I have a friend who surely must have been a general in the life before this. Although he is not currently serving our country in the U.S. Armed Forces, he knows more about battle tactics and how to disarm the enemy both physically and psychologically than almost anyone I know. He recently returned from Ghana, Africa, where he had served an ecclesiastical mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for two years. The dangerous and primitive lifestyle was absolutely perfect for him. When he came back, we saw each other a few times, and after most of the awkwardness had worn off, he came up to me and asked me a question that threw me completely off balance.
"How are the troops?"
My family. I scrambled for words, trying to find something optimistic to say.
"They're doing great," I said with a weak smile. That was all I could manage before I stepped away and found a deep couch corner to hide my confused and befuddled mind in.
Truly, my family is doing well. We certainly are in the tough middle of bringing together two very different families, but all things considered, we are doing well. So why was it so hard to answer my friend's question?
Thinking about my strange emotional response later, I realized something that I had been unconsciously dealing with ever since the marriage of my mother.
These were no longer my troops.
All my life, my family has been my central focus. Being the oldest child of an LDS, homeschooling family, my social, religious, and work life have all been completely family oriented. Add to that the unstable first marriage of my mom, and I became the second mother. It isn't uncommon to find in situations like mine; that's just the way it was. I was fiercely loyal to my family, and would do anything for them, particularly my youngest siblings. I loved them all dearly, and was there for them, comforting, teaching, nurturing, protecting, and housekeeping. Granted, as I entered my teens, I began to find that there was a life outside of my family, and I wasn't at home as much. However, I was still in my position at mother's right hand, and had responsibilities and obligations which fell under such a role. When things got really bad between my parents, I was there, holding my terrified siblings, reassuring them that all would be well, knowing in my heart that a marriage such as this one couldn't last, and silently fearing what would happen when the inevitable divorce finally came. But I was always there for them. And they always needed me.
Until now.
My mother has now left her first, unhealthy marriage and has recently married a hardworking man of God in the temple. He has taken his position as man of the household with complete capability and love, providing the balance the family needs to be whole. God brought to pass a marvelous work and a wonder with this family when He guided my mother to be re-married. There is no need for the kids to be parents anymore. I am no longer the head of my troops. So... Now, what am I?
What does a retired captain even do?
When I first lost what had been my main purpose for so long, it was jarring. I began sleeping in later and later. I stopped eating much, unless it was convenient and easy to grab. Then, one day, I never got up. I wasn't sick, lame, or disabled. I simply had no desire to live life that day. I didn't want to die or anything. I just had no interest in life. I truly believed that there was no-one who needed me to keep living life. No-one to improve for.
And then I remembered my future kids.
Ever since I was young, I have looked forward to the children I would bear and raise. Sometimes, I think I can feel them here with me, waiting for me to be ready to bring them down to earth. If there is anyone who is worth living the fullest, best life I possibly can, they are the ones.
I am still not quite sure who I am, nor have I figured out what my role is in this world. However, I now have a focal point, a vision of where I want to get to, and that makes all the difference. It is most definitely not the perfect focal point. It will most likely evolve to one more whole and refined as time moves on, but for now, my future children are the reason I get out of bed every morning. It is a small but life-saving step.
So thank you, dear friend, for your question. You may never know what you have done, but I am sincerely grateful for your strange choice of words. Maybe there is still some work for this young retired captain, and maybe, just maybe, she will find herself back out on that battlefield.
Sunday, November 22, 2015
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Moral Vertigo
This is a speech I gave for the Wasatch Homeschool Debate League. For more information on this debate league, visit their site: www.wasatchdebate.org
Imagine with me that we are in a classroom -- very similar to this very room. The students trickle in, joking and laughing together, sitting in their seats as the bell rings. The teacher comes to the front of the classroom and asks -- as many teachers do -- “Are there any questions about the homework? Remember, there are no wrong questions!”
Now, as much as I love puppies, apple pie, school teachers, and the American way, I’m afraid I am going to have to trample on the sacred cow of elementary schools everywhere. There are, in fact, wrong questions.
