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It’s almost 1:30 AM and I am still awake.  It is like I am some kind of weird antenna for global unrest and my sensors are humming.  To calm my anxiety, I read a couple of chapters in John McCain’s book, Restless Wave.  His chapter on American Exceptionalism is one of my favorites.  I’ve read it many times and it never fails to inspire me. Try as I might, I can never remember the names of all the dissidents and freedom fighters he writes about in this chapter.  Their names are strange and difficult for me to read, but their stories are so familiar. People standing up and facing severe persecution in their efforts to build more just and equitable societies.  They inspire me. Their stories hum with heroism in the deep places of my soul; strumming unseen strings.

These people might be called contrarians.  They swim against the stream of their fellowmen.  They choose to see a better world instead of profiting off the reality of this one.  How much do we owe to them and their kind? Everything. They are pioneers, trail blazers, and nurturers of that most precious commodity; hope.

Something about the fact that they have suffered greatly for their integrity and ideals gives their lives the transcendent glow of holiness.  Their hope and their efforts inspire me to write again to my representatives in the legislature; to speak truth contrary to popular opinion. The right to speak and to advocate for the oppressed is hard earned and easily lost.  There is no effort too small that it cannot make a difference to a world in need.

My mind returns to the Kurdish people.  Tears spring to my eyes as I think of Rojava and the horrible betrayal that happened last year.  The only tragedy that I can think of that approaches it is the attacks on September 11th. That might seem overdramatic and hyperbolic to some.  What makes the Kurdish people so special that their betrayal would compare to the atrocity of terror that occurred on 9-11 on the people of my own country?  

When we betrayed the Kurds, we drove a spike through the hearts of thousands of heroic men and women around the world who looked to the United States as a symbol of justice, good will, good faith, and commitment to freedom around the world.  Like the planes that took down the towers, those spikes will bring down American influence around the world. The character of the greatest nation the world has ever known has been fatally wounded in a way that an attack from a terrorist could never do.  It destroyed our greatest asset; our reputation. And the wound was self inflicted, by the man America trusted to be her President.

How could I not grieve?  How could I not be angry?  How could I have felt any differently?  I wish that somehow I could undo the damage.  Instead I sit here at my computer, with my heart in my throat.  I pray for the Savior’s grace to fill the massive hole of despair that threatens to overtake it.  My fears for my country and the world mount as the forces of darkness seem to invade the hearts of people everywhere.  There is a thirst for conflict, a lack of basic compassion and empathy, and a failure to strive for unity.

What is driving this enmity?  What fuels this spirit of conflict?  Why are we determined to destroy one another?  Pride. Arrogance. Entitlement. Envy. They are vices that run amok in today’s world.  Their spread is orchestrated by Satan and those who act under his influence. The only power that is capable of saving us is the power of the Only Begotten Son of God.  He is the Prince of Peace and only through Him can the world be saved. I search and I find him in the deepest places of my heart. My soul cries out to him in my anguish and he speaks peace.  “Peace be unto you my daughter, for the Son hath power over all these things and I will work a marvelous work which will confound the wise, for I have not forgotten my people. They hear my voice and my power is in them in every nation, tongue, and people.”  I may not be able to pronounce or remember their names, but they are known to him. He has not forgotten them and although America may fall, He will not.

And yet my faith is weak.  Like Peter, I look at the waves and call out, “Master save me!”  Oh me of little faith. Finally my sedatives are starting to work. It is just after 2:00.  Before I leave my computer, I have one final prayer.

God, Father of Heaven and Earth, please have mercy on me, thy handmaid.  Forgive me of my sins and weaknesses and hear my humble plea. There are so many around the world who are displaced, persecuted, imprisoned, and killed in the struggle for basic human rights.  These are rights I take for granted and have had from my birth. I am no better than them. I am no more deserving of those things. Please, I beg of thee, have mercy on them. Extend to them the blessings I have, if it be thy will.  Inspire them with the vision and hope that they need to carve a path to a better world for their children and grandchildren. Let the light of freedom shine in the dark places of this planet. Let the hearts that have gone cold be met with hearts lit with the fires of liberty.  May those fires never be extinguished no matter how hell rages against them! Let me spread those fires as far and wide as I can, to all those who need to hear my voice, let it resonate in their hearts. Amen.

