Faith and Culture

I recently wrote a post of Tumblr that drew quite a crowd. Both people who were like-minded, and those who were spiteful. So I figured that it wasn't fair that it wasn't posted here. Also, I've been absent for a while and needed to fill the gap. Oops.

When I began attending University and minoring in Cultural Anthropology, I had a very sudden realization about my religion. This realization has persisted all the way into my marriage. The realization being: there is a difference between Mormon culture and LDS doctrine. 
As a teenager in high school I grew up more focused on the cultural aspect of Mormonism. There were activities with friends, a few hours in church and free food. Going through high school, I will admit, I was probably rather shallow in regards to my religion. I did, however, thankfully, have a father who was a World Religions teacher. Unafraid to ask large and intellectual questions, he was a good source to come to latter in life. 
As I hit college, the cultural aspect began to feel rather hollow. I began to 'pull my head out of the sand' so to speak, and ask many questions. What was stopping me from going out and drinking with friends? Why did I do certain things? Why did I pray a certain way? As I began to turn back to doctrine and re-educate myself I found that the influence of culture within a religion can certainly have negative drawbacks. Not to say it does not also have positive influences, but sometimes lines are blurred.
This issue persisted with me, but eventually became an item on the back burner. I thought of it as a personal thing to deal with slowly over time.
Then one day I wandered downstairs trying to find the workshop at the museum and met my future husband. 
For those who don't know, my husband is not LDS. As a matter of fact, when I met him he was a skeptic agnostic who thought Mormons were something to laugh about. Granted he is still a skeptic on many things in life, I jokingly attribute that to him being a History Major, but I love him for it. 
Later into our dating he expressed interest in coming to church with me, and so he began to attend regularly. His experience to culture shock though was something that proved to be an immediate stumbling block. It probably did not help that we began attending YSA (Young Single Adults), where the fresh Return Missionaries where looking for wives and the young girls were searching for a hot date. There is a reason we call it the "meat/meet" market. 
My husband at that time (and still does) began to point out to me many things that I realized where not part of my faith, but rather the culture. Lessons would be about education, how the gospel applies to our age, and other such doctrinal topics. Other topics though would include "Boys you need to start asking the girls on a date!" or "don't forget to bring a cute date for the dance!" or "we're doing a service activity, come for the food after!"
These little quips often ruffled my husband. He would look to me and ask "Why?" He would also ask:
"Why do you take sacrament with your right hand?"
"Why do you pray like that?"
"What's with the emphasis on 'hot dates'?"
"Why are RM's so important?"
"Why do you all talk about/go to Salt Lake, like it's a pilgrimage?"
"Why does it feel like everyone is trying to just dunk me in one of your baptismal fonts?" 
"What's with basketball and Mormons?"
These are but a few things that my husband was always asking. He still always asks actually, which is good. All of these things have nothing to do with some profound doctrine, they are all tradition. Something that seems to be easily confused. For example, nowhere in the King Fallot discourse was it stated that I get my own world. Most Mormons though seem to think that they will get to command their own cosmos. Instead all it stated was theosis, that we believe our Heavenly Father wants us to become as him. Certainly it is perhaps implied, but it's not doctrine. A few times though someone has mentioned it, and it has left my husband scratching his head. 
I never truly thought culture was a counter productive thing though until our wedding was announced in my small town. Then and there did I realize there was a difference between members who portrayed the culture and members who portrayed the faith. 
It was a rather staunch and bitter realization. As people, even certain friends, were shocked, judgmental and appalled that the religious teachers daughter was marrying *gasp* a non-Mormon. Which that phrase itself bristles me. 
Thus I saw the difference between those who, in lay man terms: talked the talk and walked the walk. 
I actually lost a friend over it who was appalled I would marry a guy who wasn't an RM or even a Mormon. To which I replied "Where does it say that I have to do that?" All she could say is, "We are told to, we're supposed to!" 
First point for counter productive culture. Teaching of a personal belief that eventually came to be believed as doctrine, when it is not. 
Though it was a relief that the people who mattered, loved my husband no matter. My family and good friends do adore him and wish him the best. That is where faith came in, loving one another and judging not. 
At one point my husband said to me (in regards to the friend who said I shouldn't marry him): If I had met her first, I would have never stepped foot in one of your churches. 
Luckily, my family and I made a good impression. However, those who follow the culture rather than the faith have an increasingly worrisome outward appearance that could result in quick judgement. 
That is what is increasingly worrying me. The people who portray our culture rather than our faith. Believe it or not, they don't go hand in hand. They need that crowbar separation. The people who portray our culture are the ones who get us quick judgments that we are all crazy, basketball playing, young marrying, child popping out Mormons. It's portrayal of our culture that gets things like Book of Mormon Musical on Broadway.
But it is those who portray the intellectual side of our faith that can remedy that. My husband and father talk often, with the many questions my husband has. Some I can't answer, though I am working on that, so he goes to his father-in-law. Who is happy to answer his skeptic questions. I personally think that this is something we need more of. Questions. We need to question what we are doing and why we do it. It can help us grow stronger in faith, and separate what is superfluous from what is important. 

