Indivisible Under God

 

 

 

A friend recently mentioned she doesn't understand why I am religiously still a Mormon. She knows I don't fit into the straight-laced, ultra-conservative Mormon stereotypes that she thinks of when she considers what a Mormon is.

I thought about it and replied that because of my brother, I have a different perspective on religion. She accepted that and we went back to discussing more interesting topics, like what we were eating for lunch. Of course, like all deep questions in life, there is more than a one sentence answer to the topic. As I considered the question of why I am a Mormon more deeply, I came up with a few more answers.

I think I am still (because lots of people are raised in a religion and chose to leave the faith of their childhood when they are adults) a Mormon because I have found my people there. Let's face it, Mormons are not main-stream Christians. Although we profess to worship Christ, lots and lots of other religions argue we aren't Christian because we do things a bit differently. I don't care. It doesn't bother me to stand with a group of people that others consider odd. I've never had the luxury of fitting in with the norm, so I am fine with being thought of as different. Maybe if I had an ideal childhood with a perfect family I would have more trouble with being Mormon, but I didn't, so there you go.

Since Rex and I were introduced to a full menu of religions as children in foster care, I appreciate the variety of religiousness that colors our world. I don't get hung up on which way of worship that God prefers. I think God likes them all, otherwise he would have tattooed his will on our bottoms to begin with.

 I do believe in God. I have dear friends that don't and I understand that too. It is hard to believe in something that you can't touch or see with your own eyes. I think of it like New York City. I know NYC exists because millions of people live there. I've seen pictures of it and read lots of words written about it. I believe people when they tell me about it, although I've never seen it myself. I haven't walked the streets, smelled the air or touched the ground. I am fine with believing that New York City exists based on the testimonies of others who have experienced it first hand. Same with God. I haven't seen angels or talked to God face to face, but I believe my brother Rex did. I believe that what Rex testified of, that God exists and is aware of us, is true. I have no reason to doubt my brother's  knowledge because I experienced the results of his belief. I believe in judging things by the fruits of their work and Rex's understanding of  God was sweet, wonderful and life changing.

Rather than focusing my limited energy on which religion is true, right and proper to the exclusion of all others, I prefer taking the inclusive road. I acknowledge all belief systems that help people survive this troubled world and promote peace, charity and love, are good. I respect our right to chose for ourselves what to worship. Some worship money or physical attributes. Others worship pleasure or recreation. I worship easing suffering, lifting burdens and not adding more grief to an already messed up world.
I think that we are created by God and that we will return to God when our time on earth is over. I think that we are indivisible from God because we carry his spark of creation within ourselves. Just as my love for my family keeps me connected to them, I am also connected to you by virtue of our shared human experience. We are family, indivisible under God.

Good Things Are Happening!

It has been a gratifying week for me. First, this wonderful two part book review of Ezra and Hadassah came out:

Part one: http://mamamem.blogspot.com/2015/03/book-review-ezra-and-hadassah-part-1.html

Part two: http://mamamem.blogspot.com/2015/03/book-review-ezra-and-hadassah-part-2.html

I appreciated both parts of the author's reviews because she dissected the book and commented on so many of the points I wanted to make to the reader. I am thrilled she understood.

Second, my book is currently being reviewed for publication by the US subsidiary of the Oxford University Press. I know it is a long process for them to make a decision and that is completely fine with me. Heck, it is an honor to be considered!

Third, I have been asked to speak at a symposium this summer about foster care. I don't have the official details yet, but unlike my husband (who believes nothing is official until it is official) I believe in celebrating even a whiff of good news. So YAY!

and lastly, I have been reminded how danged good my life has turned out. The above book review talked about my brother and I having resiliency - the ability to bounce back from adversity. I take that as a compliment. I also know that I had whole teams of loving human beings who carried me every step of the way through the rough parts of my life. For them, I am eternally grateful. Just to drive home the point that my brother and I beat ALL the statistics for kids in foster care, here are the most current stats: (warning - they will break your heart.)

