Praying for Politics

With the presidential race starting up I realized I have neglected politics for way too long here. I'm a political junkie...you didn't know that? Yeah, well after spending a summer at both the Senate and UN, going to numerous political rallies for both major parties (meeting three of the major candidates in the 2008 election), studying International Relations for a year before switching to teaching, diving into political texts on my study breaks and secretly reading the New York Times everyday, I think I've come to the conclusion that I can say what I think about politics. It's not better or worse than anyone else discussing politics on the blog-o-sphere, just my own informed and carefully thought out opinion.

When I was eight I dreamed of becoming the first woman president, a dream that endured through high school even. I made 20 and 30 year plans, plans for military service and law school- factors that most successful presidents had in common. In my conversations with adults growing up I would inevitably ask about their concerns with the government. I listened to my great-grandmother tell me about the Depression and talked to my Dad about reforming the welfare system. And the only reason I studied economics at all was so I'd understand how a government effected the economy and how the economy effects the people. But enough back story of my misplaced political aspirations.

You might be wondering, why did I change my beautiful dreams? Well, in all honesty, the more I explored and experienced ( see first paragraph), I realized there was something more to a politician than knowledge of social issues, compromising and negotiating, serving and sacrificing for our country, and standing up for your values and viewpoints. No. There is this sneaky little thing called politics. I learned that it meant so much more than the science and art of political government and the managing of government affairs; I quickly discovered that it often means a thirst for power achieved through manipulation and exploitation behind the guise of patriotism. Not 100% of the time, but way too often. You might be thinking, well duh! But I'm an optimist and a bit of an idealistic, but I figured this out before I was 20 so give me some credit. And furthermore, I learned this not from watching my TV and listening to others opinions on the pitfalls of our government; I learned this working side by side with people I admired and respected and seeing how politics changed them. So I made a choice. This is not the path I want to take.

Nevertheless, I will always remain a conscientious citizen and inquisitive political follower. Which brings me to the presidential race at hand. From my parents I learned to vote for an individual rather than a party, though I tend to feel more at home on the Republican side. And I've learned to not just listen to the speeches, but to research their voting history in the Senate or House and so on. Does their voting record match their speeches? Are they consistent- do they stick to their guns? Do they make choices based on what they really believe instead of what is popular at a certain time? Do they admit when they make mistakes and strive to work harder? Back in 2008, I was just a few months shy of 18 so I couldn't vote. But I distributed pamphlets in my dorm with information on both major candidates views on certain topics and encouraged others to register to vote. Had my birthday been slightly earlier, I might have found myself voting for Obama. While I agree and disagree with various parts of his actions and positions, I will save a more in-depth look at Obama for another post.

I want to talk about Mitt Romney. And John F. Kennedy. And religion. I am an active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Mormon. As such my political opinions are shaped by personal values and religious beliefs. Back in 1960, John F. Kennedy became the first Catholic to obtain the presidency. He made his connection with religion quite clear in his famous address to Protestant ministers. " I am not the Catholic candidate for president. I am the Democratic Party's candidate for president, who happens also to be a Catholic. I do not speak for my church on public matters, and the church does not speak for me. Whatever issue may come before me as president — on birth control, divorce, censorship, gambling or any other subject — I will make my decision in accordance with these views, in accordance with what my conscience tells me to be the national interest. . . But if the time should ever come — and I do not concede any conflict to be even remotely possible — when my office would require me to either violate my conscience or violate the national interest, then I would resign the office; and I hope any conscientious public servant would do the same."

Romney is of a different faith than Kennedy, but shares a similar opinion. Just as JFK did not represent the Catholic church, Romney does not stand for all Mormons (though quite a few of us are excited about his prospective candidacy). They enter the race as men of personal faith and public service- one often influencing the other. Romney, back in '07 stated "Freedom requires religion, just as religion requires freedom. Freedom opens the windows of the soul so that man can discover his most profound beliefs and commune with God. Freedom and religion endure together, or perish alone,". He went on to say, referencing Kennedy, "Almost 50 years ago another candidate from Massachusetts explained that he was an American running for President, not a Catholic running for President. Like him, I am an American running for President. I do not define my candidacy by my religion. A person should not be elected because of his faith nor should he be rejected because of his faith...No candidate should become the spokesman for his faith. For if he becomes President he will need the prayers of the people of all faiths." For the entire speech, click here.

While church and state are separate by law, it is my experience that politics and religion never can be far apart. I may not choose a candidate because of his particular sect, but his values and the actions he takes based on those values place before me a depiction of a man (or woman) who might be given power over our country. And whether I agree with their specific beliefs in God or religious practice or not, I look for common ground of faith. I look for someone who will be consistent in their values, for that will give me a better understanding of a candidate than pages of issue statements and inspiring speeches. As the presidential race starts to gain momentum I will continue to talk about the issues and ideas at hand.

What do you think? How much does the candidates or your own religion affect your voting? In a country promising religious freedom and tolerance, are we wrong to use it as a measurement? Just a thought.

