And yet I continue to invest myself in it. I DVR Meet the Press on Sunday. I read political op eds and a blog or two. I enjoy watching televised debates, and even tune in for the often-inane nattering between cable news pontificators that goes on after the debate wraps up. I’ve become rather leery of stepping into the role of debater myself, though, especially with family members or friends who disagree with me. First of all, debating political ideas is a tricky, tricky business. I’ve been burned a few times and relationships have been strained, at least temporarily, and in such situations I invariably regret opening my mouth in the first place. I’m also hesitant to get too publicly political because I don’t want to become one of “those people.” You know, the people on your Facebook feed whose posts make your heart race and your head ache. You click through the photos on their profile and think, “Really, she looks so normal and nice. I never would have guessed that she’s actually an obsessive weirdo / misguided fool!” And then you hide her. You know you’ve done it. I admit: I don’t want people who disagree with me to hide me, or look at me sideways on Sunday, or, worst of all, for a friend to interpret my statement of political opinion as a personal condemnation.

But. But! Is this really the best way? Shouldn’t we be able to discuss political ideas without so much trepidation and misunderstanding? In fact, doesn’t our democracy, if it is to function at all, require it, especially of those of us who hold moderate or non-always-hewing-to-the-party-line opinions? If only those who don’t give a flying flip what the other side thinks speak up, we can’t complain that politics has lost all remnants of civility, now can we?

This political season is shaping up to be a particularly heated one in Mormon circles, what with a member of our very own tribe as the Republican nominee. But this post isn’t about Mitt Romney. (Seriously, it’s not about Mitt Romney. Not that I don’t think it would be interesting or valuable to talk about Mitt Romney, but this post isn’t about him.) No, the angle I want to explore is the intersection of politics and religion that makes political debate between members of the church — especially members of the church who disagree — particularly fraught and troublesome.

It seems to me that, among Mormons, many of our “political discussions gone bad” head south whenever people use religious orthodoxy or doctrinal interpretation as a trump card. Statements like “I don’t see how a good Mormon could ever vote for . . .” or “If you truly understood our doctrine, then certainly you’d believe . . .” or “Surely you’ve read King Benjamin’s sermon / Ezra Taft Benson’s book / The Proclamation on the Family, but if it’s been a while, then why don’t I quote specific sections from it and interpret them for you?” Go down that road and KABOOM. Every. Single. Time. At least in my experience.

I wish it were easier to discuss our political beliefs as they are informed by our religious ones, since our faith and our political ideals are often deeply intertwined. It’s hard for me to separate my opinions about, say, health care reform from my understanding of the gospel, because the gospel is an important lens through which I see the world. But there is a big difference between acknowledging that the gospel influences my world view and using selected doctrines and specific scriptures as a weapon to pummel those who disagree with me. And even if I’m not the weapon-wielding type, I can also use those same doctrines and scriptures to build a scaffolding of what appears to be unassailable political “truth,” but which is, in actuality, a structure I’ve created so I can climb it and more effectively look down on all those misguided souls who can’t seem to see the world as clearly as I do.

It’s one thing to explain to someone why you think their ideas about financial regulation won’t best serve our country. It’s another thing entirely to insinuate that, because of their politics, they’re not right with God. Personally, I’ve decided that if and when I choose to have political discussions with other Mormons who disagree with me, I avoid invoking a gospel-based rationale whenever possible. I don’t always adhere to this commitment — I’ve built my own scaffoldings over the years– but I try. And if my co-debater insists on using the Church as a trump card, sometimes I resort to sending him or her this excellent link and then backing away slowly.

I’m not sure if this particular method is the best answer for me. I’m certain it’s not the answer for everybody. But as someone who does care about politics and the gospel and thinks a healthy interchange of ideas is important, but who does not care for conflict, strife, and misunderstanding, it’s the best I can do right now. What about you? How do you navigate the turbulent waters of religion and politics? Are you bracing yourself for this election season, or looking forward to it?

*I’m hoping that I can get away with using the word “democracy” without somebody reminding me that the United States is actually a republic.

Related posts:

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2. Say Something
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“Lucky group of preschool kids, getting donuts during class!” my husband commented to the cashier behind the counter.

“Um, I don’t think the kids are getting any donuts,” the cashier whispered. “The teachers only ordered for themselves.”

Just as the cashier finished speaking, the two teachers, balancing their donuts and coffee, ordered the kids to follow them out the door. As they were leaving my husband heard one of the teachers say, ever so sweetly, “And maybe next time you’ll remember to listen during circle time so you can get a donut too!”

The three-year-olds obediently followed the women out the door, never making a peep. Quiet, chastened, and utterly donut-less.

Compared to some of the truly horrible things inflicted on the children of the world in the name of discipline, this particular example of public humiliation and rubbing-your-nose-in-it donut withholding seems pretty mild. Yet this story has bugged me ever since my husband relayed it. I’m sure these teachers convinced themselves they were doing the right thing: the kids probably were naughty during circle time, and how are kids supposed to learn if there aren’t consequences for their bad behavior? And hey! The disciplinary strategy worked: the kids had become docile and complacent. But I can’t help wondering if underneath the surface of all those justifications, those two women felt a little tug in their heart that said, “No. Nope. Not the right way.” I wonder if those donuts felt a little dry in their mouths.

As a mother, I have plenty of my own “No. Nope. Not the right way,” experiences as I seek to parent my own kids. Implementing consequences for bad behavior is a particularly tricky skill to master. I’ve never been very good at being letter-of-the-law strict, even before I became a mom. During my first year as a high school English teacher, my supervising teacher wanted me to implement a “check marks on the board” method of discipline (it worked for her), but I found it frankly exhausting and not in keeping with the kinds of interpersonal relationships I wanted to develop with my students. Instead, I adopted a kind of “Hey, let’s get to know each other and trust each other and respect each other and hopefully that will work, but if it doesn’t I reserve the right to briefly lose it, and then we can get back to trusting and respecting each other again.” For the most part, this strategy worked for me. Except when it didn’t.