Let me explain through a story. As I do so, listen for the wrong questions I speak of. In Leo Tolstoy’s novel, Anna Karenina, we watch the decline of a morally upstanding young woman -- Anna. It started with Vronsky. Anna had traveled to the city, leaving her husband and child at home, to counsel with a relative of hers, meeting Vronsky on the way. The moment Vronsky saw Anna, a passionate fire was sparked from within. Vronsky lived a life very different from Anna. He had long ago answered the question “Are affairs with women socially acceptable?” in the affirmative, and lived his life accordingly.
And so he pursued Anna, despite her longstanding and healthy marriage, and so began Anna’s downfall. Although Anna repulsed his affections at first, she asked herself at a ball she innocently attended “Would it be offensive to refuse a dance?” And so the night was spent twirling in his arms. Husband and child were miles away, and the only thing before her eyes was Vronsky -- charming, young, attentive Vronsky.
Later that evening, Vronsky was no longer there, and Anna felt a vague discomfort with her standing in the world. However, as she thought back on the evening, she began again to question herself. She thought to herself: Was there anything I actually did that was out of place? Why should I feel guilt for being kind to a young man? However, so was her state, and so her state continued to be as she left the next morning on the train, and eventually greeted her husband at the station. Again, when she saw her husband, she began to question -- a simple question, but with a hidden, rotten, center.
Listen: "Oh, mercy!” she thought, “why do his ears look like that?"
A simple question indeed. However, his ears had never before attracted her attention to such an extent. At this moment, coming back from Vronsky’s avid attention, her husband’s unsatisfactory ears were all she could see.
Now it may not seem that there is anything wrong with these questions. However, the problem here is not so much that which is being asked as that which is not being asked.
Let me explain. One of my favorite books is titled The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis. In this book, His Abysmal Sublimity Screwtape, Under Secretary of the Satanic Lowerarchy, explains one of the great triumphs of temptation achieved in the modern age to a lesser devil named Wormwood. This triumph has everything to do with the questions we -- the human race -- ask. He says, quote: “[M]an ... doesn't think of doctrines as primarily "true" or "false," but as "academic" or "practical," "outworn" or "contemporary," "conventional" or "ruthless." Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in keeping him from the Church. Don't waste time trying to make him think that materialism is true! Make him think it is strong or stark or courageous—that it is the philosophy of the future. That's the sort of thing he cares about.” Unquote.
Truly, when we ask "is this popular", we will find our popular answer. When we ask "is this practical", we will again find the practical answer. However, the right answer will be nowhere to be found. For how can we find the right answer when we do not ask “Is this right?” This absence of asking the right question is called MORAL VERTIGO.
Let me explain through an example. When flying crazy patterns in the sky, airplane pilots must be very careful. During this time of twisting and turning, up and down change so often that they can become disoriented, and lose track of directions. They must constantly be asking “Where is up? Where is down? Where is North?” To forget to ask these questions is to fly themselves and their plane straight into ruin. This directional confusion created when the pilot forgets to ask these questions is known as vertigo, and if the pilot does not take care to reorient himself, he could very well crash into the ground, completely convinced that it is, in fact, the sky.
So it is with morality. Our moral airplanes, so to speak, have a constant need of reorientation. However, if we ask the question of... open-mindedness, rather than the question of right and wrong, we will lose track of our directions and our plane.
Now-a-days, we have plenty of planes in varying stages of moral vertigo. One example is the Boy Scouts of America. BSA receives funding from many different sources, providing many boys with the opportunity to improve themselves, and gain a good education. However, according to USA Today News, Disney has withdrawn their monetary support because of their policy to not allow gay troop leaders. In addition, Boy Scouts of America have also felt social pressures to accept gay boys into their troops, and, as of last year, gave in to the pressure and officially allowed them to be accepted. What is sad is not that they decided to support gay rights. I am not addressing that issue today. What is sad is that they asked the wrong questions. Questions of profit, peace, and progressiveness were asked, rather than questions of right and wrong. If this decision were right, it would have been right before the public began to press them to change. And if it was the wrong decision it would have been the wrong decision regardless of any amount of social pressure. The pressure of society plays no role in the position of morality, however, it definitely played a role in the decision of Boy Scouts of America.
