Defining Non-Mormons in Utah, from My Favorite "Common Law Mormon" Columnist

To The Herald Journal

Dear Editor,

I subscribe to the Herald Journal for many reasons--local news, obituaries, comic strips, the crossword puzzle, tradition--but very possibly my number one reason is the wonderful, laugh-out-loud, weekly humor column, "Slightly Off-Center."  Dennis Hincamp makes me laugh out loud on a weekly basis, which is not an easy thing to do!  His article this week labeling himself as a "Common Law Mormon" and identifying the different types of non-Mormons in Utah is one of his best yet.  It made me (a dyed-in-the-wool, born and bred, pioneer stock Latter-day Saint) just about fall off my chair, I was laughing so hard.  I had to grab for my scissors to clip and save it for my year's supply of humor.  Then I went straight to my computer to dash off this letter to publicly express my gratitude, since that's probably more appropriate than bearing my testimony about it on Sunday.  But I'm definitely going to link to the online article in my Mormon blog.

Thank you, Dennis, for keeping it real, and keeping it funny.  Please keep it up until you die.  And may you live to be 115.

Nancy Wyatt Jensen

Logan

Slightly Off-Center, by Dennis Hinkamp

Young Women in Excellence: "Shine Your Light"

We just had a great Evening of Excellence 

with our Young Women.

Our theme was "Shine Your Light."

The Young Women sang "Share His Light"

by Jenny Phillips.

Our YW First Counselor

had taken beautiful backlit photos of each girl,

which we displayed next to these adorable

lightbulb candy jars from Hobby Lobby

 filled with Lemonheads.

One of our Relief Society teachers

gave a talk on being "photogenic,"

following an idea from this blog.

Since "photo" means light,

and "genic" means life,

anyone with the Light of Christ

is photogenic.

She brought a picture of herself

in her most photogenic moment:

with her grandchildren.

Each girl stood and talked about
 a value experience

that she had worked on this year

and that had made a difference in her life.

(This was the best part of the evening!)

Our wonderful Bishop added some remarks.

And then, 

of course,

REFRESHMENTS!

Everything in lemon flavors or yellow colors.

It was a delightful evening!

A Good Day

Any day that you have money to shop for groceries

is a good day.

For many people in the world, 

it would be an absolutely fabulous day.

That means pretty much every day in my life

is a good day.

Something to remember.

Look Alikes

Recently I met a man who looked just like Elder Bednar.

He said, "Yeah, I get that a lot."

The first thing that came to my mind was,

"I hope you're nice to everyone."

Really!  If you look like an Apostle of the Lord,

you had better make sure you also act like him.

Otherwise, you could really mess someone up

who thinks you are him.

So this makes me think to myself,

Have you received His image in your countenance?

Have you taken the name of Christ?

Are you a Christian?

Well, then,

I'd better be nice to everyone.

If I'm a disciple of Christ,

I'd better act like Him.

Even while I'm driving.

Even while I'm online.

Even while I'm upset.

Even while I'm waiting in line.

Otherwise, I could really mess someone up.

Eat, Breathe, Grow, Give

Joseph Smith said, 

"Happiness is the object and design of our existence and will be the end thereof if we pursue the path that leads to it."
Notice there is an IF in that sentence.  We are not guaranteed happiness.  We have to pursue the path that leads to it.

One of the most ghastly stories in the Old Testament is found at the end of the Book of Judges.  It deals with cowardice, with devaluing of women, with rape, with murder, with desecration of a human body, with vengeance and bloodshed.  I won't repeat the story here because I dislike reading it, let alone writing it.  Why is such a story in the Bible?

Its value is found in its juxtaposition with the Book of Ruth, which directly follows it.  In the story of Ruth we find its direct opposite:  A woman is found to be of great value despite being from an enemy land, and of an idol-worshiping heritage, because she converts, is fiercely loyal to her mother-in-law, and because she serves and loves whole-heartedly.

The Book of Ruth and the Book of Judges actually take place at the same time in history.  Ruth chose to live differently than those depicted in Judges.  In this life, we have the choice of which "book" we are going to live in, and which story we are going to create.

Jesus Christ said,

I am come that they might have life and that they might have it more abundantly."  (John 10:10)  

We can choose that abundant life that Christ offered.

When I was a little kid, I learned on TV ("Schoolhouse Rock") that something is alive if it
eats,
breathes, and
grows.
Therefore, a plant is alive, while a rock is not.

But there is one more property to life:
 Something that is alive and really thriving also
gives.
In nature, that means it reproduces and/or contributes to the world around it. 

By breaking a small branch off my jade tree, I can grow another jade tree without diminishing the original tree; in fact, the pruning will spur growth.  I have given away 30 jade plants as gifts from this one tree.

When we choose to 

eat the "Bread of Life" by studying Christ's teachings, 

breathe by letting the Spirit direct our every move, 

grow and improve our abilities,
and 

give of ourselves, 

we are living that abundant life that Jesus Christ promised.

  

When I feel stagnant, bored, or useless,

I need to consider which of these categories 

is lacking, and by investing in it, 

I can return to a more abundant state of life.

