Far above rubies

Yes, I'm still alive. I haven't had the desire to post anything for almost a year. Until today. And I want to talk about gender today.

In my Pen and the Sword class last semester at BYU, we were talking about gender distinctions (which was nothing unusual in that delightful course) and social perspectives on gender. As a part of his commet, one diplomatic young man said, "There are things women do that men can't do, and there are things men can do that women--" He stopped abruptly and plowed onward to his next thought. But I was rattled. I had mentally nodded in agreement with the first part of his comment, the admission of women's power to do things men were unable to do. But I felt my hackles rise in anticipation of what he'd almost said next. But why? Why could he not say that men can do things that women cannot? What kind of social boundary in our culture forbids that? Is Mormon feminism still so new that the fervor of newfound social power hasn't died down enough for women to settle in their rightful place beside their male counterparts rather than projecting themselves as far above?

This comment was made months ago and I still think about it. So today, I want to write on manhood. As Mormon women--maybe I'm the only one with this opinion, but I've a hunch I'm not--I think we often overlook the divinity of man in order to emphasize that of women. And that makes sense in a way; historically, women have been socially and culturally downplayed and ushered into the background. It is the exception rather than the norm for a woman to be named and discussed in holy writ. "Influential women in history" returns many google search results with the same phrase; "influential men in history" returns results like "Top 100 Most Influential Historical Figures" and "The World's Most Influential Persons," as if it is extra-notable when a woman is particularly influential as opposed to when a man is. But we can go too far in our emphasis; we need to make sure not to overshoot in our attempts to re-balance the scales.

I digress. The divinity of men. I want to copy what a friend of mine posted to Facebook recently. Here is part of what she wrote: 

"A co-worker of mine yesterday mentioned how in Young Men's all he ever learned was how amazing women are and how he could never measure up. I just want all the guys out there to know that you DO measure up. We girls aren't dumb enough to like someone because they are less than us; we like guys because they are our EQUALS, if not our superiors."

It's so true. I admire so much the young men I know who are quietly obedient to those with authority over them, yet know how to stand up and lead when it falls to them. I have known the peace of being surrounded by worthy priesthood holders who know who they are and where they are going.


I have written before about the importance of confidence before. Here I want to reiterate that belief. Faith and fear cannot coexist. Confidence is one manifestation of faith. I am inspired by the confident, humble men in my life. And it's interesting that the two traits seem to go together. When someone comes to an understanding of who they are in the scheme of God's Plan of Salvation, the confidence that follows faith rises and solidifies his character. But with that comprehension inevitably comes humility when it is understood how great and beyond us the Plan really is. There are many beautiful, inspiring things about a righteous man, but this confidence combined with humility is the most admirable, attractive aspect I've found yet.


This last semester, I had the pleasure of meeting tons of young men in my classes and at work and in my student ward. It meant a lot to me when my roommates and I would get a visit from a troubled young lady needing comfort to be able to call up a couple of these young men to give her a blessing. It means a lot to me to be able to go to the temple and see several friends from school, all choosing to sacrifice time for the Lord instead of partying or gaming or even working on one of the last days before they return to school. And I am so, so proud when I see my brothers performing the Sacrament ordinance at church every week. It means so much to me to know that I have worthy brothers.

May I take some scriptoral liberties? Proverbs 31 is often quoted in reference to praising the worth of women. I'd like to submit that men ought to be praised in the same way. 

"Who can find a virtuous [man]? for [his] price is far above rubies."

I am thankful for the examples of strong, confident, humble righteousness I have in my male friends and acquaintances.

Comings and goings and things in between

I'm feeling a little nostalgic. Today, I got one of my best friends back. Let me tell you, the reunion was a happy one, involving homemade bread, a demonic cat, and mud. Seeing a face you love after a long time of being without it is very renewing. Being without this precious girl for so long taught me a lot about myself and growing up. But, all things I've learned aside, I'm dang glad she's home. And I plan on keeping her on this continent for a long time.

At the same time, I said goodbye to another friend today, one I've known for a long time but have only truly gotten to know in the past year. Missions are inspired, Reader. I believe with all my heart in the work those young men and women do. I plan to be one of them someday. But realizing that you aren't going to see someone you love for a couple years...well, it's jarring. (Sheesh, this is dangerous. I'm talking to you like I talk with my journal.) 

But I want to tell you something. A mission has more purpose than racking up the baptisms. A mission is about furthering the work of our Heavenly Father. If a mission is used spending your time serving and loving people or even helping companions to grow and understand who they are, it is just as successful as a dozen baptisms. The gospel is about love, not numbers.

 D&C 18:15 And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!

You know something about that scripture? That one soul could be yourself.