The President was impeached along party lines yesterday.  As hour after hour of impeachment debates droned on yesterday, my mental and emotional strength was sapped.  My sons sensed that I was not doing well. My older boys seemed curious to know what was going on and what the representatives were saying.  I did my best to try to explain the complex realities of this current political moment. The younger ones just knew that Mom was on the edge.  They fought and pestered and ignored my pleas. The dog seemed in on it as well. Austin and Pepper chased and pushed and snarled at one another to find a place in my lap where they felt they both got their fair share of me.

Ben and I took a trip to Las Vegas for five days. It was glorious to get away, but since I have been home, I have been trying to make up for lost time getting ready for Christmas. All I have managed to do is rearrange the clutter, do some planning, and reset my circadian rhythm. The house is a mess, the chores were piling up, and the boys were all obliviously engaged in screens despite my repeated threats and pleadings. It all came to a head last night when Ben came home late from work.

Finally, I erupted.  I told them if they didn’t stop disrespecting me, Santa was going to take back their Switch.  Up until yesterday I had been very vague about whether or not Santa had any intention of getting them their much wished for toy.  Hopefully my threat scared them straight or it might be a very long holiday.  

Wesley’s tenth birthday is in two days.  He wants a Picachu/Beyblade cake and a friend birthday party.  And I haven’t wrapped a single gift yet for the birthday party or Christmas.  Not a single one! Most of the gifts are still in their Amazon boxes, not even opened.  The thought of how much work I have to do strikes panic into my heart. There are six days until Christmas!  

Also, I am going to sing a solo in sacrament meeting for the ward Christmas program.  That was a last minute decision adding a scoop of stress to an already mountainous cone of peril.  Thankfully with the impeachment over, the news cycle should calm down a bit and my anxiety for my beloved country should ease.

At moments like this, my brain tends to focus on the worst aspects of this moment.  The lies, the gaslighting, the betrayal of values, the self-serving flattery of the President by his party loyalists overwhelm me in a sea of sadness and cynpicism.  I have been trying to focus instead on the moments of beauty and courage. Justin Amash gave a stirring and compelling speech. His courage to take his place as a lonely truth teller as the House’s only independent was moving.  Amash’s speech seemed to inspire and add to the luster of Steny H. Hoyer’s closing remarks.  I have seldom felt so moved by a speech.  After 38 years of service, Representative Hoyer’s words had the ring of gravitas.  He avoided hyperbole. He stayed laser focused on the relevant issues. He quoted John Locke, which shows a deep understanding not just of our nation’s founders, but also the political philosophers whom they studied.  If men like him are characteristic of the Democratic Party, sign me up! Steny H. Hoyer is now a member of the motley and diverse collection of new heroes I have found in this difficult and divisive time.

When Speaker Pelosi invoked the words of Elijah Cummings I was moved.  I thought of him dancing with the angels, maybe to an old African spiritual.  I imagined him hoping, as I do, that we can see our way forward to a better America with leaders who inspire and unite us.  Leaders like Amash, Hoyer, Dingell, and Cummings.  

Well, the boys are starting to stir.  Setting the expectations and the schedule early will be key to keeping the trains running on time for the next couple of weeks.  Wish me luck!!

Today the President of the United States is likely to be impeached.  I had hoped that through this process, public opinion would unify and that a large majority of Americans would agree that a Mike Pence Presidency would be better to heal a weak and divided America.  I had hoped that, especially in the Senate, that Republicans would do the right thing. My disappointment at the recent comments from Lindsey Graham and Mitch McConnell is overwhelming. Every day I read tweets from John Cornyn, my senator, and can’t believe he is the same man I voted for six years ago.  It seems surreal that his words could be so at odds with the facts. The speeches by Republicans in the House today were so jarring, I couldn’t listen to some of them. To hear my concerns and fears dismissed and minimized and attributed to some moral failing or political machinations was hurtful and confusing.

Narratives.  They are everywhere.  We all have selective memories.  We all assemble those memories into narratives that make sense of our world.  My parents had a narrative for me. I had an ideal childhood. My parents loved me more than anything.  I grew up in the church which made me important and special. Because of all that I had received, I was obligated to live a perfect life and make them proud.  I was supposed to put myself last, serve my husband and children, and put all concerns about myself and my life aside. I was supposed to raise my children the way I was raised.