In contrast, let me tell you of Sir Thomas More -- a man of firm morality in a time when morality was far from popular. At this time, King Henry the eighth was king, and --simply put -- he wanted to be divorced. Divorce was against the law of God, as known within the Catholic church, and by all the officers in the court, including the king. However, as it happened, More was the only one who stayed by his knowledge of that which was right. Goodness is to evil like a terrible cancer is to us. There is always the fear that the goodness will destroy them -- for -- if it holds strong, it will. So it was with More. First, it was the king who pressured him to tolerate his need -- but not much, feeling guilty, and knowing More’s character to be a good one. However, the king’s officers had no such guilt, and so pressured More even further. Desperately, they sought to find him in one illegal or evil act -- even an act of shallowness or dependence. However, More was good to his core, and they could find nothing against him. They tried conversation over dinner. They tried spies. They tried threats. They tried imprisonment. But not once did Sir Thomas More step back from what he knew was right, or even speak evil against the king. And so, desperate, they fabricated a story in which Sir Thomas More spoke out against the king. They brought him to court, called upon a false witness, and condemned him to death. Even when condemned, Sir Thomas More stood firm, and he stood at the execution block with a sure knowledge that God was pleased with him. Truly, this man had asked the question “Is this right? Or is this wrong?”
As I conclude, let us finish the story we started with. Anna Karenina soon left her husband, and became the mistress of this dashing officer. However, this life did not give her the joy she sought. The question “Why am I not happy” filled her life, until, in the end, it drove her to suicide.
Now, I have one last question for you. It is simple, but it is essential. Which questions will you ask? Thank you for your time.
Imagine with me that we are in a classroom -- very similar to this very room. The students trickle in, joking and laughing together, sitting in their seats as the bell rings. The teacher comes to the front of the classroom and asks -- as many teachers do -- “Are there any questions about the homework? Remember, there are no wrong questions!”
Now, as much as I love puppies, apple pie, school teachers, and the American way, I’m afraid I am going to have to trample on the sacred cow of elementary schools everywhere. There are, in fact, wrong questions.
Let me explain through a story. As I do so, listen for the wrong questions I speak of. In Leo Tolstoy’s novel, Anna Karenina, we watch the decline of a morally upstanding young woman -- Anna. It started with Vronsky. Anna had traveled to the city, leaving her husband and child at home, to counsel with a relative of hers, meeting Vronsky on the way. The moment Vronsky saw Anna, a passionate fire was sparked from within. Vronsky lived a life very different from Anna. He had long ago answered the question “Are affairs with women socially acceptable?” in the affirmative, and lived his life accordingly.
And so he pursued Anna, despite her longstanding and healthy marriage, and so began Anna’s downfall. Although Anna repulsed his affections at first, she asked herself at a ball she innocently attended “Would it be offensive to refuse a dance?” And so the night was spent twirling in his arms. Husband and child were miles away, and the only thing before her eyes was Vronsky -- charming, young, attentive Vronsky.
Later that evening, Vronsky was no longer there, and Anna felt a vague discomfort with her standing in the world. However, as she thought back on the evening, she began again to question herself. She thought to herself: Was there anything I actually did that was out of place? Why should I feel guilt for being kind to a young man? However, so was her state, and so her state continued to be as she left the next morning on the train, and eventually greeted her husband at the station. Again, when she saw her husband, she began to question -- a simple question, but with a hidden, rotten, center.
Listen: "Oh, mercy!” she thought, “why do his ears look like that?"
A simple question indeed. However, his ears had never before attracted her attention to such an extent. At this moment, coming back from Vronsky’s avid attention, her husband’s unsatisfactory ears were all she could see.
Now it may not seem that there is anything wrong with these questions. However, the problem here is not so much that which is being asked as that which is not being asked.