I think I'm going to pray about it : )

A Hero's Stone

This is dedicated to my uncle and hero, SSgt. Charles E. Owens. It's a bit long, but worth every word.

A Hero’s Stone

The flag was never meant to be raised alone,
neither laid to rest unseen.
I will always stand at attention
with the cloth pressed to my heart,
as the Music fades away.
His last words run through my hands
slipping away into the ground.
The bugle sounds--
cracking the last shred of my strength,
raining soft bullets onto the grass.

One phone call made
never answered
Red then Green then
crash and Sparks then
shouts and flames
alarms then a silent chest.
A knock then silence.
Then gasps and sobs.
Brokenly told, pulled
through stuttering lips.

Expecting numbness,
the piercing brought it all
crashing down.
A brave smile holding
tears at bay.
Grieving in red, white, and blue,
then grey and black cloth.
Gathering together relieves for a time,
broken together we are somehow whole,
but each heart bears the pain alone.

Stark white rock out of lush green,
eagle, globe, and anchor etching
the heart of a hero in stone.
A cowboy melody speaks of the past,
and the voice of an angel reminds us of a future.
Stoic faces masking devastation,
lift the joyous burden
if for only a brief moment.
Laying in peace,
leaving only pieces behind.

Hugs and silent tears
sobs and blank looks
One shovel full.
Then another joins.
Sounding of finality,
soil on wood and metal.
Is it over?
Please make it stop.
Then it’s done and we wish
to hold on a moment more.

Walking away,
No one know where to.
Of course back to the church, the house,
climb into our cars.
Back to our jobs and families and school
and the rest of our lives.
But never the same.
Leaving him in the ground
but holding him in our hearts.

But the story doesn’t end,
can’t stop,
the memory will never cease.
Riding a horse,
watching a John Wayne,
hearing the rev of a Camaro.
Seeing the uniform--
paralyzes me in grief,
yet prods me to run and embrace
each one.

Trudging uphill in the rain.
It’s his voice pushing me forward.
No time for excuses.
No room for weakness.
No excuses for lies.
No weakness that can’t be made strong.
Slipping and stumbling in the mud,
his voice swims before mine:
You ARE good enough.
You are STRONG.

Climbing out of the car,
stepping through the grass,
reverently touching the white stone.
Finally letting the tears
soothe the ache.
Curling into a ball,
rocking, nearly praying,
wishing he was here.

Here to counsel and teach.
Here to see the changing world.
Here to tell me to suck it up
or let it out.
Here to see me fall in love,
and to help me sweep up my broken heart.
Here to ride off into the sunset.
Here to bring music back into the house.
Here to watch her dance and play.
Here to march at Her side.

A flagpole,
cookie dough ice cream,
that old cowboy hat
and shiny revolver.
And his music--
Oh, the Music.
All the music in me
crashed with him into
that earthly plot,
suddenly silenced.

His music is everywhere.
Everywhere.
In Nana’s voice and the cowboy yodel.
In the angel’s song.
In Elvis and Sousa,
the morning wake-up call,
the evening lullaby.
I can’t sing anymore,
it isn’t right.
All the music belonged to him.

Sprawled out on the grass again,
turning brown this time of year.
Wishing once again that he could
tell me the Answer.
As if there was only One,
to a single question.
Tracing the worn letters,
outlining the man above and below.

Some days run like clockwork,
others seem broken.
Waking up just before dawn
with a streaked face
and damp pillow.
Even now, as the days,
and months,
and years go by.
Never sure if we, if I,
will ever stop mourning.

One day, with another’s hand in mine,
I will make the oh-so familiar
walk to the weathered stone.
And I’ll introduce the rest of my life
to you: The hero.
To my music,
to the one who showed me
how to find that love;
the love that changes it all
back to how it was always supposed to be.

And one day I will hold
small hands in mine
as I guide them between the rows.
To tell them why they
carry your name.
I will tell of your
mischief and courage,
your love and loss.
And then I will place
their hands on the globe
to feel the heart of a hero.

Someday, when I’m bent and wrinkled,
I will find my way
back to the music.
I will hear the horns and drums
as my cheek brushes the grass.
And you will hear the words I whisper,
ever so softly, ever so true.

“I did not forget you.
I always came back.
You asked me to be true.
So I did as you asked.
Semper Fi.
Always Faithful.”

On Our Own Mortality

Right behind public speaking and snakes (and the fear of the dark and flying? depending on who you ask), people admit to being afraid of death. But why? Especially since we know we must all die, at some point, in some way? It is likely we fear the death of loved ones around us because we fear the feeling of loss and their absence in our lives. But also because as we experience the loss of those we love, our own mortality is clearly outlined- the realization that mortal death is, in fact, inevitable. For many it is the unknown, the uncontrollable change of circumstance, the fear that after working so hard to figure out this life we will still stand unprepared for what comes next. Your religious beliefs obviously play a role in this conversation: whether you believe in heaven or hell, in eternal punishment, or if you believe that everything ends when you take your last mortal breath. For more on my beliefs on that matter click here.