Russian Sunshine on an American Sweater

On the last day of October 2002, my husband and I sat in a dark and cluttered office, waiting for a door to open and change our lives. We were in the small village of Kropotnik in southwestern Russia, not far from the Black Sea. Outside, the weather was lovely, like southern California in the fall. We were in the office of an orphanage director, waiting to meet our future child. We knew nothing about her, except that she was four years old, and her name was Elena.

The door opened and a woman led in a beautiful child. She had fine brown hair cut short, olive skin, chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and a wary expression on her face. This was Elena.

 

I carefully examined my feelings. I expected a rush of emotion, a surge of love for my prospective daughter, but I felt nothing in particular. I put her on my lap. She was too frightened to speak. So the woman handed her the paper and crayons I had brought and asked her to draw a picture. She selected a yellow crayon and carefully drew a circle. She drew long lines emanating from the circle in all directions: a sun. I loved this about her: that she would draw a bright and hopeful picture in a moment of fear. I asked myself, could I love this child? The answer was a resounding yes.

 

Elena's mother had been in prison for six months on drug charges. In that time, she had not contacted her child or inquired after her. Elena was legally abandoned and was in need of parents.   

When we returned home to America to await our court date for adoption, as per Russian regulation, the image of that yellow sun stayed in my mind. For each of my six biological babies, I had made a sweater. I found a pattern with crocheted flowers on the front and a matching hat. I bought yarn and began to crochet a little blue sweater to fit Elena’s measurements. When I was done, I appliquéd the flower motifs and then, in honor of her drawing, I added a yellow sun. As I worked, my love for my faraway child grew.

Then we got the crushing news: When Elena's mother heard that an American couple was adopting her child, she immediately wrote to Elena from prison.  She promised to be a good mother. She wanted to get out of jail, clean up her life, and claim her child.

We began a year-and-a-half wait, hoping something would change, hoping it would work out.  And it did, but not for us.  It worked out for Elena and her mother. 

We started over, with a new home study, new documentation, a new adoption agent, and a second mortgage on our home.

Nearly two years after our first trip, we were again in Russia, sitting in a greeting room in another orphanage, this time in Afipsky village, waiting for a door to open and change our lives. A four-year-old girl entered, holding her teacher’s hand. She had fine brown hair cut short, olive skin, chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and a sweet smile. She presented herself as if she expected to be adored, as if she knew we would be her parents. This was Marisha. I did not have to examine my feelings; I loved this child madly. 

She climbed on my lap. Our agent pulled out a little spiral-bound notebook and handed her some crayons. She chose yellow. She drew a circle. She added long lines, emanating in all directions. It was another sun, another sign of hope from an abandoned child.

 Six weeks later we returned for our court date. It was evening before the paperwork was complete. We drove to the orphanage to collect the child who was now our daughter. Marisha emerged from the children's quarters, once again full of smiles. I helped her change from her orphanage dress into the clothing I had brought: a blue skirt, pink tights, red patent leather Mary Janes, and the sweater with the sun on it. It fit perfectly and she loved it.

As we rode off into the dark night, our family now complete, Marisha asked us questions, translated by our agent: “What do you have in America? Do you have doors and windows? Do you have crayons and scissors and Scotch tape? Do you have inside and outside?” Every question delighted us.  Every answer pleased her. In her make-shift bed on the hotel couch that night, she sang herself to sleep.

(Written for my English 2010 class assignment at Utah State University.  I got an A.)

I Sang at a Funeral and I Did Not Cry

I have an old friend named Bonnie (she is both a friend I have had for a long time, and she is actually old) who has been suffering from ALS for many years. There is a fast-killing ALS and a slow-killing ALS.  She got the slow one. It's been 7-8 years pulling her under.

I had been assigned to be Bonnie's visiting teacher from our church Relief Society about a decade ago, a position I enjoyed for several years, visiting her every single month. Although I had been kind of scared of her at first, I quickly learned to love her.  It was easy, really, because she was genuinely interested in me. She remembered the names of all my children and what they were all up to (which is a lot to remember). She could carry on deeply intelligent gospel discussions. She was a great encourager. She read my teenaged daughter's attempt at a novel, and never stopped insisting it should be finished and submitted to a publisher.  "She has such a talent!"

Bonnie has been in a nursing home for the last few years. I haven't been her visiting teacher, but I've visited her as frequently as I could manage.  Gradually she lost control of her feet, her legs, her arms, her torso.  For a while, one finger could still move just enough to tap the screen and turn the page on her Kindle.  She was so grateful that she had had Lasik surgery on her eyes years ago, because now she could read without getting someone to adjust her glasses.  Finally she could only watch TV and talk, but she couldn't change the channel or adjust the volume.  Interestingly and amazingly, it is really true that she never complained. 

Last week I planned to go and visit her again.  I thought I'd go on Friday morning, when I had no university classes and I could stay and visit for a while, and when I would have time to first buy her a new movie and some flowers.  I felt an urgency to go, and Friday was my soonest opportunity.

