One Thing Kelly's Excommunication Shows

Kate Kelly wrote this to those conducting her disciplinary court: "I want to communicate with perfect candor, as I have always done. As I made clear to President Wheatley when we met on May 5th, I will continue to lead Ordain Women, the group I founded. I will not take down the website ordainwomen.org. I will not stop speaking out publicly on the issue of gender inequality in the church. These things President Wheatley instructed me to do, I cannot do in good conscience. I cannot repent of telling the truth, speaking what is in my heart and asking questions that burn in my soul."

I have a thought. Aside from whether she is right and humble or proud and misled, Kelly is honest. She is acting in accordance with "the dictates of her conscience," to paraphrase Joseph Smith. While there IS a place in this church for honest, earnest, truth-minded and inquiring people who ask questions that do not challenge convention (which is fine--questions don't need to challenge convention to be deep and meaningful), there DOESNT seem to be a place in this church for equally honest, earnest, truth-minded and inquiring people who ask questions that pose a legitimate challenge to the church. Kelly's experience shows that when you treat real feelings that challenge traditional thought AS SERIOUSLY as you treat real feelings that align with traditional thought, you aren't wanted. It is possible to be both openly honest and openly unwelcome in the LDS church.

(In a way this is a surprising realization, because mainstream Mormon narratives have nothing like it: the Book of Mormon, for example, only shows the church opposing dishonest antichrists, not honest (if incessantly vocal and petitioning) believers. So Kelly's excommunication is complicated for me.)

Letters to Chile 3

Adele,

A quick note today, since I'm late. Last night I watched hours of Ace of Cakes and a ridiculous Biography special on Johnny Depp, who himself is a brilliant actor of course. I woke up this morning at 5 to help a friend named Catherine pack a truck and say hello to a lovely and awesome woman, Liz Whittaker, they being roommates at the time, though no more because Catherine's gone! Anyway it's been a slow week with lots of good things going on. I've finally met my home teaching companion and we went crazy visiting our cool people in the Branch. I'm still Gospel Doctrine teacher and Young Men's President,
the latter of which I've no clue what to do with. There's a guy there named Chris Shumate who is cool and was in my C.S. Lewis class and reminds me of one of my mission companions. Somehow, slowly, that branch is becoming less and less irritating and more and more entertaining. We shall see how things progress.

Spiritual thought: D&C 127:2 "And as for the perils which I am called to pass through, they seem but a small thing to me, as the envy and wrath of man have been my common lot all the days of my life; and for what cause it seems mysterious, unless I was ordained from before the foundation of the world for some good end, or bad, as you may choose to call it. Judge ye for yourselves. God knoweth all these things, whether it be good or bad. But nevertheless, deep water is what I am wont to swim in. It all has become a second nature to me; and I feel, like Paul, to glory in tribulation; for to this day has the God of my fathers delivered me out of them all, and will deliver me from
henceforth; for behold, and lo, I shall triumph over all my enemies, for the Lord God hath spoken it."

Discovered that yesterday while preparing to talk about the Nauvoo temple and baptisms for the dead. D&C 127-128 is AMAZING! READ IT or DIE!!!

love ya tons like a load of flowers,
Jacob

Letters to Chile 2

Dear Adele,

Hullo sweet dear! I listed out my birthday presents for you last week, but it must be in my system of neglect to forget all about the best of them:

-Laura, in an effort I think to shut up my frequent monologues against “the time-wasting effects of watching nothing but movies and television; turn it off and find a book or write a story!”, wrote a short story for me! Here’s the first paragraph of Pearl, Earl, and the Jumping Jacks Affair, which I’m sure you’ll agree is the spirit of Laura to the bone (as long as we assume spirits have skeletal systems):

“Pearl and Earl had been married for fifty two and a quarter years. Pearl loved Earl. Earl loved Pearl. Pearl and Earl were not a happy couple. Well, if they loved each other, why were they so unhappy? All you need is love, as Paul McCartney constantly reminds us with his sweet serenades. Earl was having an affair… with jumping jacks. Oh, you may laugh. You may even scoff at the audacity to tell such a tale. No, no, I tell only the truth and nothing but the truth!! So, Judge Mathis, if you will lend me an ear, I will take you on the journey of Pearl and Earl. An endeavor filled with dentures, Johnny the P.E. student, crappy country music, and in the end, poisoned potato salad. This is an odyssey that you will not soon forget.”

Not that the spirit of Laura has ever had much to do with the affairs of married people, but you know what I mean. What a great gift! She offered nothing purchased—just the ideas of a weird and fun teenage mind! Remember being a teenager? Just asking.

-I also got a rockin awesome backback made out of BURNT-ORANGE CORDUROY! (Not, I assume, made of real oranges) I opened it and was like, “what is this thing”, because it was orange and threw me off. I don’t know who sent it to me, but I think I’ll enjoy pretending it was Eddie Vedder.