With my own kids, I function in much the same way. I’m no good at job charts or making my kids earn screen time coupons they can exchange for computer privileges. I’ve had good intentions (over and over again, I’ve had good intentions) but then the job chart gets compromised over spring break and it becomes such an incredible hassle to keep track of the screen time coupons, and I slide back into my regular MO: trying to maintain an atmosphere of mutual trust and respect in my home, interspersed with random shrieky demands that the TV be turned off immediately and not be turned on again for 24 hours (“But why?” “Because I said so!”) and the occasional eruption of ill-considered in-the-moment consequence making that NOBODY benefits from. (Have you seen the episode of Modern Family when the parents threaten to cancel Christmas unless somebody confesses to burning a hole in the couch? Like that.)

Sometimes I worry that I’m too easy on my kids. Sometimes I worry that I’m too hard. The truth is, there is no perfect way to parent. There’s no perfect “choice and consequences” scheme that will ensure that our kids will grow up disciplined and unscathed by serious sin while still providing ample opportunity for them to exercise their own agency, all while enveloped in the sturdy embrace of unconditional parental love and acceptance.

We will all make mistakes as we seek to train our kids up in the way they should go. I just hope that when I get that little tug in my heart that says, “No. Nope. Not the right way,” I’ll be sensitive enough to listen to it, and strong enough to change.

And for Pete’s sake, everybody. Don’t eat Dunkin’ Donuts in front of the 3-year-olds as a disciplinary tactic. That’s just egregious.

How do you navigate your responsibility to provide consequences for your children? What worked and didn’t work when you were a child?

Related posts:

1. Cider and Donuts
2. To Thank a Teacher
3. It’s Coming…

But I was nervous, too. I’ll be honest: it’s one thing to write a good first chapter, but it’s another thing entirely to write a good novel (heaven knows I’m having a heck of a time), and “Back North” was Sarah’s first published piece of fiction. When Sarah asked if she could send me an Advance Review Copy of Lightning Tree to review here at Segullah I said yes, but I had a little pinch in my heart. I’m a picky reader. What if the promise of that first chapter didn’t hold up? I liked working with Sarah and thought she had a lot of talent, but I’m also not going to promote a book that I don’t think is great just because I want to do somebody a solid. So I decided: If I really like it, I’ll review it. If I’m iffy, I’ll do a general overview of Mormon fiction and mention Lightning Tree‘s publication and Sarah’s connection to Segullah.

And now you can guess what I thought, because this post is turning into a full on review. I really liked it. Really liked it! A historical novel (not always my favorite genre) published for a mainstream Mormon audience by one of the big three Mormon publishers (who sometimes let me down, I’m just saying). I was so happy to turn that last page, satisfied and confident in my ability to enthusiastically recommend this book. Lightning Tree is well written, complex, multi-layered, readable, and willing to tackle hard aspects of LDS history. The characters are well-drawn and utterly believable, painted in all my favorite shades of grey. There’s mystery, history, romance, tragedy, and all sorts of compelling themes ripe for discussion. In short, if you are in a Mormon book club — Relief Society approved or not — this is the novel for you to recommend the next time your turn comes around.

So what is this novel about, you ask? Lightning Tree tells the tale of Magdalena Chabert, a 19th-century Mormon convert from a French-speaking community in Italy. Both of her parents died on the treck to Utah, and Maggie and her little sister were taken in by the Aldens, American pioneers who eventually settle in Provo. Maggie begins to be plagued by dreams that cause her to doubt her adoptive family and yearn to dig deeper into her own repressed memories of violence and loss. All of this plays out amidst the backdrop of a Provo community in turmoil: the Saints are being hounded by the U.S. government, and whispers begin to circulate about a horrifying incident down in “Cedar,” an episode that we now know as the Mountain Meadows Massacre.

Lightning Tree isn’t a perfect novel. The uncorrected ARC I received had a startling number of typos and editorial issues (e.g. a missing chapter heading that left me utterly confused for two pages until I figured out what was going on). I’ve checked a few spots using the “read inside this book” function on Amazon, though, and it appears many of these problems were cleared up before going to print. That said, I can’t speak definitively on any prose-level issues since my version was an uncorrected draft. There were also a few wobbly scenes that left me unsure where the action was in space and time, and I had to go back and reread before I could establish who was talking to whom and what was taking place. I was also confused for a few chapters before it was explained how Maggie could be from Italy but spoke French, and there were a few chapters that could have been a bit tighter, with a little bit of the fat cut off the bone to move things along. But these complaints pale in light of why the novel excites me. The people who inhabit this book are flesh and blood. There aren’t any moustache-twirling villains (although Uncle Forth and his son Jed both deserve a firm slap upside the head). Our heros make mistakes, sin, and struggle, and while they do change, as all good characters must, there aren’t any 180% about-face experiences once a character sees the light. They remain flawed, broken human beings who are struggling to make sense of a difficult life. The novel wears its Mormonism lightly: the characters’ religion is an integral part of the story, but this is not agenda-driven fiction. This beautiful bit of dialogue is as preachy as this novel gets:

“I wonder sometimes if forgiving’s like anything else in the gospel–a journey. You can’t stand up and say, now I’ve got perfect forgiveness. Perfect means you’re always trying to do better. I can say I’m doing better at forgiving myself now than I was a while ago, and I hope I’m better still as time goes on. But can anybody say when they’ve finished forgiving?”

While I applaud Sarah Dunster for writing a compelling and complex novel, I also applaud Cedar Fort for publishing it. Not only does this novel grapple with violence and pain, but it does so in the context of the Mountain Meadows Massacre, a tragic historical event for which Mormons themselves were responsible. Many LDS publishers might be leery of approaching such a subject, and I think Cedar Fort deserves a lot of credit for taking a chance with this book.

So support Lightning Tree. Buy it. Read it. Pass it around. Recommend it. This is the kind of work we need to see more of, but we’ll only get it if we prove there’s an audience out there. And then, when Sarah becomes a popular and acclaimed LDS author, I can say I discovered her.

Related posts:

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2. Whitney Awards: Our Midterm Report
3. Twilight. Discuss.