But on Wednesday afternoon, it appeared that the activity I had planned for my church Laurel group (the 16-17-year-old girls) that evening would not work because of the weather.  I thought of several good alternatives, one of which was to visit a girl in the group who didn't come often and who had some challenges.  That seemed like it ought to be the best plan.  But the more I thought about it, the more I thought, no. I ought to take them to visit Bonnie. 

I didn't have time to get flowers or a DVD after finishing my teaching and driving my daughter to and from her dance lessons, so I just took the three girls that came that night to Kneaders Bakery, let them each pick out a treat for themselves while I picked out one that would be soft enough for a nurse to feed to Bonnie, and we went to the rest home.

You should have seen her face light up when we walked in the room!  She called out, "Look what you've brought me!" (meaning the girls, not the baked goods).  She said, "I feel so spoiled!  This has been the best day!  The bishopric was here just a little while ago."  She asked about my kids.  She nagged me (again!) to get my daughter to finish that book and send it to a publisher.  "She has such a talent!"  She asked about each of the girls who were there.  She told us about the many ward members who had been to see her recently.  She was completely animated and cheerful and delightful.

It was a short visit.  The girls had a lot of homework.  The activity had to end at 8:00.  I promised I would come back with some new movies for her to watch.  

As we pulled out of the parking lot, I was so glad we had gone and so were the girls.  They genuinely enjoyed visiting her and thanked me for taking them.

I went home and gathered up all of my best movies that I thought she hadn't seen but would enjoy:  "Anna and the King," "Alfred Hitchcock Tales," "The Best of Johnny Carson," "Carol Burnett."  Thursday I had classes all day and lessons all evening, so I would take them Friday.  But then on Friday morning I thought, no. It's General Conference weekend in which all the apostles will be giving sermons on television all day Saturday and Sunday and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir will be singing and she will want to watch that, so I'll bring them Monday when she has a week ahead of her with nothing to watch.

The next day I was called by her daughter-in-law.  She said, "You don't know me, but your name is on Bonnie's list to provide music at her funeral.  I suppose you have heard by now that she died Friday morning.  Oh yes.  The nurses had just been talking with her, and moments later they came back to see that she had fallen asleep and just stopped breathing."

I couldn't restrain myself and it may have sounded odd, but I gushed, "Oh, I am so happy for her!"  Her daughter-in-law agreed with me.  We both knew she was not afraid to pass on, she was just afraid of the dying itself.  With ALS it can be torture-some:  choking, being revived, just to choke and strangle again.  I felt the Lord had blessed her for never complaining and took away that last nasty part.  And I also had to admit that I was so very happy for myself as well, because I had been blessed to be sent to visit my friend at the last chance I would have had. 

I told the daughter-in-law that I would be happy and honored to sing "God Be With You."  She thought it would be perfect.

I worried that I would cry at the funeral and not be able to continue singing, so I thought of a plan (visualizing my music professor sternly judging my performance) and it worked.  I'm glad I didn't cry, because it was not sad.  It was a graduation.  Bonnie had passed this life-test with flying colors and I could celebrate it because I had been given my last good time with my friend on Wednesday night, and I had taken it.

God be with you till we meet again, Bonnie.  I'll bring you a copy of the book.

"Never, never, never postpone a prompting."

--President Thomas S. Monson

Al Fox Isn't the Only "Tattooed Mormon"

 Al Fox is a devout Mormon who has quite a few tattoos. She also has an inspirational blog, and a radio talk show. She's married in the temple, and she is a mommy. But if you think she is an anomaly because she has tattoos, or if you think "tattooed Mormon" is an oxymoron, probably you should adjust your perspective.

Have you seen this Facebook meme?

"Sometimes 

the nicest people you meet

are covered in tattoos 

and sometimes 

the most judgmental people you meet

go to church on Sundays." 

Think about it:
Isn't this a bit hypocritical?

Couldn't we reword it to say,

"Sometimes the most 

judgmental people you meet 

assume 

that people covered in tattoos

don't go to church on Sundays."

This guy right here is covered in tattoos.

He's one of my favorite neighbors.

Obviously he goes to church.

In fact, he goes to the temple. 

I know; I was at his sealing to his family.

This adorable couple right here is covered in tattoos.

They are two of my beautiful children.

Let's not assume that because they have tattoos,

they don't belong in church.

That's ridiculous.

The Church of Jesus Christ 

of Latter-day Saints

is for everyone.

Having tattoos doesn't mean you are wild.

Having tattoos doesn't mean you hate church.

Having tattoos doesn't mean anything much,

except that you like tattoos.

There is no baptism recommend question

about whether you have tattoos.

There is no temple recommend question 

about whether you have tattoos.

It is wise counsel from our leaders

to not get tattoos,

 counsel that we would be smart to follow,

BUT 
if we are successful 

in our endeavors to share 

the gospel of Jesus Christ 

with all people,

our churches and temples 

SHOULD be filled with people 

who are covered in tattoos.

Let's get over it.

P.S.  Yes, that is a small child's foot in my son's hand.

Don't worry, the child is still attached.

And giggling hysterically.

P.P.S. This message was approved by the people pictured.