Let me explain. One of my favorite books is titled The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis. In this book, His Abysmal Sublimity Screwtape, Under Secretary of the Satanic Lowerarchy, explains one of the great triumphs of temptation achieved in the modern age to a lesser devil named Wormwood. This triumph has everything to do with the questions we -- the human race -- ask. He says, quote: “[M]an ... doesn't think of doctrines as primarily "true" or "false," but as "academic" or "practical," "outworn" or "contemporary," "conventional" or "ruthless." Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in keeping him from the Church. Don't waste time trying to make him think that materialism is true! Make him think it is strong or stark or courageous—that it is the philosophy of the future. That's the sort of thing he cares about.” Unquote.
Truly, when we ask "is this popular", we will find our popular answer. When we ask "is this practical", we will again find the practical answer. However, the right answer will be nowhere to be found. For how can we find the right answer when we do not ask “Is this right?” This absence of asking the right question is called MORAL VERTIGO.
Let me explain through an example. When flying crazy patterns in the sky, airplane pilots must be very careful. During this time of twisting and turning, up and down change so often that they can become disoriented, and lose track of directions. They must constantly be asking “Where is up? Where is down? Where is North?” To forget to ask these questions is to fly themselves and their plane straight into ruin. This directional confusion created when the pilot forgets to ask these questions is known as vertigo, and if the pilot does not take care to reorient himself, he could very well crash into the ground, completely convinced that it is, in fact, the sky.
So it is with morality. Our moral airplanes, so to speak, have a constant need of reorientation. However, if we ask the question of... open-mindedness, rather than the question of right and wrong, we will lose track of our directions and our plane.
Now-a-days, we have plenty of planes in varying stages of moral vertigo. One example is the Boy Scouts of America. BSA receives funding from many different sources, providing many boys with the opportunity to improve themselves, and gain a good education. However, according to USA Today News, Disney has withdrawn their monetary support because of their policy to not allow gay troop leaders. In addition, Boy Scouts of America have also felt social pressures to accept gay boys into their troops, and, as of last year, gave in to the pressure and officially allowed them to be accepted. What is sad is not that they decided to support gay rights. I am not addressing that issue today. What is sad is that they asked the wrong questions. Questions of profit, peace, and progressiveness were asked, rather than questions of right and wrong. If this decision were right, it would have been right before the public began to press them to change. And if it was the wrong decision it would have been the wrong decision regardless of any amount of social pressure. The pressure of society plays no role in the position of morality, however, it definitely played a role in the decision of Boy Scouts of America.
In contrast, let me tell you of Sir Thomas More -- a man of firm morality in a time when morality was far from popular. At this time, King Henry the eighth was king, and --simply put -- he wanted to be divorced. Divorce was against the law of God, as known within the Catholic church, and by all the officers in the court, including the king. However, as it happened, More was the only one who stayed by his knowledge of that which was right. Goodness is to evil like a terrible cancer is to us. There is always the fear that the goodness will destroy them -- for -- if it holds strong, it will. So it was with More. First, it was the king who pressured him to tolerate his need -- but not much, feeling guilty, and knowing More’s character to be a good one. However, the king’s officers had no such guilt, and so pressured More even further. Desperately, they sought to find him in one illegal or evil act -- even an act of shallowness or dependence. However, More was good to his core, and they could find nothing against him. They tried conversation over dinner. They tried spies. They tried threats. They tried imprisonment. But not once did Sir Thomas More step back from what he knew was right, or even speak evil against the king. And so, desperate, they fabricated a story in which Sir Thomas More spoke out against the king. They brought him to court, called upon a false witness, and condemned him to death. Even when condemned, Sir Thomas More stood firm, and he stood at the execution block with a sure knowledge that God was pleased with him. Truly, this man had asked the question “Is this right? Or is this wrong?”
As I conclude, let us finish the story we started with. Anna Karenina soon left her husband, and became the mistress of this dashing officer. However, this life did not give her the joy she sought. The question “Why am I not happy” filled her life, until, in the end, it drove her to suicide.
Now, I have one last question for you. It is simple, but it is essential. Which questions will you ask? Thank you for your time.
Unwanted Attentions
Tuesday and Wednesday I was attending a workshop which lasted all day. I learned a ton, and -- for the most part -- really enjoyed myself. It was composed of a small group, no more than six people, which really helped me to get to know the other attendees better. The simple fact of the matter is that I really enjoy more intimate circles, so that I can hear the life stories of those around me.
