-wearing my pearl stud earrings. they make me feel classy even when I’m clothed in a t-shirt and sweatpants
-the satisfaction of all the laundry now being folded. and almost all of it put away, too.
-John telling me the secret words that are written in my eyes.
-making a wrong turn as I took GameBoy to school this morning, because I was tired and forgot where I was headed. but making it on time anyways.
-finding my favorite short-sleeved black sweater. in a dusty ball at the bottom of my closet. washing it last night and it is as good as new now.
-flossing regularly, for the first time in my life. a habit that I now enjoy.
-finding a note from the John and the kids on my steering wheel when I return to the car after class. a reminder that I am loved and cared for, even when I am in student mode.
-the deep peace that comes from a morning full of possibilities. the confidence that today will be a good one.
October 2006
Hmmm….as an amputee, I found this site rather provocative. I’ve long thought about the dilemma that once my leg was taken, no amount of prayer would ever bring it back, would ever heal me. I realized that I’d never heard of someone miraculously being healed from amputation. Never.
Unlike with my father’s cancer, where we felt that an exercise of faith could bring healing, there was never a mention of praying back my leg once it was cut off. Of course, many people prayed that my bone cancer (the reason for the amputation of my leg) would not spread. And it didn’t. And many people prayed that I would learn to walk skillfully with a prosthetic limb, and this has more or less happened, too.
I think there is a part of me that has always resented God for not healing me from cancer before my leg had to be amputated. After it was taken, there was little I could do except reconcile the amputation into my Mormon worldview. To understand why God wanted me to be one-legged. Even after years of pondering and praying on this subject, it’s not an easy thing for me to understand or to accept.
[Note added 10/17/06: I realize that the website I mention above is not really making a statement about amputees, but rather is trying show the fallibility and/or nonexistence of God. I take issue with the author of this website and they way that s/he casually uses the amputee body for his/her purposes and the way that this erases the agency of the amputee, casting him/her in a subject(ive) position. S/he could have used any number of other examples (e.g. why does God hate white people, because as much as they pray they can’t turn their skin green?; or why does God hate 23 year-olds because no matter how hard they pray, the can’t be 21 again?; and so forth. Though of course my examples sound ridiculous, they illustrate the way the ‘logical’ point the website makes about amputees is only logical because of the way our society devalues disability).]
–returning my way-overdue-and-already-billed library books and finding Ned behind the counter. a nice chat, with a good book recommendation and the promise of yet another pumpkin slaughter party at Karen’s lovely condo.
–the first rainshower of fall this afternoon. rolling down the car windows, not minding as the drops fell on my arm.
–A family member (who shall not be named) calling to tell me that she enjoyed reading a post on my blog
–listening to John tell the highlights of his “Jesus Camp” viewing
–munching on a few ‘figments,’ courtesy of Dora-chan. Bitter black chocolate coating on ripe mission figs. yah.
–an email message from my little bro. letting us know that the ultrasound went well and boy #2 will soon join their family.
–it’s 9:30pm on Friday the 13th. and all is well…
:)
[Note: this is a re-telling of an incident that happened about 8 years ago]
It was late, the kids had gone to bed hours before, and I was sitting on our upstairs balcony in the dark, waiting for John to come home from the airport. He’d been traveling on one of his many business trips—to Chicago this time, I think—and I was anxious for his return. I was weary of the days spent caring for our young children by myself and I yearned for some adult conversation. He came home, sat down next to me and began telling me about his disbelief in Mormonism.
I had counted the hours till his return home, and I was so tired, and so hungry for some affection from him. When John spoke about his doubts, a huge anger welled up in me. I realized that these ‘faith issues’ that he’d been having for a few years weren’t just going to go away. And in that moment my mind flashed backwards and forwards in time—remembering the dutiful and faithful Mormon missionary John that I corresponded with for two years; I thought of our children and my desires for them to have a strong Mormon father; I thought of my dreams that we would, as an elderly couple, serve missions to Japan or to Africa. As all of these thoughts raced through my mind and surfaced in rage as I reached out and slapped John across his right cheek, as hard as I could.