But I’ve found myself in a time of life when my access to the energizing power of other women seems to be waning. I didn’t assume this would be the case when I was younger. When I had my first baby, I’d read a lot about the isolation that can occur when women decide to become full-time moms, an isolation that can be a real risk, especially for women who leave full-time work (and all their childless friends and co-workers) behind. But, for me, I entered into that time of my life actively determined not to be lonely. There were structures in place, through church or the community or even my own little cul-de-sac, that offered opportunities to make real friends: play groups, book clubs, loosely organized “let’s meet at the park” days once a month. I took advantage of those opportunities in my twenties and made some of the best friends I’ve ever had during those years. I even found myself accidentally making friends: when your kids are little, you go where they go, and the moms of all the other little kids go there too. You wind up spending three hours on a Wednesday afternoon sitting on a folding chair in the driveway with your across-the-street neighbor while the kids whack each other with light sabers on the lawn. And suddenly you know more than you ever thought you would about your across-the-street neighbor’s first marriage and terrible mother-in-law and, BOOM, just like that. You’re friends.

But now I don’t spend very much time sitting in lawn chairs on the driveway (although I do spend a ton of time driving up and down the driveway in my car, shuttling kids to rehearsals and practices and mutual and friends’ houses). I also don’t have a lot of time (or desire?) for the book clubs or writers’ groups or Relief Society Enrichment meetings that I yearned to flee to when my kids were little. Back then, nothing felt better than handing my husband the baby with the stinky diaper and disappearing out the door at 7:00 p.m., knowing that the kids would be tucked into bed by the time I returned at 9:30. But now? Now the hours between 7:00 and 10:00 are the craziest of all, with homework and kids’ extracurriculars and family scripture study spilling over into the time when all I want to do is put my head on my pillow and sleep. And during the day? Many of the moms from the cul-de-sac have returned to work, part-time or full. And it’s hard to find excuses to get together with those who haven’t. When kids were little, the kids were the reason: let’s take them to the zoo! Want to go with me to the park? But now, there’s not much to do with other stay-at-home moms of school-age kids besides go to lunch, which is lovely (don’t get me wrong, I LOVE a good lunch date), but is either too expensive or feels too self-indulgent to do on a regular basis.

And then there’s me. I’m tired. When I moved to Minnesota the first time, in my mid-twenties, I started two different book clubs, one in my ward and one in my neighborhood. I printed out invitations. I made schedules. I read the assigned novel for both clubs every single month. But now the thought of starting a book club doesn’t feel like an opportunity or an escape, but an obligation I’m not sure I could follow through on. I’ve also moved three times since my mid-twenties, and with each move, the energy that I have to put on my friendly face and charge out into the world of women, intent on winning at least a handful of strangers over with my scintillating personality, seems to have dribbled out, leaving me with the social energy of a half-inflated balloon. I’ve lived in my current home for over a year and I know my next-door neighbor’s first name (Christine), but the women inhabiting the two houses across the street and the one on the right? I know they told me their names, but I’ve since forgotten, and too much time has passed for me to ask again without outing myself as the half-hearted (I really should type another word after half, a word that’s NOT hearted, but this is an LDS blog) neighbor I’ve become.

I don’t want to make it sound like I don’t have any friends here in Minnesota. I’ve met some wonderful women, mostly through church, and I relish the rare opportunities we have to get together and connect. In fact, I’ve often wondered how other stay-at-home moms of school-age kids without a church community make lasting friendships at all, especially when they’re “new in town” like me. It would be so easy to hide inside your house and never come out. Nobody would be the wiser. I also don’t know what I’d do without my cyber-friends: my Segullah sisters, the folks on Facebook who play Words With Friends with me and like my status updates, my old friends from high school and my young motherhood years who maintain blogs as a way to stay in touch. These relationships keep me from feeling more isolated than I already do, and I’m grateful.

But, wow — it’s frighteningly easy to find yourself without a support system of other women as a 40 year old stay-at-home mom of school-age kids. If you remain outside the sociability inherent in the working world, but also find yourself without the little kids necessary to head to swimming lessons on a Tuesday afternoon and sit on the bench with the other moms and chat? Hours, days, weeks can go by, without a meaningful conversation with another adult besides your husband.

What is UP with that? And how do you deal with it? In fact, no matter your age or your time in life, the challenges of cultivating and maintaining female friendship is real. What are your experiences?

Related posts:

1. Friends
2. In the interest of full disclosure
3. When your guilty pleasures aren’t all that guilty…

(I realize that people probably don’t often give you mugs of hot cocoa at Protestant church services, at least not until you’re done sitting in hard chairs and listening to the sermon. I also realize that what I’ve described above doesn’t approximate a church service of any kind, really, but more closely approaches going to a spa. But this is my fantasy, mmkay, so let’s go with it.)

Our LDS church services aren’t super concerned with letting us rest in our non-perfection. Of course, Mormon churches exist for the benefit of non-perfect people just as much as the Protestant church with the banner. Every single Mormon, from the nervous twelve-year-old girl at the pulpit reciting an Article of Faith to any one of the men sitting up on the stand at General Conference, is a non-perfect person, and we all know this. Or at least we should know this. But our slogans don’t tend toward “Perfect people not allowed.” We prefer action verbs (“Lengthen your stride!”) or punchy, motivational rallying cries that also work for tennis shoe companies (“Do it!” — even punchier without the “Just.”) A familiar phrase that’s been important to me since I was a girl, “Walk tall, you’re a daughter of God”? Even that implies effort. Walking, for example. And good posture. “Curl up in a ball on the Love Sac and take a nap, you’re an exhausted mother of four,” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, but oh! On certain days I would be tempted to print that out in vinyl lettering and slap it over my entryway.

All kidding aside, though, there are times I wish our church culture allowed us to admit our imperfections a little bit more. We don’t have to print up any banners . . . although maybe a banner would help some women feel more comfortable raising their hands during Relief Society to share their struggles and sorrows and pain. Me, I’ve always been a big fan of warts-and-all people, be they living or dead. They make me feel less alone in my personal wart-iness, more confident that I can make slow and steady progress in the right direction. I’m teaching the Old Testament in early morning seminary right now and it’s the stories of the prophets who struggle that truly inspire me. When Moses heard the voice of God out of the burning bush, he did not respond with an immediate, “I will go and do the things that the Lord hath commanded.” No, he begged the Lord to change his mind. He cataloged his personal imperfections. He equivocated, he whined, he danced around until God was thoroughly exasperated with him, and only THEN did he grab his walking staff and trudge back to Egypt, probably scared half do death and unsure of success. But he kept on trudging, and occasionally complaining, until he had dragged thousands of Isrealites across the Red Sea. I am no Moses, not even close, but I can relate to his journey, and I find inspiration in the struggle he had to work to overcome.