Friends are wonderful. Love is central. God is good. Life is special. Stopping to think (and subsequently knock out a blog post) can be invaluable. Thanks for listening, Reader.

Photo by Cliff Gull

Was anyone expecting this?

Yes, yes, I know it's Easter, and everyone ought to be expecting an announcement about a new toothbrush, as it is family tradition to receive brand spanking new toothbrushes from the Spring Bunny. I'm sorry to disappoint you folks, but our Pagan Fertility Festival celebrations yesterday were unconventional. We had a Hunger Games egg hunt that can hardly be expected to follow our normal traditions.

But don't mope in disappointment yet. I may not have gotten a new toothbrush, but I started on a new toothpaste tube. It's not ADA approved, which isn't usually my thing. It tastes suspiciously like cheap peppermint and plaster. Yet some misunderstood, understated part of me sort of likes it. I may keep it around and I may let my prejudices and desire for assured personal health get the better of me. But I think I'll give it a chance, at least for a little while.

A Conundrum of Self

Somehow, it feels like it's time to make choices now. Time to grow up. Time to settle on a future and dedicate yourself to it.

It's really hard when you absolutely love each of your options.

So...what now?

Peanut Breath

Have you ever noticed the dusty wisp that rises out of a peanut shell when it first cracks open?

Do you ever catch your face contorting like a mirror when you see someone expressing emotion on a movie?

Did you ever thank the person who taught you to read?

Have you ever wondered how your heart knows to quicken when that special someone smiles at you?

Did you try to lick your elbow that first time you heard that statistic about how many people can do it?

Have you ever felt alone in a crowd?

Have you ever felt like you’re not alone when you’re the only person around?

Have you ever picked a flower clean of its petals while muttering, “He loves me, he loves me not,” even when you knew the answer?

Do you ever wish you understood more?

Do you ever wish you didn’t know all that you do?

Have you ever wondered whether the colors other people see are the same as the ones you perceive?

Have you ever paused long enough to close your eyes and listen to your own heartbeat?

"Are you Esh's sister?!"

I'm finding myself unable to focus on anything remotely responsible and productive, so why not write a blog post to purge myself of this unproductive humor? Don't answer that. Reasons would be, "You aren't finished with your Sterling Schols portfolio!" and "You have a quiz on the non-cyclic electron flow of light reactions tomorrow and you don't even know what that means!" and "You're in a play that opens in two weeks and you're not quite memorized!" etc, etc, etc. But that's why we're not going to answer that question.

So there's just one thing. Little brothers. That's right. Yesterday, I was informed, "Miriam, no matter how hard you try, you will never be as cool as your brother." I knew it in my heart of hearts before, but now it's crawled its way to the surface. None of my siblings knew--or cared to know--a lick of Spanish when I took Spanish classes, but my entire family wants to learn German when he studies German. People will come up to me in the halls and ask if Esh is my brother and I'll say he is, at which they'll wander away with a hazed grin and a distant gleam in their eyes. So it's true, world. I'm no longer fighting it. I will never be as cool as Esh.

Heh. He'll probably kill me for posting that link. :)

Sometimes I Impress Myself

I was doing homework and snacking on carrots (Oddette's influence on me). As I was typing, I glanced down at the vegetable in my hand.

I used to like sculpting carrots with my teeth while I watched movies, but I've never done it without realizing before.

The Schnob Comes Out at Night

My family's chock full of poets. Or it once was, at least. Here are some amusing examples (forgive me, siblings).

1. I'll start with my own poetry. Yes, I'd written little picture and comic books in abundance, but I believe this was my first poetic endeavor. I think I was eleven or twelve.

THINK

Have you ever, ever, ever

Thought about thought?

Certainly complicated...

And, then again, not.

For when you think, it's actually a thought

Of thinking of thought

But thinking you're not

Your mind's all a-gaggle,

Your logic's a twist

Thought in your mind

As confusing as this.

Thoughts of thought overlap

Over thoughts of think

And think is placed higher

So thoughts of thought sink.

So if you ever

Sit down for a thought

Remember your think

Is sometimes what it's not.

2. My older brother wrote poems more than I did as a kid (which isn't saying much), but would likely be very unhappy if I post any. However, he also made up songs that we, his eager younger siblings, gobbled up and adopted as unofficial family anthems. This one is one that he used to keep our youngest brother from getting out of bed at night.

THE SCHNOB

The schnob comes out at night,

The schnob comes out at night!

The schob is just a butterfly

Or a lava lamp.

But in the dark of night,

When you are fast asleep,

The schnob will creep into your room and turn into a ROCK!