Growing Up is Such a Dangerous Notion

My father once told me that I should never throw away anything I write, because perhaps one day it will come in use. He always said that using my creative mind and the products of it was never a waste. As much as a wise man my father is, sometimes it is really difficult not to just scrap everything in a flurry and proclaim loudly to the heavens "Fine! We're starting over! Again!"

Today, is such a day.

What is it about writing one day you truly love what you have done with your imagination and a few words, and the next day you think you were scrapping at the bottom of the proverbial brain barrel? Because seriously. I feel like that every now and then.

Did you know I have this magnificent world (well, magnificent to me) in my head. For the last, oh.. let me think, *Mumbles and counts fingers* 7 years this world has morphed, changed, apocalypsed, and come back together anew. Yet with the passing years I have visited it less and less. I have picked up a pencil and sketched out new thoughts with a dying frequency. I rarely seem to have time to quietly stroll through the Autumn lanes of my mind. Why? Because lately it feels like I have done an awful and dreadful thing which my father always warned me not to do.

I have started growing up.

And I do not mean in the way of, I grew up and learned to pay bills and work and take school seriously. No I rather think that is a part of becoming mature. No, no. Somewhere along the way, rather sneakily, growing up caught me. Or perhaps I apathetically succumbed to it. The jury is still out on that.

There were always points in your life where you had to mature. You had to learn to pay bills, and that not paying them meant no phone service. At some point you got a job and began working hard for money. You learn to take school seriously, because hey this thing costs a lot and education is important. I left childish things behind, matured, went to school, got married, and am trying to make a life for two. But nowhere in the Terms and Agreements for Maturing is there a clause saying you must Grow Up.

Although, perhaps 'grow up' is a poor term. I prefer, 'sold out'.

At some point we all stop being childish. If you don't, you have a problem. That doesn't mean we don't stop being child-like. Alive with that curiosity for the world. That ability to perceive and look at things in a light that no one else can. The wonder filled awe and things people would find simple. And the playful nature of living a day. I grew up as that child, the one who brought home a new stray everyday. My mother always said I kept her on her toes. I always had a new place or friend or story to tell her everyday. Even through high school, I liked to sit in the library and dream among books. The dreams of other dreamers.

And yet, today I wake up and I find that I have sold out, and grown up. I get up every morning and pull myself to a job I hate, but I do it. Why? Because of money. I go home tired and angry and occasionally get in a fight with my husband over things that aren't his fault. My garden in my front yard is becoming full of weeds. The house still is not unpacked. The bills still need to be paid. I still need to pick up this for my work. I have to hurry to catch the bus. Something is broken on the car, need to take it to the shop. We need to buy groceries. What to make for dinner? More like what is easiest to make.