 

 

We WERE lucky, even if it didn't start out that way. In the end, we found our way out and I am so happy for us.

"He PUNCHED me!"

We were at a reunion with our adopted dad's family. It was a hot summer day in Washington state and all us cousins were running around outside like puppies with rabies, sweating and foaming at the mouth but having the time of our lives. The adults lounged on the back porch overseeing the charcoal grill and in the family room, enjoying the iced baskets of beer and other adult beverages. My adoptive parents were the only adults sipping Pepsi and  non-alcoholic lemonade.

For us kids, the drink of choice at the day-long reunion was Hawaiian Punch. It was a rarely given party treat since Kool-aid at 5 cents a packet was the day-to-day drink of childhood.  After one particularly challenging game of Hide and Seek, I was red-faced and panting, bent forward while trying to catch my breath. My brother Rex, who uncharacteristically found a couple of unknown cousins willing to play with him, was joyous as he bounded over to me.
"Hey! You look hot. Do you want a Hawaiian Punch?" he asked me, a strange question to ask since we were not in habit of treating each other with kindness and civility. I should have been suspicious, but I wasn't.
"Sure!" I replied.
Rex grinned and drew back his fist in a dramatic wind- up and proceeded to sock me in the nose. Not only was I not prepared to get punched in the face, it was so out character for Rex that I couldn't believe he actually did it. He stood there, smiling like the Cheshire Cat while I yelped, "Whadya do that for?" while holding my throbbing nose.
He said, "Well, you said you wanted a Hawaiian Punch and I gave you one." like somehow that excused his felonious assault on me.
Then I got hopping mad. I did the most evil thing I could think of to get back at him.
I ran and told Harley and Virginia what Rex did to me, punctuated with tears and wailing and pointed fingers in Rex's direction. Harley and Virginia glanced at each other and at the adults standing around, listening to my pitiful story.
"Go tell Rex to come here." said Harley in a rare show of fatherly authority. At home it was Virginia that dealt with disciplinary infractions, with Harley as the henchmen who followed her orders.
Rex appeared at my side in front of the now fully assembled Adult Court of the Spencer Family Reunion.
"So what happened?" Harley asked Rex.
"I asked her if she wanted a Hawaiian Punch and when she said yes, I gave her one." He replied, fully confident in his logic.
"But he PUNCHED me in the nose!"I sobbed, rubbing my nose red with my hand.
The slightly-tipsy crowd of adults roared with laughter. They slapped their knees and hoisted their beer cans in Rex's direction.
 "You gotta give the boy credit, he asked her permission." someone from the back piped up. "Yep, she said she wanted a Hawaiian Punch, so what can you do?"
Harley and Virginia looked at Rex laughing with the crowd, and at me, with a sore but otherwise unhurt nose.
"Alright. That's enough. Go play, and Rex - don't give anyone anymore Hawaiian Punches." Harley waved us away and the royal court disbanded, wandering away to get seconds of Grandma Spencer's cold potato salad and a fresh beer. I knew that if we were at home (where we never had Hawaiian Punch to drink) Rex would have gotten the dickens beat out him, but I could see how that response wouldn't have flown very well at the reunion. Rex got very, very lucky that day.

We went back to playing and the afternoon wore on. I played a game of  "Double Dog Dare You" that was really just an excuse to show off my tree climbing skills and that also gave me an opportunity to kiss a cute cousin in the name of never backing down from a dare.

Hours later the reunion busted up when the cops were called because one of the now very drunk uncles brandished a kitchen knife at his equally drunk wife and was threatening to stab her if she didn't quit whining to the other women about how little their house was.

As our station wagon pulled away from the curb, Virginia turned to Harley and said, "It's ok with me if we never do that again." and he agreed. In the way-way back of the station wagon I watched the drunk uncle being handcuffed and led to the backseat of the police car while the rest of the family gathered around in the dusky light of evening. When we turned the corner and the extended Spencer family clan disappeared from view,  I realized that was the most fun day I'd ever had in my whole life.

Hawaiian Punch, indeed. Good one, Rex, good one.