You'd think it'd keep him up, but as long as he was afraid to leave his bed, he'd eventually drop off to sleep. Much dispute has been had over whether the final threat was a 'rock,' as in a stone, or a 'roc,' the mythical bird known to eat elephants. But since both terrified our impressionable brother back then, I suppose clarification never mattered.

3. My slightly older younger brother (concealing actual identities doesn't make for a very smooth read) wrote a book of poetry as well, which he even submitted to a News Gazzette contest and read for a school talent show as a lad. His initial poem in the book was the following.

I'M A POET AND I DIDN'T KNOW IT

I'm a poet and I didn't know it.

To prove this beautiful work,

I must show it.

FYI--I will not blow it.

And this one continues to write like the bones, though his literary prowess has been concentrated specifically on songwriting.

4. Although my sister has not produced written poetry in my memory, I know she has a logophile in her. Yesterday, while Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall: Part 2 (We Don't Need No Education)" blared in the kitchen, my sister said, "They say, 'leave them kids alone,' not 'those,' so actually, they do need education." A girl after my own heart.

Change

It's just a matter of time. The only thing you can control is how you deal with it.

Some Sentimental Glop

There's this wonderful boy.

I've known him all my life.

 

He's been a lot of things to me: competition, a playmate, a thorn in my side, an extractor of other thorns in my side, a leader, understanding, distressing, an example, a confidant, someone to tease, a teaser, a hero and a brother.

  

But mostly, he's been a friend.

He's been gone for a month now. I'm realizing that maybe it wasn't just him who didn't do his part to keep our bathroom clean.

I'm also realizing how grateful I am for his example. Even when I felt like I could stand on my own, I always had him to thank for treading the path that I followed. 

Point is, I miss this guy. 

 But I'm so proud of him, and I want the world--or whoever reads this blog--to know that.

After all, it IS the most wonderful time of the year.

Completed college applications. Submitted Sterling Scholar applications. Major tests of the week behind me. Now I can focus on the new season. I love you, Christmas.

Thank you, Elbow

I'm pretty sure that, when I created this blog, I committed to never, ever posting just a song. I'm breaking that vow. The good thing about breaking it now is that it's not because I'm hopelessly depressed or awkwardly in love and need to expell my feelings into the world through somebody else's creation. The good thing about breaking it now is that I'm in a dang good mood and I want you to be, too. Go listen to it.

One Day Like This: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQIdXKz4sE8

Drinking in the morning sun
Blinking in the morning sun
Shaking off a heavy one
Yeah, heavy like a loaded gun

What made me behave that way?
Using words I never say
I can only think it must be love
Oh anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

Someone tell me how I feel
It's silly wrong, but vivid right
Oh, kiss me like a final meal
Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight

'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Oh, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

When my face is chamois creased
If you think I wink, I did
Laugh politely at repeats
Yeah, kiss me when my lips are thin

'Cause holy cow, I love your eyes
And only now I see the light
Yeah, lying with you half awake
Stumbling over what to say
Well, anyway, it's looking like a beautiful day

So throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right
Throw those curtains wide
One day like this a year would see me right (repeat)

You are very, very welcome.

Decline

The golden evening sunshine glorifies the Autumn;
Vibrant, proud and regal.
It shakes its mane back and sits with its chest high,
Quite aware it is admired.
But the haughty basking stage is short-lived.
Chill sweeps down the mountainside,
Repressing Autumn's power, wringing it dry and draining it of color,
Humbling it to the brittle, washed-out state the rest of the world has succumbed to.
And we, powerless subjects to this new host,
Drop our eyes and respectfully murmur that this is just
As we retreat into the stale, manufactured comfort of heated houses
With bitter thoughts towards that snuffer of life,
There to hibernate in monotony 
Until color graces
the world
once
more.

An update

Dear world,

I just wanted anyone out there who has been faithfully following my blog (at least for the last four or five months) that I have an update on my dental habits. Remember that toothbrush I so heartwrenchingly replaced back in June? I confess that I cheated. I kept it. I didn't use it once, but I kept it in the little penguin toothbrush cup by my bathroom sink just in case. It was a comfort issue, you know? But I've decided that it's time to let go once and for all. I threw it away, world. I threw that little pink Colgate 360 away. You may hold your applause.

And just to make this post worth reading so you don't go away mumbling about how boring my life must be if all I have to write about is my dental hygiene (I couldn't blame you, I've written about it for 1/10 of my posts thus far), take a look at this picture. I've been glancing at this toothpaste label (the red part) for weeks, trying to assign it some metaphorical or philosophical significance, but I'm coming up dry. What does it mean to you? Or what could it mean to me? Creative responses are welcome and encouraged.

Your friend,
Me.

