Although I typically refrain from addressing anything serious or difficult via blogging, I feel compelled to confront the terribly hard topic of homosexuality. Most of you know that I am Mormon, and many of you are too. This is a very delicate topic, but I have been thinking about a lot lately--since Boyd K Packer's talk in general conference.
As is commonly known, many Mormons choose to abide by the 10 Commandments given to Moses in addition to others that have been given to prophets more recently. Two of the original 10 commandments are: Thou shalt not commit adultery, and, Thou shalt not covet. Like many other worshipers, including Christians and Jews, Mormons believe that no person is exempt from the edicts of God. We believe his word to be true and final.
That being said, homosexuality is a delicate issue. In his talk, Boyd Packer stated that God did not make people homosexual. I believe this to be true. I also believe that God did not give some people a particularly strong sex drive, health problems, mental disorders, or any manner of physical trials. I believe that those are the products of mortality, of having a body. And those who believe that God did make people homosexual (and who thus believe sodomy okay) do not believe God; he declared sodomy a sin.
I have heard multiple Mormons argue: "homosexual tendencies are no different from other trials. Some people have tendencies to be alcoholics, and others gamblers ect." While I am not trying to discredit anyone's opinions, I am not sure that those trials are similar at all. From what I understand (and I am no expert), many people feel attraction to the same sex from a very young age, and feel it at all times. Potential gamblers and alcoholics must first try gambling or alcohol to gain addictions; homosexuals don't need to fornicate to feel same-sex attraction. For this reason, I feel that this trial is particularly difficult, and I feel great sympathy for those with feelings of same-sex attraction (I am not trying to sound patronizing or reductive here).
Which brings me to my next point: the sin of homosexuality is sexual sin, covetousness, inappropriate thoughts. There is a distinction between acting upon tendencies and not acting. I believe that those who do not participate in or encourage those tendencies, who actively seek God's help, and who exercise faith will be blessed.
I believe the words of Boyd Packer. As I have said, this issue is hard and I debated for a long time about writing. I already fear some of the comments I may receive. Please know that Mormons believe in a gospel founded upon love, upon respect, upon kindness, upon not judging. And thus I think it is very important that Mormons recognize the difficulties surrounding this issue, that they do not dismiss and ignore it, that they make a conscious effort to think about it and to decide how they will treat their (spirit) brothers and sisters.
This may sound contradictory to those who disagree with me, but, my intent and Elder Packer's intent in speaking is not to be unkind or bigoted toward other people. It is to firmly support the commands of God.
10.13.2010
9.16.2010
you blog?!?!?
One of my students asked my if I have a blog and was shocked that I answered affirmatively. He asked me what I blog about...I had no idea how to respond. Probably because this was what I planned to write today:
Today I tried to catch a snake and it defecated on my hand. Truly.
Today I tried to catch a snake and it defecated on my hand. Truly.
9.07.2010
The land of the ...and the home of the ....
Sometimes, I randomly think to myself: "Just doin' my duty for God and my country." Oddly enough, this usually happens when I am cleaning the bathroom, walking to campus, or engaging in an adrenaline-inducing activity.
The strangest part of this situation is that I hate phrases like that. Too much USA pride, which I always associate with hicks and old navy flag shirts, irks me. I can't really say why those things irk me, I really do like this place.
In conclusion, I am totally strange and full of contradictions.
The end.
The strangest part of this situation is that I hate phrases like that. Too much USA pride, which I always associate with hicks and old navy flag shirts, irks me. I can't really say why those things irk me, I really do like this place.
In conclusion, I am totally strange and full of contradictions.
The end.
8.09.2010
7.18.2010
Hunting
Many of you know I have a profound aversion for anything "hunting." I went to a store called Cabella's in UT the other day and almost threw up because of the hundreds of dead animals on display--including a grizzly bear and mountain lion. Although this aversion is basically irrational ( I eat meat often and realize those cows suffer a lot more than the deer), I am attempting to explain it here and now.
Story 1:
When I was a child, my grandfather would feed stray cats in the neighborhood. One such infamous cat was named blacky. He was always super mangy and frightening. At one point he attacked my grandpa who is diabetic and subsequently had to go to the hospital. I was under the impression that the cat broke and ripped up his arm, when really he only got a few cuts. Understandably, I was always terrified to enter their house for fear that blacky would be lurking, waiting for me. One day we road tripped up to my grandparent's home (12 hours in the car as a small child) and I was totally fried. We walked up onto the driveway to see this:
Some birds were eating blacky's cat food, which was unacceptable to g-pa because he so dearly loved the devil. So, logically, my grandpa had his GUN BARREL out the window pointing at the walk way (meaning me, as a small child) and had recently shot a bird which was flailing around, bloody and dying before my eyes. He told us to throw it in the trash which we would not do, so he came out and shot it a few more times. It still didn't die, but was thrown to its stinky grave still violently thrashing around.