Well.
The second day, some strange things began to happen. I walked in, and one of the older men had taken the seat I had sat in the day before. No big deal -- I sat somewhere else. However, the man immediately stood up and left his seat, moving to the chair right next to mine.
Dear Reader. This man had to be in his fifties. I honestly felt a little creeped out. However, I assured myself that everything was fine.
Throughout the workshop, he kept -- very awkwardly, mind you -- randomly giving me advice. Such as imagining the people with whom I feel nervous in their underwear. Well. Thank you sir.
<<cue desperate prayer for deliverance>>
Finally, the day wound down to a close, and I stood up and left ASAP, heading for the restroom.
Dear Reader, this man waited for me, oh so patiently, to return, and called after me as I raced down the stairs.
I'd like to say that I was polite, and that I stopped to listen to him. But I just kept walking down those stairs, wincing as he shouted after me how I was just so cheery and positive and full of life as he tried the best he could to keep up with me...Would you look at the time! Thank you so much for your kindness. I hope you find employment soon. Goodbye!!
<<cue purposeful businesswoman walk that implies I'm late for a meeting as I desperately put as much distance as possible between him and me>>
I think it may be time for me to invest in some good ol' pepper spray, don't you think?
Well.
The second day, some strange things began to happen. I walked in, and one of the older men had taken the seat I had sat in the day before. No big deal -- I sat somewhere else. However, the man immediately stood up and left his seat, moving to the chair right next to mine.
Dear Reader. This man had to be in his fifties. I honestly felt a little creeped out. However, I assured myself that everything was fine.
Throughout the workshop, he kept -- very awkwardly, mind you -- randomly giving me advice. Such as imagining the people with whom I feel nervous in their underwear. Well. Thank you sir.
<<cue desperate prayer for deliverance>>
Finally, the day wound down to a close, and I stood up and left ASAP, heading for the restroom.
Dear Reader, this man waited for me, oh so patiently, to return, and called after me as I raced down the stairs.
I'd like to say that I was polite, and that I stopped to listen to him. But I just kept walking down those stairs, wincing as he shouted after me how I was just so cheery and positive and full of life as he tried the best he could to keep up with me...Would you look at the time! Thank you so much for your kindness. I hope you find employment soon. Goodbye!!
<<cue purposeful businesswoman walk that implies I'm late for a meeting as I desperately put as much distance as possible between him and me>>
I think it may be time for me to invest in some good ol' pepper spray, don't you think?
The Skill of Walking
Two things you should know before I begin my story. First, through an often dry irrigation ditch in between houses, a friend and I can reach the other's home relatively quickly, and we use this route often. Second, my right ankle is currently very weak from having sprained it in one of my more clumsy moments.
So there I was, about to go back home with my friend through the ditch, in the dark, wearing perilous heels. I hesitated.
"Lyssa, I don't think I can walk in..."
KAPOW!!
Never has there been a more ironic or more quickly fulfilled prophecy than that statement.
Lyssa looked down at me, sprawled all over her completely-safe-to-walk-across-unless-you-have-my-skills front yard.
"Nope. You definitely can't walk."
We spent the next ten minutes laughing hysterically at my superb grace. You have permission to laugh as well.
So there I was, about to go back home with my friend through the ditch, in the dark, wearing perilous heels. I hesitated.
"Lyssa, I don't think I can walk in..."
KAPOW!!
Never has there been a more ironic or more quickly fulfilled prophecy than that statement.
Lyssa looked down at me, sprawled all over her completely-safe-to-walk-across-unless-you-have-my-skills front yard.
"Nope. You definitely can't walk."
We spent the next ten minutes laughing hysterically at my superb grace. You have permission to laugh as well.
One Wilted Rose
Dear Reader, sometimes there is nothing more alarming or awkward than one wilted rose.
