Paradox's lessons from Children of Eden--Part 2

The scene: Photography trip at the local community college. I'm sitting in the "cafe" with a couple of students from another school in the county. We're eating lunch and talking about our respective schools, and we come to the topic of which musicals our schools are performing.

Me: We're doing Children of Eden.

Girl: What's that?

Me: It's based on the Book of Genesis. It has the story of Adam and Eve, then it skips to Noah and the Ark.

Girl: Really? And they're like, allowed to do that?

Me: Why wouldn't they be?

Girl: Well... it's religious, isn't it?

Me: But it's the Old Testament, so it's more universal. I mean, Jews and Muslims use the Old Testament, they just interpret it differently and call it something else. Besides, freedom of religion doesn't mean freedom from religion, right?

Girl: Yeah, whatever.

End Scene

I didn't think much of this incident when it happened, but when I had the same conversation with my mother, her co-worker, and just about every person I told about the play, I stumbled upon an oddity of my high school.

The student body isn't expected to check their faith at the door.

I always suspected this to be true--what with the "In God We Trust" sign that hung in the old lobby before it was torn down for renovations, and the Christian youth speaker that came to talk to us about morality. And it should have been perfectly clear to me when our choir director selected Christian pieces from various time periods for the concert choir's spring performance. But it wasn't until I started going to play practice for Children of Eden that I began to appreciate the faith I shared with other students.

One night in particular stands out clearly in my mind.

After a practice that ended some time around 10:30, I began to think about all of the tasks I was leaving unfinished because I was exhausted from the play. And because I was tired, my emotions were close to the surface--until they finally spilled over. I had a breakdown as I was walking down the longest hallway in the school; the one that goes from the front door straight to the auditorium--a single path if all the doors are open. Anyone would have been able to see (and hear) me if they stepped out of the auditorium.

And that's exactly what happened.

My friend Soon was about 20 feet behind me the entire time, and I hadn't noticed him. He didn't say anything to me until we got outside, and I really began to sob. He called after me, and I almost kicked myself for not having a tighter grip on myself. He asked me what was wrong.

"Life," I said, throwing my hands up into the air.

Without saying a word, he came over to me and hugged me, and began to say a prayer for the both of us; that we would find peace from our trials, and strength in our Lord. Even now, his gesture brings tears to my eyes because he said the words I couldn't bring myself to say in that moment. When I stood in need of faith stronger than my own in order to pick myself up again, he was there to pull me to my feet.

Which really put this next incident into perspective for me.

Fast forward to opening night. The entire cast was really nervous, and even the most confident singers with the most beautiful voices were now beginning to doubt themselves. After a pep-talk from our choir director, someone called for a prayer circle and the entire cast gathered within seconds in a large ring in the back of the choir room. The buck was passed around a few times as to who was going to say it, until our choir director finally said, "whoever is going to do it, do it soon, because I'm not allowed to do it and we gotta get moving." He then stood off outside the circle as the guy playing Father (God) said our prayer.

That bothers me.

Our choir director--an admitted Methodist--didn't feel comfortable joining our prayer circle because of what the repercussions might be.

He's a younger guy, and has a relationship with his students that is pretty remarkable. Even though we don't really get much individual attention, I feel like he sees us for what we are instead of what we're trying to be. And because he sees the faith we're trying to put into our lives, he gives us the chance to do that during school hours--the opportunities we've been taught not to pursue, not matter what our feelings might be.

He gives us the chance to have a voice.

In our schools, which have been revamped to teach us to pass tests, it has been really liberating to be able to express my faith instead of parroting back answers "they" want to hear all the time.

It's to the point where even though I've taken Honors French IV, AP Calculus, AP English Literature, Photography, and a Shakespeare independent study I had to fight with the administration to give me, the class that taught me the most about myself, prayer, and faith was Concert Choir.

So even though our PC nation has tried to remove religion from our schools, they cannot succeed when we keep our faith with us and act on it anyway.

Let them raise their eyebrows at our play, our prayer circles, our way of life--because what I'm learning from them is infinitely more important than the rest of my education anyway.

Some fun links from Paradox

Like Brother Murray, I'm surprised that the situation in Texas continues on its downward spiral.

The situation even found its way into one of the sloppiest opinion pieces I've seen since Barbara Kingsolver's "Stone Soup."

Is it any wonder The New York Times has its name on this one? (A statement from Brother Murray actually makes an appearance at the end.)

My reaction to said opinion-piece is available over on Waters of Mormon.

Enjoy!

Paradox's lessons from Children of Eden--Part 1

The Scene: Play practice for the school musical, Children of Eden; about two days before opening night. I'm sitting silently (as I always do) in the wings of stage right, watching the action on stage because I know our entrance is coming up. I'm with a half dozen other people, including the biggest nuisance in the play cast, my concert choir class, and quite possibly on the planet. The scene begins with the very thing that makes him so annoying--saying something completely uncalled for instead of focusing on what he himself should be doing.

Flowers: (He didn't bother to whisper) Hey Paradox.

Me: (In a hushed growl, because one of the leads is behind us and his mic is still on) What.