"A broken-winged bird that cannot fly."

An idea is dropped into existence and lands in my lap. I am distracted and busy, but I can't just watch it die without ever having a chance.

So I feed it. I learn its needs and wants and quirks and cares. I cradle it when it is afraid and I eventually trust it to comfort me when I am in need. What was once a chore morphs into an anticipated pastime. Then it grows into a pleasure and, finally, a necessity. I begin to realize that it has become more of a part of me than just important to me.

Then, all at once, when the world couldn't be rosier and any clouds are obscured by the light of their own silver linings, it takes flight.

It is wrong of me to watch it go with remorse. I raised it up for a purpose. How could it ever have served its purpose while bound to me? An idea cannot be concealed or it ceases to be an idea. It becomes a stagnant thought.

So I watch the traces of its flight through the sky from my place on the gray ground, often wondering whether it ever glances in my direction. Sometimes I hope it does. Sometimes I pray it doesn't. For there is nothing left for it back here. I gave it all I could give. It needs to find others to nourish it if it ever hopes to grow.

The only regret I have left is having to watch it take half of me with it.

Photo credit: Ellie Peek

You be the oxy, I'll be the moron.

Open your eyes.

Your head is heavy. Your mind is swimming in discombobulation. And you don't even know if that's a word.

You don't know if you just woke up from a deadening slumber or if you just started dreaming, but suddenly that's irrelevant. Know why? Because a chainsaw just dropped from the sky into your heavy hands.

You become aware of your surroundings. Either that or they materialize when you look up.

You are standing in a vast field of pyracantha bushes. They are ugly and twisted and vicious and yours is the only clearing you are aware of. The sky is dimming quickly. It's as if a dry storm is rolling over you.

So what do you do? Do you stay in the clearing where you know you are protected from being poked? Do you rev up your chainsaw and start hacking away at the nearest bush? Do you curl up and cry and wish you knew whether discombobulation actually was a word?

I don't know what you'd do. I don't know how many of you followers even live up to your name, so how could I know what you'd do if I can't be sure who you are? So I'll tell you what I'd do. What I do do, I should say.

Saturated in overconfidence, I heft that chainsaw, fiddle until I figure out how to start it, and swing it towards my hostile enemy. After aimlessly attacking the obstacle for a while, I realize that I'm not really getting anywhere. All I've gained is a million miniscule scratches and a sore arm. The incoming storm blocks out the light more and more.

Do I pinch myself awake (or asleep)? Do I set my jaw and keep working at the bushes and discover a pot of gold a few feet on? Do I remember that I came to my senses sitting on a dictionary and hurry to look up the word "discombobulation," thus settling my troubled mind because it is, in fact, a word?

Don't be silly. Of course not. I realize that I have several grenades conveniently tucked cozily inside my coat. So I take them out and start chucking them into the distant bushes.

Progress is a lot quicker now and somehow immensely more satisfying. I traipse the coarse wasteland with a spring in my step and a plethora of pins dangling from my fingers.

Oh, grand grenade. You always show up exactly when I need you to, offer me a broader perspective and never fail in making my life a little more colorful.

I can't honestly say I feel quite sane right now.

Twenty-seven of the last thirty-four hours spent at school.

Twenty. Seven.

On the upside, here's a thing.

And if you have never seen a woodchuck chuck wood, well, I guess we're in the same boat.

And now I'm writing a blog post...ironic.

How on earth do I go from studying modern conservatives in my government book to reading my art teacher's online opinion on food fermentation to studying Shakespeare's use of oxymorons in his sonnets in four minutes? I get distracted way, WAY too easily.

Simplify, simplify.

I'm working on my chronic attachment to useless things, as you can see ("mathom," in Hobbit lingo). Whilst being spiritually cleansed by Conference, I physically purged my bedroom. That was the plan, at least. It turned out that I didn't make it past my dresser. But this is a major improvement. This pile includes clothes I've had since I was in elementary school. I haven't worn most of these clothes for years, yet every time I went through my drawers (not to bear false witness; that didn't happen too often), I managed to fabricate some reason not to throw away the smallest, silliest, rattiest clothes.

But I'm ready to unclutter my life. My bedroom has always been the first thing my focus turns to when I'm ready for a change; I've rearranged, painted and redecorated to indicate new determination or style in my life. So far, senior year is a bit of a bane. Not in a bad way. But it's just a lot more than I bargained for. So I'm simplifying. As good old Thoreau once said, “As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness."

I'm hoping this commitment will give me more sleep and increased concentration with homework and more time for my family and friends. Wish me luck.

To whoever dropped that anonymous note in my backpack the other day and to whoever left those cookies tonight: thank you. Really. :)