George Albert Smith is another prophet whose struggle with pain and doubt has inspired me recently. We are studying the words of President Smith in Priesthood and Relief Society this year, and I’ll admit to not knowing much about him until I started reading up a few weeks ago. I had skimmed the new manual, but once I read an article in the Journal of Mormon History detailing his struggle with physical and mental illness during his apostleship, his words took on a whole new level of meaning. (A link to the article, as well as a rousing discussion of whether or not our official church manuals should have been more explicit in describing the nature of President Smith’s struggles, can be found at BCC, here.) Speaking on the subject of faith, President Smith says, “It is this principle [of faith], my brethren and sisters, that points us heavenward, that gives us hope in the battle of life. When we become confused, and find ourselves confronted by obstacles we, seemingly, cannot overcome, having faith in the Redeemer of the world, we can go to Him and know that our prayers will be answered for our good.” Knowing more about the nature of President Smith’s personal struggles sinks his words of testimony to a deeper place in my heart.

I do understand that dwelling on imperfection and emphasizing the reality of struggle rather than the ways in which one can make positive change has its downside. Not only can wallowing become an attractive temptation, but human nature is such that if we’re not occasionally kicked in the backside, we’re much more likely to plop right down on it and stay there. We need to be shown the ideal in order to understand what we’re shooting for. But we’re also commanded to “mourn with those that mourn,” to “lay our burdens on the Lord,” to humble ourselves and ask for help. I submit that it’s much more difficult to do these things if we’re too afraid of the taint of weakness. It’s a paradox, isn’t it? As President Uchtdorf said in his fabulous talk “You Matter To Him”, we are simultaneously less than we suppose — sinners, the dust, nothing when compared to God — and greater than we suppose — powerful spirits, the Glory of God, bound for exaltation.

“Be ye therefore perfect,” Jesus Christ tells us. Someday, someday, yes. The hope is we’ll keep trudging, Moses-like, toward that goal, a goal that can only be effectuated by Christ’s atoning grace. Until then, it is possible to find strength in one another’s failures and light in our weaknesses, if we’re fearless enough to admit that we have them.

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I’m going to offer up suggestions in four categories: fiction, nonfiction, YA fiction, and Mormon books. If you’d like to suggest a title that doesn’t fall neatly into any of these categories (poetry, picture books, etc.), please feel free.

Caveat: We all have different opinions about what constitutes “appropriate” literature. Please do your own due diligence in researching any titles I might suggest, or that might be suggested in our comments, before purchasing a title.

Fiction

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett. This book was my favorite read of the year. The novel tells the story of Dr. Marina Singh, a pharmaceutical researcher who travels to the Amazon jungle after receiving news of the death of a colleague. She’s also been tasked to locate Dr. Anneck Swenson, a renowned gynecologist who’s been receiving funding from Singh’s company to develop a fertility drug that will enable women to have babies well into old age. State of Wonder is thought-provoking, gripping, beautifully written, with a conclusion that’s simultaneously exhilarating, devastating, and absolutely right. The demanding and intelligent but emotionally compromised Dr. Swenson is one of the best female characters I’ve read in a long time.

The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer. This novel is an epic work of fiction with an old-fashioned feel: it isn’t afraid to linger on a scene or allow a character’s thoughts to ramble. Due to the relatively slow pace of the novel’s beginning, I started and stopped three times before actually diving in. But once I dived, I kept diving deeper until I was utterly swept up in the lives of these Hungarian Jews before and during WWII. The main character, Andras, is a rural Hungarian Jew who arrives in Paris on an architecture scholarship and falls in love with a beautiful and mysterious older woman, a dance instructor named Klara. The first half of the book is a classic, and very satisfying, romance. The second half of the novel details the horrors of WWII, from the Nazi occupation of France to Hungary’s alliance with Germany and the subsequent destruction of its Jewish population. The amount of research that must have gone into this novel staggers me, but I’m so grateful for it. Time and time again I found myself thinking, “I had no idea.” Excellent book, beautifully written, powerful and valuable and visceral. Loved it.

General Nonfiction

Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose by Flannery O’Connor. Segullah’s staff read this book for our annual retreat, and after devouring it I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to discover this collection of essays by one of my favorite short fiction writers. I’ve always loved O’Connor’s short stories and recognized her genius, but these collected essays — all written (or, in the case of speeches, delivered) when she was a relatively young woman in her twenties and thirties — simply thrilled me with their insight, humor, and piercing vision. The last few sections of the book that focused on writing as a Catholic were particularly valuable: I saw so many parallels between the Catholic writing community, as well as Catholic readers, of the 19050s and 60s, and Mormon writers and readers today. Extraordinarily valuable, especially for those interested in the intersections between the life of a writer and a life of faith.

Since we’re trying to come up with gift ideas, I asked my husband to let me know his favorite nonfiction reads this year, in case you want a more manly perspective. His picks are:

Lords of Finance: The Bankers Who Broke the World by Liaquat Ahmed. (And now I’m just copying and pasting the summary from Amazon here.) “It is commonly believed that the Great Depression that began in 1929 resulted from a confluence of events beyond any one person’s or government’s control. In fact, as Liaquat Ahamed reveals, it was the decisions made by a small number of central bankers that were the primary cause of that economic meltdown, the effects of which set the stage for World War II and reverberated for decades. As yet another period of economic turmoil makes headlines today, Lords of Finance is a potent reminder of the enormous impact that the decisions of central bankers can have, their fallibility, and the terrible human consequences that can result when they are wrong.”

and

The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon by David Grann. My 15 year old son read this after my husband finished it and really liked it as well. Here’s another Amazon blurb: “In 1925, the legendary British explorer Percy Fawcett ventured into the Amazon jungle, in search of a fabled civilization. He never returned. Over the years countless perished trying to find evidence of his party and the place he called “The Lost City of Z.” In this masterpiece of narrative nonfiction, journalist David Grann interweaves the spellbinding stories of Fawcett’s quest for “Z” and his own journey into the deadly jungle, as he unravels the greatest exploration mystery of the twentieth century.”