And then depression happened.  And then Ben’s dad happened. And then counselling happened.  My narrative shattered. I had to accept the reality; that my childhood was far from perfect and that the mental and emotional burdens of past generations had been set upon my shoulders.  It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. I was angry at the extra work I had to do to try to resolve problems I didn’t create and didn’t deserve. The harder I tried to progress in my recovery, the more my relatives and friends fought to instill their narrative back into my mind.  Rather than applaud my efforts to bless their grandchildren with a healthier life, instead I was pathologized and patronized. My memories and my pain were minimized or attributed to a moral or mental deficiency.  The mental health professionals I trusted in were looked down on and even blamed.

In the midst of all this turmoil, the Republican party was overtaken by Trump.  I had always believed that the Republican party was good. We were the guardians of the constitution and conservative values.  We were the protectors of the world order and the spread of freedom around the world. In a few short years, that narrative was dashed.  Just like my family narrative, I was forced to accept the reality that much of what I had believed was true, was not.

Now I accept that I was raised by fallen parents who loved me, but hurt me.  The ideal childhood that they remember giving me, is their reality. Not mine.  There is a lot of pain there for me. They hurt me. That doesn’t mean they were or are bad people.  They were loved and hurt by their parents and step parents and caregivers. If the truth were known, my parent’s parents were likely also loved and hurt by their parents.  It is not my job to judge these people. They were fallen people doing their best to make their way in a fallen world. They were dealing with financial problems, career challenges, church responsibilities, sickness, and death.  They made mistakes and some of those mistakes were very serious with long term consequences. The same things can be said of my husband’s family. We all hope that progress can be made and that a better future lies ahead for our family in the next generations. Rooting out family dysfunction takes work. It takes humility. It takes asking for help and accepting difficult truths. It takes work to see other points of view and gain understanding beyond the limitations of our own reality. It takes rejecting the need to assign blame, and the courage to take responsibility for the future to make sure that tomorrow is better than yesterday was.  It takes a submission to the Savior and the faith that he can heal relationships and families when we confess and forsake harmful traditions and patterns of behavior. As I trust in him and the sources of healing he has guided me to, my confidence begins to strengthen. My emotional disabilities were and are a blessing. They have led me to seek help and knowledge that has lifted my life.

Like my family narrative, my political narrative has been dashed. I’ve had to accept the reality that the Republican party was far less good than I thought it was.  It is far less rational and compassionate than I thought it was. It is far less committed to spreading freedom around the world and to constitutional principles than I thought it was.  The reality is, I chose to see the Republican party as I wanted it to be and not as it truly was. Otherwise I would have recognized the warning signs long ago.

The kind of people with the character and vision to create a country of peace and prosperity that can serve as a light on a hill have never been common.  Even in the best times of our country’s history there has been turmoil, polarization, and even serious systematic injustice. There is only ever a small percentage of rational, compassionate, moral individuals who make difficult right choices against their own self interest.  Civilization relies on those people. Every new generation of Americans has had the opportunity to more perfectly realize the American dream; to create and exemplify the best of what is within us; to promote and reward and elevate as leaders those who show a commitment to the values we all hold dear.  I’m afraid this generation is failing and I fear that our failure will have devastating consequences. When the wicked rule, the people mourn.  

Even as I see so many troubling trends; as I see Satan’s power growing and his influence blanketing the Earth; I also see God’s hand.  I talked to a friend today who is going through a terrible ordeal. She has done tremendously hard things in the last six months and has faced opposition that dwarfs the imagination.  I have seen the hand of God moving in her life. I have seen friends come to her when needed. People have come together to serve and have been blessed. There have been times when I was discouraged and didn’t know how it was going to work out, but the Lord was there.  He was enough. It has been difficult. It has required a network of people willing to give and sacrifice. Miracles happen. The Savior and those who work in his name rarely make the headlines, but their influence is real and powerful.

Where there is great evil, there is also great good to balance it.  As long as there are Americans who are willing to stand with courage and faith, it will be enough.  The Lord will make it enough. There are difficult truths to face and tough problems to solve, but I believe we can do it.  We will survive the Trump Presidency and the tumult created by new technology. We will weather the storm of right wing populism and authoritarian ideology.  We can and we will rise to the occasion of this turbulent moment in history. We can unite behind common values and principles and reject political, ethnic, religious, and economic divisions. We can choose to change course and vote for those who can be trusted with power; people our children can look to as role models.  We can right the wrongs of the past and choose a better future as a nation. As I pray for my nation today and in the weeks that come, I pray that the Savior of mankind will have mercy upon us and help us to see the path forward. I pray that eyes will be opened, partisan and political concerns will be set aside, and that the elected representatives of the country will guide us away from the disastrous place in which we have found ourselves. 