My life has become something that I never even perceived of as a child: Mundane. Like the masses of people, my life is a day-to-day event. Just getting through one to get to the next. The thing that honestly bothers me most though is that I work for money. Which, I realize, sounds silly. Everyone works for money. But that is the only reason I am there. I truly despise that fact. There is no drive, there is no push to do better, there is no change, there is no challenge. There isn't even a chance to excel. Everyone higher than me makes it clear I am here to serve and this is where I belong.

In the chaos of living a life of the masses my daydreams slowly fade and become something put in a box marked "Things of Childhood".

But I don't belong here. Do I? Isn't there always a talk of working for something better? I knew it would be hard to get to the place I want to be, but I am not willing to sacrifice what I love about myself and life in order to get there. Otherwise once I get there, what will I have left? No story to tell. And that, is truly a crime.

Life should never be mundane, you shouldn't have to grow up and sell out. Life is meant to be an adventure, and at the end perhaps you shall have a grandiose story or two to share.

There is much I will sacrifice to get my husband and I through to a better time, but I will not give up who I am. 

Dear World

How do I explain to you the gravity of that which I am about to tell you? How do I explain in a way that you will understand? Odds are I can't. You'll never understand the depth of sorrow you should be feeling. Or that twinge of silent relief because there is no pain.
But I shall certainly try.
Because you need to know.

When I first came to the Military Museums over a year ago, there were many new things to be introduced to. But the one memory that shall forever stand out in my mind on my first day, was a smiling woman who told me to take a candy from her jar and warmly welcomed me "to the family". That is how I first remember Lynne. I soon become one of the "adopted Museum grandchildren", and Lynne became my "Museum Grandma".

To be honest I've rewritten this post a few times. Trying to think of how to tell you about Lynne. It's rather hard to put into words. I supposed the best way I can think to put it is that Lynne would do anything for the people she loved.

The last thing I will always remember of Lynne was my wedding day. I thought she wasn't going to make it. She had chemo treatments and was slowly getting more and more tired. As I walked down the aisle and out the doors with my husband I remember everything was a blur, until I noticed Lynne was there. She had promised she would come, and hell or high water wouldn't stop her. All I could do was say "Lynne!" and my smile widened. As people filtered out Owen and I gave her a hug and told her how happy we were she was here. I remember she told Owen she loved him and was proud of him, and told me how beautiful I was.

I will always remember Lynne as the first person to greet you when you came in, the woman with the jar of sweets, the one who would bring that piece of vanilla cake for those who don't eat chocolate, Lynne with a different pair of earrings everyday, the one who kept the museum running and kept our sanity, the woman who always gave a smile and wanted to know how your day was, Lynne who loved Elvis and had her desk covered in pictures of her family and the rest of her "family".

As I write this it's another beautiful day. Lilac flowers fall from the breeze and the sun is warm. I like to think Lynne pulled a few strings on the other side; to make sure we got nice weather through these sad days. The "Museum Grandma" wouldn't want us all sad though. So when I go home today, I will hug my husband, tell him I love him, and next Friday I shall go to the Museum. And I shall be with everyone as we laugh and cry and remember our Lovely Lynne. The woman with a big enough heart to love us all.

xoxo

p.s. I'm sure she's already met Elvis.

The Storm and the Umbrella

For some reason, every time I lay out a plan to write a poem.
I go to write out said idea and my brain goes...
Hmm... NAW! We're not doing that!
Let's do this instead!
So I relent to a sigh and go with it.

Lately I have been trying my best to put into words
how I was feeling over a disheartening ordeal.
I suppose I finally found out how.

The Storm and the Umbrella
I found myself,
Caught up in the storm
Of your turbulent words
And offending scorn.

These storms seem to pass through
With increasing frequency.
Your brash emotions
And pretty using of me.

But this time
You broke that thin wire.
The last thing holding us together
And you broke it with fire.

This was the last hurricane
Of you I will endure;
For while you rain accusations
I brought my sanities cure.

You really hated that Umbrella.
It wasn't normal you'd say.
But I love my Umbrella,
I love it more each day.