Then John took off his glasses and turned his left cheek to me, tears welling in his eyes. And I hit him across that cheek, too. Hard enough that it left a red welt on his skin. And then he bowed his head, ready for me to hit him again. Which I didn’t. I stopped, overcome with sobbing. So shocked that I had struck the person I loved most in the world, but also aware of the way I also hated what he was saying to me, that I felt betrayed down to my deepest core. This was my John. But it wasn’t my John. It was someone who was telling me these things that I just couldn’t believe, that I couldn’t reconcile with my understanding of who I had married.
As I write this I am crying. I can’t think of another time in my life that I have hit someone so intentionally, so full of anger. I had no precedent in my life for lashing out like that—I had never seen my parents hit in anger, John had never hit me, we had never spanked our children. I was hurting so badly inside. I was so upset that John’s changes were affecting my future, too. That my life wouldn’t necessarily proceed with the script that I had written when we were married. [And John, may I say once again, I am so, so sorry for hitting and hurting you].
In the months and years that followed that awful night, I have still sometimes felt anger and frustration with John’s changing religious beliefs. But I have also realized that I am not the same person that John married fourteen years ago, either. I have certainly grown and changed in ways that might surprise my 21 year-old self. And I have come to realize that these changes are okay. That life is about changing. About learning and experiencing and adapting and evolving. And while these changes sometimes bring risk–even the chance of failure–that that’s okay, too.
In the past eight years or so, as John and I have navigated the waters of Mormonism together, and as his Mormon belief and practice has waxed and waned, I have learned many important lessons. Most importantly, I have learned to appreciate the value of the journey, of the struggle to find the right path to follow. I would like to think that my relationships are not based on my idea of who John or others should be, or how they measure up to a standard that I have in my mind. Rather, I have tried to listen and learn from others’ journeys. As I interact with my students, grad school cohort, fellow freecycle moderators, Sunstoners, cyberfriends, my kids’ teachers, Mormons, Quakers, gardeners, democrats, UCI employees, or any other number of people “that I meet when I’m walking down the street,” I want to seek to understand their journeys, to learn from them. I want to make sure that I don’t react in anger to another whose beliefs differ from mine, that I can separate my expectations from my desire to affirm and love them as individuals.
More than anything, I want to learn a lesson from the time that I hit John. I want to learn not to react in rage, not to make others’ choices be about me. I want to learn to love even when I am blinded by anger, even when my ability for compassion is at a breaking point. I want to see the divine, the godliness, in each person. To understand their struggle to find it within themselves.
So this man, every weekday around lunchtime, kneels in a small patch of grass at the end of my front walkway and reads his Bible. He’s a laborer of some kind, he wears the tan shirt and khaki pants that are typical of the gardeners, plumbers, and painters at the university. He has black hair peppered with streaks of grey. When I walk past him–even a few inches away–he doesn’t lift his head or acknowledge my presence. I am wary of initiating a conversation as he seems so focused.
So I will tell you what I won’t tell him. That I love seeing him there. That he inspires me. Makes me feel as if this world is a good and safe place. Where strangers can read from well-worn holy books near the walkway of a stranger and that stranger will respect their privacy. And their devotion. And their commitment. And their faith.
If you are waking up to a grey morning, clouds hanging low and wet like those mornings in China. If you then brew a pot of jasmine tea to break the fog that is in your head from reading history texts until the wee hours of last night. And if you are weary of this day before it has even begun, then this is the perfect excerpt of a song for you to discover in the flyleaf of John Demos’ Unredeemed Captive
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
It’s how the light gets in.
–Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”
–the new huge oriental-style RED rug that the kids and I ‘rescued’ from our dumpster area and now graces our living room floor (before you get too grossed out, do know that it is a very clean rug that was nicely rolled and ready for a new owner).
–the way the kitties frolic on said rug and chase at the fringe on the edges
–the little chunk of hair that’s poking straight up on the top of GameBoy’s head. He’s sitting at his computer and is focused on completing his homework. Adorable.
–Catgirl wearing a red blanket across her shoulders as batwings, swooping around the living room as I tell her that our friend Peggy plays the flute and wants to play with CG.
–receiving a package of photos from my newest cyber-friend. Seeing her lovely face and her sweet children for the first time.
–studying on the back porch this afternoon. Burning a stick of vanilla incense and letting the scent wash over me as I read The Age of Reform.
:)