It had been almost a month since the Facebook conflict happened that resulted in my Mom and I not speaking before we finally talked things out. I had unblocked my mom’s phone and reached out to her. After a few days, I got the response. She wanted to talk. Thanksgiving was coming up and I knew Mom was hurting. Like every Mom, you have dreams of your adult children and their families coming together during the holidays to celebrate. My older sister and I have struggled with mental health and my parents’ denial has complicated everything. It has been four years since Mom and Dad were cut off from my sister and her children. After a year of trying to make things work with them, this conflict had been the tipping point for me. I needed to do as my therapist suggested and build an emotional wall with them. I had seen how much pain it had caused my parent’s to be cut off from their grandchildren. I was determined to foster the bond between my children and their grandparents, but I would be emotionally distant and aloof in order to protect myself. That was the best outcome.

Sometimes family members are never going to be who you want or need them to be. That’s a hard reality to face. Sometimes we keep going back to the same relationships expecting something that will never happen. That dependence can hold you back. Sometimes the best thing you can do is accept the reality that the other person is who they are and that you have to love them that way while keeping yourself safe and protected. I was ready to do that with my parents, but I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they were willing and able to try for something more.

Family systems can be so hard to change. One person starts growing and then everyone else pulls them back into old patterns. It takes the force of a rocket to overcome the gravity of a family system. Still, if I have changed, couldn’t they change too? What would happen if I gave it a chance?

I suggested family therapy to my mom. She agreed to it. Both my mom and my dad conferenced in with my therapist two weeks ago. We’ve only had one session, but the fact that they were willing to do a session was such a big step. I’m hoping that with the counselor’s help, we can meet each other’s needs better and understand more about the realities of our family’s mental health challenges. Once our relationship is on solid ground, I want to reach out to my sister and try earn her trust again.

For the first time in a long time, I can picture a Thanksgiving dinner with all of us together. Maybe not next year. Maybe not the next year. But someday. If we are willing to put in the work, the Lord will make it happen.

I was so encouraged and optimistic about the situation with my parents, I was discouraged that things weren’t getting better with church. It had been a whole month since I had attended sacrament meeting. The Sunday before Thanksgiving I couldn’t even go into the building. I wasn’t able to teach my primary class. I was devastated.

I journalled and I processed and I analysed my dreams and I figured out what was holding me back. I wasn’t standing up for myself. There have been some really horrible things that members of the church have said and done to me over the last six months. That’s not about me. That’s not my depression. That’s not my lack of faith. That’s not my fault. It’s not about me being sick or broken, it’s about other people being ignorant and unfair. I wanted to make sure that my leaders understood that the things that had been said and done to me were wrong. Wrong. If I came back to church it wouldn’t be me coming back for another helping of hurt; it would be me coming back to fight another day. I was going to show people that I’m not gone. They haven’t driven me out or shut me up.

So I texted my bishop and he came over. I stuck up for myself. I tried to explain guilt and shame and the changes I am trying to make to be kind to myself and how church has been unhelpful and reinforcing harmful messages. In the end, I don’t know how much of it he understood, but the fact that I said what I needed to say and he listened respectfully was a huge win.

I went back to church yesterday. It was fast and testimony meeting and I was the first one to the stand. I can’t remember what I said, but I talked how I hadn’t been to church for a while. I said I was grateful that Bishop listened to me without judgement and that it made all the difference for me. I talked about feeling like there was a place for me in sacrament meeting sitting next to my family and that there is a place on the covenant path for all of God’s children no matter what they have done or not done. I felt the truth of those words.