YA Fiction

It’s been a really big year for people-I-kinda-know in YA fiction. Two of these authors I know because of their Mormon lit connections, and the other two I know through grad school, but despite the prejudice inherent in knowing (or kinda knowing) all four of these authors, their books are worth checking out.

Variant by Robison Wells. Wells has headed up the Whitney Awards for many years and done so with a great deal of professionalism and good will for his fellow Mormon writers, so I went into this novel really wanting to like it. (I don’t know Wells personally, really — just through the few interactions I had with him regarding the Whitneys — but he left a really good impression.) I was so pleased to discover that I would have devoured this fast-paced read even if I had no idea who’d written it. The main character of Variant, Benson Fisher, finds himself imprisoned in a boarding school along with scores of other misfit teens. No adults are present, but the students are constantly monitored by video surveillance and are under threat of punishment that equals death if they try to escape. The plot is strong and I found myself surprised more than once, which is impressive since I went in expecting there to be a twist and hunting for it. If I stay up past my bedtime turning pages? That’s a successful novel. Because I love my bedtime.

Crossed (and Matched) by Ally Condie. I also know Ally — sitting at the same table at the Whitney awards was where I met her, as a matter of fact! — but if you haven’t read Matched, you’re in luck, because you’ll get the chance to read both novels in one big gulp. Ally is a very talented writer. Her language is spare and poetic and luminous, and the dystopian world she created in both these novels is one that sucked me in. I especially love her treatment of Southern Utah landscape in book two. This is a great series for a teenage girl, but grownups will enjoy it as well.

Stupid Fast by Geoff Herbach. I went to grad school with Herbach, so when I saw this book on the shelf at Barnes and Noble I picked it up. I haven’t read it myself, but my 15 year old son LOVED it. Tore through it. My son is a voracious reader, though, so the real kicker was when he loaned it to a friend who’s a very reluctant reader and he tore through it too. It’s the story of an awkward 15-year-old who goes through an amazing growth spurt, gets “stupid fast,” and suddenly finds himself inhabiting the body (and the world) of a jock on the football team. It’s more that a sports book, though — it’s a coming of age novel, and one that really rang true to my own son. (He did say there was a little bit of language and a few other things, but nothing he doesn’t encounter in an average high school day. Still, you might want to read it first.)

Sparrow Road by Sheila O’Connor. Sheila was my professor and mentor at Hamline University and one of the best writers I know. This is her first published piece of middle grade fiction (her general fiction is wonderful too, check it out). This story of a young girl’s summer stay at an artist’s retreat is full of heart and color, and there’s plenty of “mystery” to keep young readers reading. Sparrow Road is an excellent pick for tween girls and for their parents, too: it’s lyrical, luminous, and wise.

Mormon Books. (I’m including fiction and nonfiction in these picks, since the books I mention here are of general interest to a Mormon audience.)

The Place of Knowing: A Spiritual Autobiography by Emma Lou Thayne. Every woman I know who is interested in Mormonism and writing and how the two intersect sees Thayne as a foremother of sorts. Thayne is a poet (best known, I think, as the author of “Where Can I Turn for Peace?”), an essayist, a teacher, a former member of the Young Women’s General Board and, for many years, one of the only female voices on the board of the Deseret News. Now in her eighties, her writing remains strong and clear, full of insight and poetry — in fact, Thayne’s poems are interspersed throughout. This book is all about living a spiritual life, but there is a mystical element to Thayne’s Mormon faith that might surprise some readers accustomed to more traditional LDS autobiographies. I came away from the book with a new understanding of the power of prayer and an increased desire to invite the spirit into my own life.

The Death of a Disco Dancer by David Clark. Clark’s novel, one of Zarahemla Books’ newest offerings, is a great gift for any grown-up Mormon reader, but I think that Mormon readers of a certain age will find this novel particularly compelling. (If the title rings a bell, for example? If you’re a child of the 80s? You’ll like this book.) This novel centers on Todd Whitman, alternating between the summer of his 7th grade year in 1981 and a contemporary storyline where, as a man in his forties, he returns to his childhood home to help his dying mother. Clark vividly captures the perils and joys of early adolescence in the 1980s, but this novel is more than a witty reminiscence. By turns heartbreaking and hilarious, it is a meditation on the meaning of sacrifice and the transforming responsibility of familial love. This novel is a great example of artful, realistic Mormon storytelling — the kind of writing I hope that Mormon readers will support.

Two Mormon Books I Haven’t Read Yet But Want To. (Hey, maybe these can be gifts for me?)

Monsters and Mormons, edited by William Morris and Eric Jepson. All sorts of awesome Mormon writers are represented in this “anthology of peculiar and marvelous tales.” Including Segullah’s very own Emily Milner! This is a great Christmas present for the Mormon reader who enjoys speculative fiction.

Flunking Sainthood by Jana Reiss. Although this book isn’t overtly Mormon (it’s marketed to a general population), it’s written by a Mormon intent on devoting an entire year to becoming more saintly. I’ve always enjoyed Reiss’s writing and have heard lots of great things about this memoir. If any of you have read it let me know what you thought.

Whew! Okay. There are my suggestions. What are yours?

Related posts:

1. Do You Read LDS Lit??
2. Which LDS novel would you give a Nonmember
3. Segullah’s New Book Club. Yes, It’s About Time!

CALL FOR CONTEST SUBMISSIONS

Now announcing the first ever Mormon Lit Blitz Writing Contest. Send up to three submissions by 15 January 2012 to mormonlitblitz@gmail.com for a chance to win a Kindle and more.

What we want:
Short work for Mormons to be published and read online.

The details:
“Short” means under 1,000 words.

“Work” means creative writing in any genre, from literary realism to far future science fiction, and in any form: fiction, essay, poetry, even play or screenplay if you can keep it under 1,000 words. Give us a tiny, polished gem we can show off to people who love Mormonism and love great writing but “know not where to find” a place where the two meet.