Story 2:
My family took a backpacking trip to the wind river mountains. We fished during the day to catch dinner. I didn't really have a problem hooking them because it seemed pretty adult-ish and adventurous. My dad would remove the fish from the line and in one neat, swift crack, would whack the fish head, leaving it dead within seconds. Neat and tidy.
So, one afternoon my dad went up to get the fish cooking and left my little brother and I to get some more for dinner. Easy. We caught one and that is where everything went drastically wrong. We were unable to kill the fish:
We whacked his head repeatedly, guts and blood flying everywhere and all over us, but IT WOULD NOT DIE. Flailing and still alive, it totally freaked me out. We couldn't kill it but were making it suffer badly. Finally, screaming and covered in guts, we ran up to camp where my dad, surprised and alarmed, killed the dang thing with one hit.
And that, all you stalker boys, is why hunting is my deal-breaker.
*My uncle later shot blacky at the bequest of my grandmother, who was afraid she would get eaten alive. But never tell my grandfather--he thought the cat wandered away and died a peaceful death.
Story 1:
When I was a child, my grandfather would feed stray cats in the neighborhood. One such infamous cat was named blacky. He was always super mangy and frightening. At one point he attacked my grandpa who is diabetic and subsequently had to go to the hospital. I was under the impression that the cat broke and ripped up his arm, when really he only got a few cuts. Understandably, I was always terrified to enter their house for fear that blacky would be lurking, waiting for me. One day we road tripped up to my grandparent's home (12 hours in the car as a small child) and I was totally fried. We walked up onto the driveway to see this:
Some birds were eating blacky's cat food, which was unacceptable to g-pa because he so dearly loved the devil. So, logically, my grandpa had his GUN BARREL out the window pointing at the walk way (meaning me, as a small child) and had recently shot a bird which was flailing around, bloody and dying before my eyes. He told us to throw it in the trash which we would not do, so he came out and shot it a few more times. It still didn't die, but was thrown to its stinky grave still violently thrashing around.
Story 2:
My family took a backpacking trip to the wind river mountains. We fished during the day to catch dinner. I didn't really have a problem hooking them because it seemed pretty adult-ish and adventurous. My dad would remove the fish from the line and in one neat, swift crack, would whack the fish head, leaving it dead within seconds. Neat and tidy.
So, one afternoon my dad went up to get the fish cooking and left my little brother and I to get some more for dinner. Easy. We caught one and that is where everything went drastically wrong. We were unable to kill the fish:
We whacked his head repeatedly, guts and blood flying everywhere and all over us, but IT WOULD NOT DIE. Flailing and still alive, it totally freaked me out. We couldn't kill it but were making it suffer badly. Finally, screaming and covered in guts, we ran up to camp where my dad, surprised and alarmed, killed the dang thing with one hit.
And that, all you stalker boys, is why hunting is my deal-breaker.
*My uncle later shot blacky at the bequest of my grandmother, who was afraid she would get eaten alive. But never tell my grandfather--he thought the cat wandered away and died a peaceful death.
7.13.2010
Beware the door.
This morning I arose at 4:30 am to take my darling roommate Rachel to the airport. It was fine because I had to go into work at 7 in SLC anyway. I was so tired after I dropped her off that I decided to find a parking lot so that I could take a quick nap in my car. I found an IHOP in a very sketchy area of town and settled down with many semi trucks for some zzzz's.
Once awake again I figured I should probably grab some breakfast in the IHOP. By the way, the prices at that restaurant are obscene for greasy eggs and overcooked pancakes. I digress-- the only other person in the place was "the tool." IHOP uniform unbuttoned to show his chest, shaved head, soul patch and an overall tough guy demeanor. His eye was stitched and he had bruises everywhere. It was also oozing.
He pestered me with questions even though it was now only 7am and I was clearly delirious, until he actually sat on my table asking me about my job and life. Not appropriate. He then informed me that he usually looked a lot better but got "hit with a door" last night. I think "door" is the codename of the girl's boyfriend with whom he cheated. He continually informed me we should have some coffee together because we were both so tired.
I got out of there in record time.
Once awake again I figured I should probably grab some breakfast in the IHOP. By the way, the prices at that restaurant are obscene for greasy eggs and overcooked pancakes. I digress-- the only other person in the place was "the tool." IHOP uniform unbuttoned to show his chest, shaved head, soul patch and an overall tough guy demeanor. His eye was stitched and he had bruises everywhere. It was also oozing.
He pestered me with questions even though it was now only 7am and I was clearly delirious, until he actually sat on my table asking me about my job and life. Not appropriate. He then informed me that he usually looked a lot better but got "hit with a door" last night. I think "door" is the codename of the girl's boyfriend with whom he cheated. He continually informed me we should have some coffee together because we were both so tired.
I got out of there in record time.
7.05.2010
Keats
John Keats is my favorite poet right now. Here are two of his most famous poems:
I.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
II.
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love; -- then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
I.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
II.
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love; -- then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
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