Speaking of Pearl Jam: one of my life’s highest callings—to see Pearl Jam live—will be fulfilled on September 28^th down in Salt Lake City. I bought the tickets as soon as I could after they were available for purchase and still could only get seats in the 36^th row, but in the scheme of things that might be pretty close, close enough that I might catch some of Stone Gossard’s legendary projectile sweat on my fingertips if I stand on my chair with arms raised! Which I plan on doing. I don’t know yet who to take with me, since Camilla will be in Omaha with Mom at the same time for the installation of Grandpa’s final sculptures in that sprawling memorial to pioneers and bankers—but I’m sure the Lord is preparing someone to receive Pearl Jam into their hands.

I was home completely alone for the 2^nd half of this past week. The family went with a tent to mountains of Cache Valley, and I stayed behind because apparently the eternally ringing phones of Western Wats would be comfortless and disoriented without me, functioning like drunks, or Texans. Ted and I went on numerous adventures, which I don’t have time to write and you don’t have to read. But it was a great bonding time. Someday I’ll write a memoir called “Travels With Ted”, and give you a signed copy.

Lest I forget AGAIN: Playmill was so BEAUTIFUL, Adele. This was the first time I’ve ever been there, and the whirling MAGIC of the theatre was everywhere in it, on the stage, in the seats. The performers exhaled nothing but magic and the air was thick with it, I started coughing on it in fits of delight. I drove up with two excessively funny people, Liz Whittaker and Katie Ludlow. Liz shared a lot of Playmill lore with us as we passed through very pretty country covered with trees. I was reminded a bit of Newfoundland, which is itself a forest-island with a few cleared-out spots where people have decided to bed down. We wound up seeing two shows, “The Secret Garden” (dunno if you’ve ever seen it, it moves pretty fast, has a lot going on, but somehow thinking on it as a whole is like watching a ballet dancer in slow motion… touching and gorgeous) and “Guys and Dolls” (which was BRILLIANT and so so fun!), with some burger-eating in between. I can’t remember what burger I got, but I think it deserves to be President, with the fries as its cabinet.

I’ve been learning that human beings are so precious and have so much to offer me. Since you’ve been on your mission I’ve been so blessed in the associations that I’ve been building with people. I myself have had little to do with it. It’s like I just step into the right place and someone jumps out and grabs my hand and yanks me off into some beautiful adventure. Just as you expressed to me a couple years back, I too am feeling the blessings of having a missionary from the family in the field. Somehow, you being in Chile has influenced my “stepping into the right places.” For this I am grateful. I would offer you a cigar, but I have none, and I doubt you’ve taken up smoking in recent months anyway.

Adele, you are so loved! Keep your chin up and your sword shiny, and I’ll pray we both find what we’re looking for.

And thus I close

With the wild franticness

of a rock under cool water,

Jacob

Midnight Effects

An event has just occurred!

My desire before going to sleep tonight was to: 1) do a significant bit of reading from “Travels With Charley”, and 2) finish listening to the soft and searing folk(ish) album that arrived in the mail today, “29” by Ryan Adams, both of which 3) I would accomplish without wading too far into the depth of night. Like clockwork (literally), in rhythmic unison, 1) the bit of the Steinbeck I was studying came to a natural stopping point, 2) the final track on Adams’ album thumbed its’ quiet end, and 3) my clock beeped lightly to signify the striking of midnight.

It was a celestial domino effect that made me sigh with its pleasantness--though I suppose I've futilized it's perfect effect by staying up to talk about it.

Letters to Chile

I want to write more on this blasted blog but never know what. I've decided to post the letters I write to my missionary sister Adele each week, just to get in the mode of posting. Hopefully more enlightened posts will be inspired by this practice. Or something.

Dear Adele,

Happy Birthday! Or I hope it was. For me it was SURPRISINGLY happy considering how overwhelmingly downcast I’ve been feeling. Birthday morning I woke after 4 hours at around 6:30 in the morning. I lay strewn in bed for about half-an-hour, pitying myself as usual, then rose and wiped off the dirty kitchen table. Back in my room, I read an author named John Updike for another half-hour, then rose and ate a bowel of cereal. After a few minutes of sleep I was gathered up by Anna for opening presents, which I really was excited for and roused myself with amazing speed. My gifts were as follows:

- “Inkheart”, an adventurous movie about the magic of books and stories.
- “Fellowship of the Ring”, the first installment of the Lord of the Rings movie series, replacing our older, scratched copy.
- A book by John Steinbeck, my current Favorite Author Ever, called “Travels With Charlie”, detailing the author’s cross-country trip from Rhode Island to his birthplace in California and his many mini adventures and thoughts that came to him along the way (Charlie is his French poodle). It’s the one I’m reading currently, and it’s so fun! The man is always so articulate and visual in his language. I envy and aspire to be like him.
- A set of three books, each a collection of American short stories and/or essays written in a particular year: one book covering 2004, another 2007, and the third covering 2008. Haven’t started them yet, but am anxious to.
- Some pants and shirts that look amazing on me.
- No cds! I was shocked and almost hurt, until I opened my final present…
- A bookcase. It’s hugely wide. We had to assemble it. The paneled and pressed wood is incredibly real-looking, very wide, and just under 5 feet tall. There are three long shelves—it’s the LENGTH of it that’s give it it’s bulky air, though it’s not a huge space-cruncher. Really beautiful piece of furniture. The top shelf I placed the British-authored books, the second shelf is Gospel books and poetry (as well as one book on literary criticism—didn’t know where else it should go), and the bottom shelf American literature. Dunno why I arranged it as such, but I do like the look of it. It’s like the piece that was missing from my room—it’s never felt as complete as it does now. Can you tell I love it?