For so many more"the fear of death follows from the fear of life" as Mark Twain so simply stated. Perhaps we are afraid of death because we start to realize, in this contemplation of our own mortality, that we have not lived the way we planned. We realize that we have regrets and grudges, fears that have held us back, or decisions we wish we could redo. Dead-end jobs, a preoccupation with money or material possessions, or just inappropriate priorities. We might wish we had spent more time with our families laughing and telling stories, that we'd learned to let things go and forgive, or that we had truly learned to love. As Morrie Schwartz put it, " When you learn how to die, you learn how to live."

Now to where I was heading. It is one thing to sit near the end of your life, prolonged by modern medicine and technology, surrounded by family and friends, and to reflect on your mistakes and what you would have done differently. It is quite another to contemplate an imminent death in your youth, before you feel as though you've even started to live. Perhaps while just finishing your education and figuring out a career. Maybe while you still resent your parents and haven't had children of your own to finally understand their love. And you fear that you've never loved, not really, not completely without reserve- or that even if you have loved you will never know if it was the kind that could last through hardship and heartaches. Even beyond all that, the dying youth fears that they have left nothing behind to say that they were here, that they made a difference, that even in their young, incomplete experience they had something incredible to say or contribute.

So, what should be done? If a young individual knows they will die, has some warning, indication, or diagnosis, how should they live out their remaining time? Go crazy- skydiving, bungee jumping, travel the world? Or do they keep working and studying in an effort to leave something more tangible? Should they work hard to find love and be loved in return or should they distance themselves in an attempt to alleviate the pain of their eventual absence? And all the things that we've tried so hard to learn, in the belief that one day we would pass it onto our children, do those things matter anymore? If we have no children, no spouse, how can we continue on? For as we've seen many times, life has to go on after death. People go back to work and back to their own worries and problems. For your parents and siblings and friends, your death will become a part of their life, but it will not define them. But maybe, like I said before, in dying we learn how to live, or at least how we wanted to or should have lived. And just maybe we will leave that awareness in those around us.

Now, before you wonder, I am not dying. Merely contemplating mortality and all that accompanies it. What I'm really after here is some feedback. What do you think? Are you living life that way you feel you should- fulfilling dreams, learning to love? **And how would you handle death if you were in the position of the young individual? What would you do?

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." ~Norman Cousins

April Showers Bring May....

After weeks of Utah struggling to accept the arrival of spring, it has burst with full force into spring! And with the celebrated arrival of spring many changes have come my way, good and not so good. Winter semester ended here at BYU and I bid adieu to some of dear roommates. Then, all of a sudden I was biding farewell to my charming, though idiosyncratic, house due to the incompetency of my landlady. Sad, but good change for me. This past year held lots of heartache for me, most of which I dealt with in that house- sometimes laying in my bed crying and other times sitting in the front room laughing. This change is already helping me to meet more people and be full of joy again. Along with the other changes, my mother and siblings will be moving back to Indiana on June 1st and I will be helping them move. I will get to see my sister, Cortney, who lives back east. And more delays with the publishing company, but patience has always been a virtue, right?
I've come to realize just how individual our life's paths are now. Growing up we experience life with friends and classmates, going through the stages and phases together. Learning to drive and starting to date are shared with this entire group of people who shared our high school's crazy gym teacher, the local hang-out spots, and all the markers of coming of age. What a shock to realize in college that it will never be like that. People start to move at different paces in various directions. My friends are scattered abroad traveling or serving church missions, some are getting married and having kids already, others are finishing school, doing internships, and finding careers. And that is part of their path. Looking from the outside at others lives it appears so effortless this transition from one stage to another, always at the right time and right place. It's a bit trickier doing it in your own life. No one else knows of all the waiting, preparing, sweat and tears, loneliness and deep thought that goes into trying to figure out where I'm supposed to be next. People, much older and wiser I suppose (and they do too), tell you to wait and be patient, that all good things come in time. They must have forgotten. Or maybe not everyone struggles like this with the preparing stage. Maybe they don't have friends who ditch them for boys and missions, sometimes even rightfully so. Maybe they grasp more peace about this part of life than I.
Anyways, it's good to be back to blogging after my moving madness. And here is an excerpt I absolutely loved from recent writing. It just came out of my heart straight onto the paper.

"When the first rays of light warm my face at dawn, it is you kissing my face as you exit my dreams. And at night the twinkling of the lamp is you beckoning me to slip back into our dreams. At the end of all the love songs, in the few moments of silence after the music has stopped but before the song is over, you are there singing me to sleep. And you are in the kitchen with me as I experiment with new recipes- laughing with me over the mishaps and savoring new discoveries. The smell of books, both old and new, comes with the hope of finding you in each new adventure and journey through the pages. You must know that it is you in every breath and blink, every daydream and though, every recipe and story. It always is You."

P.S. 64 days til Emilee's wedding!!