A while back, I was getting ready for YSA FHE (young single adult family home evening), and my sister came up to my room to tell me someone was here for me. I was super confused -- my ride wasn't supposed to be here for another half hour. So, after some intense scrambling and mascara application, I rushed down the stairs, only to stop very abruptly in my living room entrance. The person sitting in my living room was not my ride. We shall call him Joe. I know him as a distant acquaintance, and I see him around fairly frequently. He was awkwardly sitting on our piano bench, obviously out of his element. I awkwardly welcomed him, and -- curiosity bursting out my ears -- asked him what in the world he was doing here?? Suddenly, I found the most wilted rose I've ever seen thrust in my face.
This terribly awkward, polite young gentleman had biked all the way to my house in the dark to offer me this sad rose. I can honestly say that I've never been more surprised in my life! I awkwardly thanked him for the rose, holding it as best I could so as to prevent the petals from falling off completely, and he informed me that he had found it in a pile of trash he had been raking up, and thought of me.
I had positively no idea what to say to that. So I swallowed, thanked him again as best I could, and asked him how life was. My mother looked at us, silently shouting at me with ferocious eyebrow movements that we needed to get started with FHE, and what in the world was this young man doing here?
Well. I scrambled for something to to converse about, to somehow regain control of the situation. He mentioned dinner, and I remarked that we had just finished. Then we sat there.
Wise men have said that silence is golden. But at this moment, the only gold I found in the situation was what I'd pay to get out of it.
Finally, after receiving some frantic eyebrow-messages from my mother, I awkwardly informed him that we were just about to start FHE. He awkwardly replied that he'd better let us do that, and get going. But as he was walking out the door, he paused.
What now? I thought. Can this get any more awkward?
Dear Reader, there is always something more awkward.
He the proceeded to ask me out, "since he was already here."
Um.
Sure?
I grasped for some kind of saving rope, and went through the routine questions: when and where and such.
He didn't know.
Chuckling nervously, I told him to message me when he knew, and after a couple more awkward words of conversation, he left to bike all the way home, by himself, in the dark.
I still haven't recovered. But as far as I know, from the letter and chocolate he brought me afterwards, he enjoyed himself very much.
A while back, I was getting ready for YSA FHE (young single adult family home evening), and my sister came up to my room to tell me someone was here for me. I was super confused -- my ride wasn't supposed to be here for another half hour. So, after some intense scrambling and mascara application, I rushed down the stairs, only to stop very abruptly in my living room entrance. The person sitting in my living room was not my ride. We shall call him Joe. I know him as a distant acquaintance, and I see him around fairly frequently. He was awkwardly sitting on our piano bench, obviously out of his element. I awkwardly welcomed him, and -- curiosity bursting out my ears -- asked him what in the world he was doing here?? Suddenly, I found the most wilted rose I've ever seen thrust in my face.
This terribly awkward, polite young gentleman had biked all the way to my house in the dark to offer me this sad rose. I can honestly say that I've never been more surprised in my life! I awkwardly thanked him for the rose, holding it as best I could so as to prevent the petals from falling off completely, and he informed me that he had found it in a pile of trash he had been raking up, and thought of me.
I had positively no idea what to say to that. So I swallowed, thanked him again as best I could, and asked him how life was. My mother looked at us, silently shouting at me with ferocious eyebrow movements that we needed to get started with FHE, and what in the world was this young man doing here?
Well. I scrambled for something to to converse about, to somehow regain control of the situation. He mentioned dinner, and I remarked that we had just finished. Then we sat there.
Wise men have said that silence is golden. But at this moment, the only gold I found in the situation was what I'd pay to get out of it.
Finally, after receiving some frantic eyebrow-messages from my mother, I awkwardly informed him that we were just about to start FHE. He awkwardly replied that he'd better let us do that, and get going. But as he was walking out the door, he paused.
What now? I thought. Can this get any more awkward?
Dear Reader, there is always something more awkward.
He the proceeded to ask me out, "since he was already here."
Um.
Sure?
I grasped for some kind of saving rope, and went through the routine questions: when and where and such.
He didn't know.
Chuckling nervously, I told him to message me when he knew, and after a couple more awkward words of conversation, he left to bike all the way home, by himself, in the dark.
I still haven't recovered. But as far as I know, from the letter and chocolate he brought me afterwards, he enjoyed himself very much.
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