It keeps my sanity,
Sheltered from the prevailing winds
Of your hurtful and illogical cries.
It keeps me sheltered to the end.

You may hate my Umbrella
And treat it with scorn.
But I care not,
For it has taken me out of your storm.

And I walk with it
Down a country lane.
Twirling it.
Never to come back again.

A Brief Aside

In case no one has ever noticed before, my blog here sometimes tend to be my psychiatrist. I've discovered splaying wordy rants across a page and launching them into the blogosphere to float amidst the other blog junk is, oddly, helpful. I'm sure you've read my ranting posts about numerous topics, none of which make too much sense nor have too much cohesion.
And today once again I find myself flopping down on my proverbial psychiatrists proverbial leather sofa. This time with a lot of things racing around my mind. So I hope you readers on the other side of the screen don't mind, but I'm going to divulge a bit.
Shall we?
I've discovered over the past while that being married really does turn your world upside down.
And then inside out, possibly puts your through the rinse and ringer cycle, spins you three times, puts a blind fold on you and then gives you a stick to try to hit your next target. Whether thats managing to get a full night sleep, get up for work, make dinner or figure out what it is that married people do with their spare time.
The last one is really putting a work over on my husband who is so used to, honestly, being alone. He's a bit of a "to himself" person, well, except when I'm around. He doesn't mind spending time with me. But for us to be constantly together, we tend to run out of things to do. Which ends in us resorting to him playing a game/reading a book and me mulling about cleaning and finding random things to daydream about.
My problem though is this:
I feel like I am currently hanging upside down by my ankles, slowly rotating probably, musing to myself:
"What am I going to do with my life?"
I hate my job, I'm just going to say that now. There's no denying it anymore. I feel little self worth or appreciation for what I do. Being a receptionist is not my cup of tea. To me it simply does not feel fulfilling and it feels like I am not completing anything worthwhile. I suppose it is hard to explain, and there are many factors in my office specifically that contribute to it. Either way, I do not love this thing I sit about and do for 8 hours everyday.
Which has my brain in turmoil lately, what do I do with myself?
I am still going to school. However, lately even my degree (Anthropology) has been on the chopping block in my mind. I think, what am I going to do with that? How am I going to take care of my family? I, personally, want to be a stay at home mom. As much as I want to travel the world discovering things, such as, Ivan the Terrible's Lost Library; I want to be a stay-at-home mom a little more.
So then I think, well I do love writing. Why don't I try to write out my stories?
Problem is, the first thing they teach you in Creative Writing: "Get a day job."
Awesome, and with Owen still trying to finish his degree. Our finances can't exactly afford me taking a gallivant through my day dreaming worlds.
I do love gardening, I would love to do landscaping and be a professional gardener. Yet, I hit a brick wall with apparently not having a Horticultural degree? (What? Where do you even get that?)
So what about finishing my English degree? That's 4 more years of finishing and getting an Ed degree because really, all you can do with an English degree is teach (unless I can make a living off blogging! Hah). Not that I wouldn't mind the schooling, but right now I feel...restless.
So my mind flipped through so many things I have always wanted to do, that just feel a little out of reach. Now I just can't think about what I want, I have to think what is good for myself and my husband. Things get a little more daunting when you have another person to take care of.
So then, what do I do? What do I do with myself that makes me feel like I am actually doing something worthwhile. That contributes to myself and others.
1st answer: I don't know. Whatever. I give up. I'll just do this thing because it pays the bills.
2nd answer: Wait. Why don't I become an EMR?
It's an idea. Just a small one that my mind thought of today. Perhaps with a bit of inspiration. I have my First Aide Level C and CPR/AED training. I've always wanted to help people, and my Dad is an EMR too. I've gone on ride alongs and always enjoyed it. Right now I'm just wondering if I can handle things that would be seen as a first responder.
Although, it would be worth it, I think. At least it seems like it would be something both ambitious and worthwhile.
I suppose we shall see what happens, won't we.

xoxo