As for those who judge me, go right ahead. Just don’t expect me to agree with you because that isn’t going to happen anymore. A woman I admire greatly has been open about her mental health struggles. She has been a tremendous force for good as she has raised awareness and supported so many. She posted her own experience today about having her motives questioned and her character attacked by multiple people.  Some feel threatened by what they don’t understand. They see people who are standing up against mental health stigma and refusing to be dutifully ashamed of things that aren’t their fault.  They see the strength and power of authentic relationships that form when we choose vulnerability and authenticity. They see that and they don’t understand it. It’s scary and unexpected.  Some people react by lashing out against it. It isn’t personal, it’s just the expression of their inability to cope with the feelings they are experiencing in reaction to their own fears. Still, this kind of thing can be so painful when you already have tendencies toward being self-critical. Her pain galvanizes me. I will raise my voice with hers. We will not be silent.

There is hope. People can change. Wards can change. Families can change. We can exercise our courage and faith to help make those changes happen. We are on the verge of major breakthroughs on mental health in our society. There has never been more awareness. There has never been more interest. The truth is out there and it will change the whole world. Sometimes the Lord is just waiting for someone to speak the truth for it to spread like wildfire. We provide the spark and he will do the rest. He is enough for me and for you.

I watched a friend’s two year old boy today, so I had two little boys.  To wear out their energy, I loaded them up in the van and we went to the park.  It was overcast and a little wet, but warm and we stayed for quite a while. There was a group of ladies at the swings chatting.  They had likely come together and I found myself people watching from the corner of my eye between pushes on the swings. The social world of women is strange to me.  I’m mostly a loner by nature not because I don’t like people, but because casual conversation bores me to death. My mind wanders and then I inevitably do something rude.  

Women are so funny about rudeness.  I know I am often rude. The rules of nicety in suburban mom culture are so complex and tedious that even if I did set my mind to learning them, I would not be able to keep them.  If, by some chance, I was able to accomplish such a feat–my children would destroy it by being rude for me. So I just look from the outside, trying to seem sophisticated and aloof, while craving authentic interaction.

The little guy I was watching today is just like my boys.  He doesn’t have much patience for the little kid’s play area.  He quickly headed for the big kid’s playground and made his way fearlessly to the top.  I wandered over to make sure I had my eye on him. He tends to wander. There was another small boy over there, daring to play on the big playground.  His mother was alone. I thought, “I could talk to her. Maybe she feels lonely too.” She had a dog, so I started with that. Petting the dog and asking her questions about breeds and stuff.  

She was very nice, but seemed self conscious and apologetic as our interactions continued.  Was it because of her accent? Was it because of her Mexican style purse? Was it because she felt she didn’t really fit in?  Her son was too active and adventurous, her skin too dark, her dog too excitable perhaps. Her dog started barking at one point and she made much effort to quiet her.  I wish I could have told her that I didn’t care. She was a beautiful dog and all dogs bark sometimes. When I told her her purse was lovely, I wish she could have heard my sincerity.  Perhaps she did. I wish I could have told her that she was okay with me; that I didn’t care if she breast or bottle fed her son, whether she vaccinated him, or if she planned to send him to school or homeschool, that thank you cards are overrated, and that whomever she voted for didn’t matter to me.  I wish she knew that her citizenship status meant nothing to me and that I was glad she was there with her son. I wished that somehow this stranger could know that there are kind people in the world who aren’t looking to judge her. I want to be one of those people.

Instead we went our separate ways.  I looked at the beads in the rotating cylinder as they passed through the holes and sorted themselves.  It seemed to be a metaphor for my feelings at that moment. The beads roll and fall and sort and then everything gets turned around and we do it again.  There seems to be no point or purpose to the movement. Some beads get lucky and fall through the holes. Or maybe the lucky ones are the ones that don’t fall.  

There is no sense to this world.  We humans try to make sense of it, and we fail because it is inherently unfair, unethical, and totally random.  This sounds cynical, but it’s not because I know that this world isn’t where I belong. That’s not cynicism, it’s reality.  I don’t belong with important people looking important and successful. I’m not designed to look like I fit in. Today I found a place for me, with one other woman who was alone with a dog and a little busy boy.  Today I helped a friend watch her son. I shared some hard burdens with someone who really needed it. I made a place, however small, where I could belong and things did make sense for a little while. Was I rude? Probably. I was also kind in the right ways and to the right people and it mattered.

The Lord has said that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and that by small and simple means the Lord doth confound the wise.  The good works that I do matter. The small and simple acts of love and connection make a difference. I can’t heal all the wounds in the world and fix all the problems that face me and the people I love.  I can only live right now in this moment, and do what I can to make the space around me more compassionate. If I have done that, it will be enough.