship builds such that the child now comes to their parent often and consistently feels connected.  It seems to the child that time and time again, their parent responds to pleas of help to soften a heart, to change a desire, to help her change.  I imagine this pleading to happen in the kitchen, because that's where I have many of my conversations with my own children.

Then, something unexpected and painful happens in the child's life.  The child is lost, confused.  Since the child has done everything she was told she was supposed to do to continue the connection, in fact she has fulfilled the requirements several times over, she feels confident she will get help.   Even though the experience is painful, more painful than she ever thought possible, she knows she just needs to ask for help, and it will come.  The child, as per her learned pattern, comes to her parent tearfully pleading for help.  Surely, her parent will, once again, help to soften the pain, to change her heart.  Surprisingly, she gets nothing.  Often, she will feel the equivalence of a comfort hug, but no help with the pain.  Hmm.  This doesn't make sense.  She just needs to keep trying.  So, she repeatedly begs for help. . . in tears. . . again. . . and again. . . and again. . . again. . . again. . . aga. . .  ag. . . a. . .  Then, she comes to her parent with drier eyes, and asks. . . . . Nothing. . . . . . .   Then, she is done crying. . . but she still asks. . . . Nothing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Now, she is stronger.  Not only are the tears long gone, but she no longer asks.  Her heart has healed, and is now scarred and protected.  She still goes through the motions of keeping the connection, but her confidence is gone.  Long.  Gone.  When she approaches her parent, it is to ask for strength and peace for those who struggle; it is to ask for help for others.  But, truth be told, she is not sure she believes that extra help will really come.  It is more for her own comfort that she is voicing this love and concern for her loved ones.  She has enough respect for her parent to continue to include her, now distant, parent --  Father -- in her life, but she no longer has faith to believe that He listens or responds. . . or cares. 

She is strong.  She believes in listening to her gut.  She has learned to trust herself and her intentions.  She has learned to love more people, especially those who have experienced deep pain.  She believes in the goodness of men and women everywhere.  She has seen God in the love that people show to each other, and is drawn to those who choose love over judgment and criticism.  Her protected heart has grown into a much stronger foundation of trust in herself.  Perhaps, like a certain ruby-shoe-wearing character from a show she can't stand, she has discovered that she had it in her all along.  All she had to do was recognize it and find it within herself. 

I used to pray to something
Something
Something I called God

I expected the warmth of
Good Morning, of
I've missed you, of
I'm glad you're back



Silence
The deafening kind
empty



Now I pray to nothing
nothing

and no one answers

Authority and Keys to the Grown-Up Restroom

I had an A-HA! moment the other day as I walked home from work. I was thinking about something that had happened at work that day, and I had two analogies simultaneously pop into my head.  So I don't forget it completely (a particular talent of mine), I want to write it down.  My official title at work is Paraprofessional.  It is just a fancy way of saying Teacher Aide.  At my school, and probably all other schools in my district, parapros are not given keys:  no keys for classrooms, restrooms for the grown-ups, doors to the building, etc.  Only teachers were allowed to have keys.  A few years ago, we were given Fobs so we could at least enter the building.  I remember how empowered I felt to have the power to come into the building without relying on someone walking by to let me in.  However, for the first 6 1/2 years of my employment, the restrooms were always locked, so in order to use them, I had to ask the secretaries in the front office for the key.  I remember thinking that it was quite demoralizing to be in my 40's and still need to ask to use the restroom.  I knew that I had the authority to use the restrooms for adults, and all I needed to do was ask the holders of the keys for help, but for some reason it really bothered me.  The last part of this last year, our administration changed the system for the restroom doors so no keys were needed.  I recognize how silly it must seem, but I felt so relieved to not have to feel like I was one of the students anymore.  Then, I was chatting with my co-worker the other day, and she mentioned that it was possible that I was finally going to be given keys.  It made me so happy, validated,  and acknowledged as a full member of the staff at the school. 

As I was walking home, it clicked.  I'm sure you have already guessed the connection.  It made me realize how many women in the church feel about not officially holding the priesthood.  We are told repeatedly that we have the authority of the priesthood (the ability to use the grown-up restroom), when we are acting in our responsibilities in our respective callings, etc., but if we need the actual keys of the priesthood (the power to enter said restroom), we have to ask someone who has been given that power.  So, there is a continual need to ask permission from someone with actual power to do anything. 

The second analogy that hit simultaneously, was the idea of partners/spouses and money.  I'm not exactly sure how to describe my thoughts on this one, because this analogy doesn't apply to every couple.  In fact, it doesn't even describe my own three-way relationship between my husband, me, and our finances.  But, I have heard of this happening often.  In many partnerships, the couple has blended their accounts so that all of their money is jointly owned.  However, often one person is in charge of the finances so they control the checkbook, so to speak.  So, even though they both have the authority to spend their money, it's really one person with the power to approve or disapprove any one purchase or charge, thereby necessitating the first to ask permission of the second. 

For some women, it is not enough to have the authority, when they still are forced to continually ask someone else to exercise their power to access their keys.  I'm still not sure where I am on this particular issue, but this eye-opening moment helped me understand, to a small degree, how they might feel.  This is such a complicated issue.  I have many friends and family members that have no problem asking for the proverbial restroom key.  They are just grateful to be able to use the grown-up restroom.  I have a lot of respect for these women.  I also have friends for whom this issue is a very painful one.  They feel marginalized for having to ask for the key again and again and again.  My heart hurts for their pain.