“For Mormons” means for committed Latter-day Saints. Yes, that’s an extremely diverse audience (see the “I’m a Mormon” campaign—and your ward members), but it’s also an audience with distinctive shared values and history that don’t often get attention in creative work. We want you to write something that will appeal to us as people who believe in the sacred, who have ridiculous numbers of brothers and sisters we see every week, who worry about being good and faithful servants no matter what our day jobs are and wonder what it will be like to meet our grandparents’ grandparents in heaven. We don’t need your pieces to preach to us. We do need them to combine your creativity and religious commitment in a way that excites us and gives us something cool to talk about with our Mormon friends.

“To be published and read online” means we’re going to post six to twelve finalists’ pieces on Mormon Artist magazine’s blog (www.mormonartist.net) and then ask readers to vote on their favorites.

One catch: since even 1,000 words can be intimidating on a screen, your piece needs a strong hook of no more than 120 words (or eight lines for poetry) to be visible on the main blog page. Mark the end of your hook with [MORE]. Even our editors will only read further if you’ve piqued their interest.

Submission Guidelines:
Submissions must have fewer than 1,000 words with a hook no longer than 120 words (or eight lines for poetry). Submissions must be engaging to Latter-day Saints and engage with their Mormon identity in some way.

Authors may submit up to three works. Each submission must be attached to an email as a .doc or .pdf file. The selection process is blind, so the author’s name should not appear on the document.

Email any questions and your submissions to mormonlitblitz@gmail.com. Submission emails should contain the author’s name, the titles of each submission, and contact information (telephone number or email address).

By submitting, authors give us the one-time rights to publish their work electronically. Previously published work is OK if you still have the rights to the piece and if it meets the above contest requirements (don’t forget to add a [MORE] tag to the end of your hook).

The prize:
The contest editors will select six to twelve finalists. All finalists will have their short works published online starting in mid-February 2012 and actively promoted across the LDS blogosphere by the Mormon Lit Blitz team.

After all pieces have been published, readers will vote on a single Grand Prize Winner, who will receive a Kindle pre-loaded with LDS literary works, including Parley P. Pratt’s classic short “A Dialogue Between Joseph Smith and the Devil,” Peculiar Pages’ recent Monsters & Mormons anthology, Zarahemla Books’ Dispensation: Latter-day Fiction, the poetry anthology Fire in the Pasture, and recent issues of Mormon Artist magazine.

Related posts:

1. Win $250 in the AML Fiction Contest!
2. Jackpot!
3. Segullah’s 5th Anniversary Issue

1-I truly believed before I started teaching that I could get all my prep work done if I gave myself an hour a day. I look back on those innocent days of summer, and I laugh and I laugh and I laugh.

2-No matter how good your kids are — and I have some really good kids — they will try to text during your lessons. I’ve tried to develop my kindly-but-also-disapproving face for such occasions (you know the one, with the raised eyebrows and the cocked head and the little half smile) and it kinda works. Temporarily.

3-The Old Testament is fascinating. Complicated prophets. Bold, sassy, decisive women. Incredible miracles. God’s exasperated scoldings. Intrigue, mayhem, redemption. Good times.

4-Perhaps it’s just me, but I have yet to figure out a way to get my kids to arrive to class on time. Emails to parents, begging, requiring makeup work, me pulling the “kindly-but-disapproving” face mentioned in #2 when they swing through the door in the middle of the lesson — all of it makes very little difference. According to 90% of my students, class officially begins ten minutes after class officially begins.

5-There’s almost always going to be at least one kid who doesn’t get into what I’m doing on any given day, which is why it’s important to mix things up. Do some lecture, some hands-on crafty stuff, some games, some group work, throw in a movie every once in a while. It’s rare that my lesson is a homerun all around.

6-Speaking of the very-few-homeruns thing: this calling has occasionally rattled my sense of what it means to be a good teacher. Or, to put it bluntly, my sense of myself as a good teacher. My most recent teaching gig was as a creative writing instructor at the BYU Salt Lake Center, and my students were mature, motivated, and almost always wide awake. I would be very surprised if any of their parents threatened to take away their drivers’ licenses if they didn’t come to creative writing class. I also had the power of the almighty grade at my disposal! (In early morning seminary, there aren’t any grades, just completes and incompletes.) The truth is, as a seminary teacher I’m faced with some handicaps I didn’t have to deal with as a public school teacher or as a college instructor, and I’ve had to recalibrate my expectations for what constitutes as a successful lesson. And on those rare days where everything is clicking and all the kids are into it and the spirit is strong? I feel a little like Kerri Strug sticking her vault in the 1996 Summer Olympics, that pesky sprained ankle notwithstanding. It’s a day to remember and celebrate.

7-On those nights where you’re exhausted and the house is a mess and you’re helping your child build a float representing the state of Nebraska for the 5th grade Geography fair and it’s 9:00 and you have no idea what to do the next morning? It’s totally okay to give up the dream of sticking your vault. Just download Johnny Lingo from the church website and figure out an ingenious way to relate it (kinda??) to Genesis.

8-Even after all those years of primary, Sunday school, Young Men’s and Young Women’s, family scripture study, and family home evening, a surprising amount of our young people’s scriptural knowledge is firmly rooted in Veggie Tales.

9-Even though it’s hard for teenager to drag himself (or get dragged, as the case may be) out of bed every morning, even though it’s hard for them to read and understand the Old Testament, even though class isn’t always exciting, even though make-up work is a pain . . . early morning seminary is worth it for these kids. Not only do they learn the gospel, but they gain solace and solidarity from each other before walking into those crowded, noisy, occasionally terrifying high schools. Here in Minnesota, Mormon kids are few and far between, and they need each other desperately. Early morning seminary also teaches these kids how to sacrifice in a way I never had to learn as a released time seminary student in Utah.* Released time seminary can be wonderful, of course — but I have no doubt that these early morning students will reap real rewards for their years of special sacrifice.

10. Even though teaching early morning seminary is hard — one of the hardest callings I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some hard ones — it’s worth it for me as well. I’m grateful for it. I’ve learned so much already. And I’m really really looking forward to June 2012, when I can finally get a solid eight hours of sleep.