We went to Mesa Falls, where we picnicked on hot dogs and witnessed falling water—lots of it. I read “Travels With Charlie” aloud to the general contents of the vehicle, which delighted myself, Dad, and even Camilla to a point, though everyone else seemed indifferent. The part of the world we drove through to get to Mesa Falls was a blanket of soft, drifting hills, all sectioned off into farmland, each it’s own shade of green. It was so beautiful that I wanted to dance in it, wanted to kiss the grass if you can believe it, but the car was fast-moving and I want to live more than I want to kiss grass…. here I still am. I napped and blew out all 22 of our candles in one deft heave that would have left you and your opera lungs proud. How did our birthday go for you? I assume Mom will inform you about Laura's b-day, which I wasn't as involved in.

Thanks for your brief but good words last week. They were well received. There are so many times where I feel on fire with frustration and a constant sense of loss, like there’s something important I need to be doing RIGHT NOW… but what? But as the days stretch into weeks my acute pain in Michelle’s absence dims little by little, and I’m beginning to move on. She’s forever changed me for the monumental better. I try not to think too much about her, but I won’t even try to forget her—so I allow myself a little monologue about her now and then, mostly in writing, so forgive me if I repetitively mention her every week for the remainder of your mission. It’s my weak way of dealing with what I deem immense feelings. You understand, I’m sure. Thanks for that.

I love you and I’ll keep praying for you. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to pray for you? For me, please pray that I’ll expand my view again to all I should be thinking of and praying for; of late my prayers have all been entirely about myself, and though I may rack my brain, the dark of night muddles my disposition to care about others' needs. I need to snap out of it!—it’s fine to grieve, but not to “dwell on dreams and forget to live”, as Dumbledore says. The new HP movie is, by the way, delightfully glorious. ;)

forgetting something as usual,

your loving brother,
Jacob

ps....remind me to tell you about my visit to Playmill. It was simple but fun!

Dammit

I guess I'm just finally feeling what people need to feel to be people. People come into our lives and set them on fire and we "burn with the beauty," become bigger, brighter, more. The people come and then they go away again. That's part of life. We let the change take place. We trust one another, we trust ourselves, and we respond to life as it comes with it's new people and changes. And all of it's good. And all of it is worth it. And it will always be painful, because how else would love taste so sweet to us when we get it at last?

The day we decided this, it was a clear, shining day. Today is cold and wet and clouded. The earth's been washed and the wind is blowing it dry. We need days like this for the rest to matter. And so,
today
is
a
beautiful
day.

Hooray to have loved, and to love still.

Visions

Recent travails with my first pair of contact lenses has reminded me of one of the themes of my life which I know I shall have difficulty expressing.  Instead of trying to explain it anew, I’ll quote a very short story I wrote years ago and supplement it with a few expoundings.  It’s called “Sight.”

Stevie Villarreal has just slapped me in the face. I don’t know why he did that. Granted, I just pitched a pebble between his pointy shoulder blades, but not so very hard that he should need to come over and strike so crassly.

It must be because I made him look lesser then he feels he should. Such a breach demands swift and exact and stinging punishment. Otherwise, to him, he’d stay that way.

We had stared at one another, inches apart, wrestling in our eyes. There was a trilling flash of green and he reached to me and lashed me. I winced, obviously, but didn’t look away. Even if my glasses are gone—and they are; even now flying across the classroom—breaking the gaze now is to fail utterly; to lie down, take the kicks and die, right here in my seat. Being up there in the eyes says it isn’t done. Here I am. You can’t make me into what you are.

It’s easier for me to stare like this without my glasses, because then I don’t see Stevie staring back.

Far be it for an author to dictate “What It Means” to his audience, but among the ideas behind this is sight—what it is to see a thing as it is.  

There's a splendid quote by Madame Curie that I'd like to think absolutely true: "Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood."  But it’s difficult, isn't it, to qualify whether or not anything can really ever be fully comprehended and understood as it is?

For me, just because I believe I am seeing something for what it really is does not automatically lessen my fear of it.  Obviously "believing" a thing to be real, and the fact of it's actual reality, can be--and often is--completely separate from one another.  And, interestingly, as I have observed here in this short story, fear will also evaporate when my perception of the thing is obscured—the fine lines blurred, the fangs blunted, sharpened edges dulled to a fluffy cream.  

So:  Is impaired sight a benefit, simplifying matters to what they really are?  Or is it a retreat--a distortion of reality into something less threatening and more manageable?

I have no idea.  Intuition suggests that it’s important for me to wonder about this, but like most things I suppose the only sure thing I’ll ever settle on is the ambiguity of it all.  I still have difficulty answering the question, when others put it to me, of why it even matters, and aren’t you wasting time?

Perhaps.  But if it’s pointless, I probably wouldn't know it til I voiced it.