Do you have any experiences with early morning seminary? Do your kids attend? Did you attend? Have you taught? What are the blessings of the program? The challenges? What have you had to do to make it work for you?

*Full disclosure: Our school district has late start high school. 8:30 a.m. Wahoo! So seminary starts for us at 7:00 a.m. I am not lying when I say that I don’t know if I could do it if seminary started at 6:00. I really don’t know if I could. Kudos to those of you who do.

Related posts:

1. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
2. Surprised by Grace
3. Schooling in Agency

I do not like Halloween.

Now I know many of you DO like Halloween. Love Halloween! For many of you it might even be your favorite holiday. This post is not meant to convince you of the error of your ways; in fact, I’m glad for you that you love Halloween. Go forth and decorate your front porch with all manner of smiling pumpkins and sparkly witches! I’m just talking about myself here. Venting on the internet. Isn’t that what blogs are for? Anyway: no need to feel defensive, is all I’m saying.

And if you’re still interested, here are the reasons I don’t like Halloween:

1. Costumes.

1a. To Sew or Not To Sew? I am not a crafty person. I have a sewing machine that I have used, um, three times? And two of those times were aborted attempts at sewing on Scouting patches. (Hooray for Badge Magic!) I almost always end up buying my kids’ costumes, which can be expensive, but what’s a non-crafty Mom to do? I suppose the one upside is I have all manner of flimsy foam Ninja chest armor with which my youngest son can now play dress up.

1b. It never ends. In our old neighborhood, the adults always had a dress-up Halloween party. Oh, the angst! It’s bad enough that I have to come up with appropriate costumes for my kids, but now I have to come up with costumes for myself AND my husband? And a new one every year? And believe me: wearing the matching Hawaiian shirts we obtained back in 1994 and calling ourselves tourists does not really fly in a crowd where couples came as fully tricked out Alice in Wonderland characters. (Mad Hatter, Red Queen, homemade.)

1c. The skankification of little girl costumes. We’ve all seen the catalogs. It’s horrifying. Enough said.

2. Candy.

2a. The assault on my personal willpower. I do enjoy a mini Almond Joy a little too much, and when I find a big bag of them on sale three weeks before Halloween and buy it in order to be prepared for the upcoming holiday, somehow I always wind up buying a new bag two weeks before the 31st. And again a week before the 31st. You get my drift.

2b. Candy Police! It’s bad enough that I can’t seem to get a handle one my own candy eating issues, but I for the entire month of November I have two choices. Choice one: become a candy Nazi, hiding my children’s candy from them and doling it out only when a complicated set of expectations have been met (room clean, vegetables eaten, homework done = a box of Nerds as big as your thumb!) For many years I attempted various versions of choice one, but I’m almost forty now and tired. I have reverted now to choice two: sighing with exasperation while doing the laundry and discovering 12 mini Milky Way wrappers tucked inside all four pockets of my son’s jeans. And wondering why nobody wants to eat dinner.

3. Decorations.

3a. Hay bales and other front porch decorations. One year I decided to get some hay bales and put them on my front porch because everyone else was doing it and it looked cute. But I had stray strands of hay in the back of my car for months, and my hay bales never looked right anyway. Wrong angle? Too far back on the porch? Three bales instead of two? This year I put a little wooden “Happy Halloween” stake in the ground by my front step and wrapped my porch pillars with fall leaves, but the wind keeps blowing leaves down and knocking the stake over.

3b. Pumpkin carving. Messy. Gross. Dangerous knives. The kids can’t do it by themselves. Don’t even get me started on the complicated templates that seem to be de rigueur nowadays. I never feel this resentful over dying eggs at Easter.

3c. Trunk or Treats. So now I have to get my kids dressed up twice, hand out candy twice, and decorate (!!) the trunk of my car (see my issues with front porch decorations)? I like ward parties where all that is required of me is to show up with a spinach salad.

4. Terror and Violence

4a. Depravity. I’m not really a scaredy-cat. I’ve read my fair share of Stephen King; I can watch Poltergeist and The Others without having nightmares; I was always the girl in the front of the group when my friends and I went to a haunted house. But is it just me, or have things ramped up? There’s spooky, then there’s creepy, then there’s downright scary. But have you walked into a Halloween store lately? We’ve moved from scary to depraved. I ran in with my 4-year-old to look for a pirate costume and he was so freaked out by the “scary babies” (no need to link — they’re too disturbing) that he buried his face in my shoulder and didn’t look up until I left. And it’s not just at the Halloween store. Is it necessary to have a beheaded zombie greet my already-traumatized 4-year-old when we run into the grocery store for milk?

4b. Weaponry. I’m also not super-paranoid about my boys having fake weapons. We have a whole toy box full of light sabers and my 4 year old is the proud owner of a cowboy pistol. But my boys, for the most part, aren’t really interested in the costume part of Halloween anymore; they’re interested in weaponry. Scythes! Machetes! Freddy Kreuger gloves! Nunchucks! So not only do I have to talk them out of such accessories, much to their dismay, even if they do have a mildly appropriate costume-related weapon (like my son’s pirate sword, NOT purchased at the depraved Halloween store) they can’t bring it to the school Halloween party or the trunk or treat anyway. Much to their dismay.

I could go on (e.g., when to tell the older kids they can’t trick or treat anymore, anyone?), but I’ll spare you. I want to hear from the rest of you anyway. Do you love Halloween? Hate it? Like it better than Valentines Day but not nearly as much as the 4th of July? Tell me why.

Related posts:

1. Everyone hail to the pumpkin song
2. Halloween . . . meh
3. C(12) H(22) O(11)

“Did so-and-so ask for me to be removed as her visiting teacher?”

I saw the expressions moving across the RS President’s face: Surprise, dismay, concern, resignation. She knew there was no hiding the answer at that point, so she sighed and said, “Yes, she did. I guess she took offense at something you said?” (You have to imagine the poor Relief Society president saying this with an apologetic lilt at the end of the sentence.)

I rewound the scene of my last visiting teaching outing and knew exactly the moment she was referring to. I’d said something about the importance of making sure our kids get a college education and how our girls, especially, needed support from their female friends and adult role models that made finishing college an expected goal. I hadn’t thought twice about what I said. But the minute I stopped talking long enough to notice the flush in my visiting teachee’s cheeks, it was too late. “Well, I didn’t finish college, and I think I’m doing just fine,” she said sharply. I stumbled all over myself, trying to explain that I didn’t mean that everybody needed a college education, and that all sorts of smart and amazing people don’t have college educations — but all my blathering didn’t do one bit of good, and, in fact, it probably made things worse. I remember slinking out of her house feeling terrible.

But by the time I cornered the Relief Society president, I’d stopped feeling terrible. By that time, I mostly felt embarrassed. Embarrassed that this woman had called my good friend to complain about me; embarrassed that the RS presidency had probably talked about it; embarrassed that there existed a person in the world who really didn’t like me and had the audacity to make that dislike semi-public.

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said, you know,” I told the Relief Society President. “It was totally innocent. I had no idea that she would take offense.”

She nodded grimly, fervently hoping, I’m sure, to get out of this conversation as soon as possible.

And then the next thing I said? This is what I’m most ashamed of. “But it’s not like I should be surprised. So-and-so makes a habit of getting offended.” Now, this statement was factually true. My former visiting teachee had a reputation for taking offense. As a matter of fact, I knew a bunch of women who’d had run-ins of one sort or another with her, and she was known as one of the more “difficult” women in the ward. But, at this point, any real regret over what I’d said had been replaced by an intense need to justify myself, to paint myself as faultless in the whole scenario. Me? I’m a nice person. I don’t say hurtful things on purpose. In fact, I am the victim of this difficult woman, this person who has obviously committed the sin of taking offense, a sin that we all know, as Mormons, is completely unacceptable and might eventually lead this frustrating woman straight out of the church entirely!

I mean, geez! It’s her fault if she chooses to be offended? Right? RIGHT?

And this is where the whole thing falls apart for me, because by following the line of reasoning above, not only did I manage to maneuver myself out of any personal responsibility for my own failings as her visiting teacher (and there were failings, to be sure — missed appointments, a forgotten birthday, and, yes, my own failing to be sensitive, since I knew in the back of my mind that she hadn’t finished college and still said what I did). But I also completely abdicated my responsibility toward this woman as a sister in the gospel. Yes, she was difficult. But her life was difficult. She struggled with crippling anxiety, a difficult marriage, and a son who was notorious for acting out in Primary. I knew this about her. Yet, in the face of her accusation that I had failed her as her visiting teacher, instead of seeing this as an opportunity for me to repent and do better, all I could think to do was justify myself. And the easiest way to do it was to use this word to describe her response to me:

Offended.

Many years have passed since this experience, and over time I’ve become more and more aware of the way we use the word “offended” in our culture. I’m not arguing here that we should never use the word; sometimes, “offended” is the best way to describe the way a person feels or reacts. And we should also warn against the perils of being too easily offended, because such behavior can indeed be personally destructive.

But. Imagine if, instead of the word “offended,” we used the word “hurt” to describe a person who had, say, become inactive. “Susan was hurt and stopped coming to church,” has a very different connotation to me than, “Susan was offended and stopped coming to church.” First, the word “offended” carries with it the whiff of pettiness. If someone is “offended,” certainly this is over something trifling, something that more emotionally mature people would not be bothered by. But even more important to me is the sense that when someone is hurt, then there is another party involved in the situation who is responsible in some way for the hurting. It is very easy, when we use the word “offended” to describe a person’s emotional reaction, to absent ourselves of responsibility for helping to heal this person’s wound. This person “chose” to be offended, and needs to learn to humble him or herself, a process that doesn’t seem to involve much communication or seeking for common ground between two parties. No, the act of “humbling oneself” is a very lonely process indeed — so lonely that some of our brothers and sisters whom we insist must endure it alone never return to the fold.

I know a few people who have left the church. None of these people — not one — has left because they were “offended,” at least if we’re using the word with the connotations described above. Now, I’m sure there are examples of people who have left the church because they were offended over trifling things, who were so full of pride that they wouldn’t accept the help of their fellow brothers and sisters who continued to extend a loving arm of fellowship. But it doesn’t seem to me to describe the majority of cases. Leaving aside those who no longer consider themselves Mormon because they simply no longer believe, many people I know who have either dropped into inactivity or left the church are in deep pain, or struggle with terrible questions, or are stuck in the quagmire of sin and shame and desperately need the help of a loving and supportive community of fellow believers. Some of these people have been legitimately hurt in some way, too. Just as we would require both sides in a troubled marriage to acknowledge their mistakes before healing can begin, we should require the same thing of ourselves as members of the church if we hope to heal broken relationships between our members, or to lovingly persuade a friend who has left us to return. And this is true, I believe, even if we didn’t intend to hurt the other party, or if the other party made a lot of mistakes, or even if it is generally agreed that the other party is reacting in a way that seems irrational. Because what we want is for healing to begin, isn’t it? For people to return to Christ and His community of believers?

Yes, it is important that other people remember not to be easily offended. But, ultimately, my job isn’t to enforce other people’s learning curve. Nope. My job, as Jesus tells me, is to turn the other cheek. To love other people — not only those who have misunderstood my intentions or misunderstood my words, but even those who have dispitefully used me and persecuted me.

The expression “offender for a word” comes from Isaiah 29:21: “That make a man an offender for a word, and lay a snare for him that reproveth in the gate, and turn aside the just for a thing of nought.” We often use the expression to describe a person who is easily offended, but that is actually a misreading of the scripture. The New International translation of the scripture makes its meaning more clear, condemning “Those who with a word make a man out to be guilty.” Sometimes I fear that our use of the word “offended” does just what we’re cautioned against here: shifts all the blame in a difficult situation onto one person’s shoulders.

Should my visiting teachee from so many years ago refrained from taking offense at an ill-considered comment? Yeah, probably. But whether or not she sinned is not my concern. Whether or not I sinned, however, is — and repairing our relationship was my responsibility. And I abdicated that responsibility. For a word.

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2. Face of a Prophet
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