Flowers: I didn't know you were Mormon.

Me: Um... yeeeah? (Oh gawsh, where is he going with this?)

Flowers: You just don't seem all that Mormon to me, with how... nice you are.

Me: (feeling myself going from 0 to witch in .5 seconds) What are you even TALKING about? Mormons are some of the nicest people you'll ever meet!

Flowers: No, I know that. I mean, like, you aren't nice enough.

Me: (snapping) Just because I don't tolerate people's (i.e. YOUR) crap all the time doesn't mean I'm not a nice person, or that I don't adhere to my faith.

Silence.

End scene.

Needless to say, I learned early on from the Matriarch about how to end a conversation. I've found it to be a wonderful defense mechanism against Stupidity.

And I admit, I can see why he thinks I'm a shrew. He has a long history of stepping in front of my cross hairs in concert choir: wandering around the room, talking while others are trying to sing and learn their parts, coming and talking to his girlfriend in the Alto section while we're warming up, then singing his part (badly) in our section until he finally throws all of us off. You ask him "nicely" to leave, and he's back 30 seconds later. And he refuses to take the hint. I finally got to the point where I just started barking at him to get back to his section.

One day last week, our choir director was particularly annoyed because of some play-related business, and asked for the Concert Choir's complete cooperation for once. When Flowers began to act like his regular self, I finally decided enough was enough. I told Flowers he was throwing us all off and demanded that he get back into his own section. He was about to argue, but our director de-escalated the situation. Flowers must have finally gotten the message, because he hasn't been back since.

And even though moments like these, as common as they are, make me feel justified in the way I act towards Flowers (ignoring him entirely until he pisses me off) his accusation from play practice has earned its place in my mind as I give it a fair amount of consideration.

Being "nice," from my experience, seems to be French for tolerating people as they take advantage of your patience and good nature. If you constantly lend people money and allow them their own way, you're "nice." But if you call them out on talking while you're trying to finish a test because they won't take the "SHHHHHHHH" hint, you're suddenly an un-Christian troll.

Since when does being Christian--being Mormon--have a "coddle me nicely" clause attached to it? And who are people like Flowers to tell me how to adhere to my religion anyway?

But you know what? Whether I like it or not, the fact that I'm not as submissive as my LDS counterparts has already caught his attention. And his impression of me will no doubt influence how he perceives Mormons from here on out, whether I like it or not.

So now I have to decide what I'm going to do about it.

Do I change the way I am to suit someone else's perception of me--which I only care about because its affecting his perception of the Church--or do I expect the same consideration from him that he's expecting of me?

Either way, he has been an example to me that even the most annoying people on the planet can teach you something about yourself.

Sunday with Paradox

Now that Texas has decided to keep the FLDS children for now, there isn't much to discuss until the case continues. All in favor of returning to our regularly scheduled blogging, make it manifest.

Any opposed by the back button.

Because of a late-night baseball game last night, I decided another visit to Newark 1st ward was only appropriate.

I arrived about 20 minutes early, which I figured would more than guarantee me a seat. And it appeared to do so, considering the chapel had perhaps a half dozen people in it at the most. So I took out my scriptures and began hunting for a particular verse in Isaiah that I could not find yesterday. I perused and skipped around while the Young Women practiced their song for Sacrament Meeting, and enjoyed the time I had to myself.

After being approached by a member of the stake high council (whose branch I regularly attend), the Bishop, and an older gentleman who politely informed me I was in his seat (which seemed awful unnecessary to me, since the pew directly in front of us was deserted, but old people are weird about strange things, so I moved down the pew), and the meeting began.

We sang our hymns, took the Sacrament, and the sermons began. After hearing a talk from one of the tallest Young Men I think I've ever seen, we heard from Sister W, a delightful sister whose family I sat near the last time I went to Newark 1st. She was masked by the podium, and we had to wait several seconds for it to be lowered before we could even see the top of her head.

She proceeded to tell us about an incident where prayer and the lessons she learned increased her testimony of the Church. The story bears repeating, of course, because it involved some car keys, a college class, a pair of pink Crocs, and some Skittles.






Brother W had accidentally taken Sister W's car keys, leaving her stranded at her house when she was due to be at her college to take some classes; one of which was a chemistry lab she needed to attend. After calling one of her friends from church to drive her to school (which I imagine must have been quite embarrassing), she arrived for her chem lab only to realize she was wearing her pink pair of Crocs. She had worn them the previous week, and her instructor had informed her that because they have holes in them, she cannot participate in labs if and when she wears them. She had become very distraught; visible in the fact that just retelling the story brought her to tears, and she told us of how she had asked for Heavenly Father's assistance as to what to do.

She then tried to think of a way to plug the holes, hoping it would be a sufficient solution for her professor. She tried dimes, but they were too large to fit into the holes. Her next solution was a bag of Skittles, which instantly instigated a quiet riot of giggling. She described how the Skittles, although they appeared bizarre, had seemingly settled her problem.

(Another reason to hate those horrid chunks of plastic, but this story isn't about my biases. Moving on!)

She then went to meet her lab partner, who couldn't help but question Sister W's odd footwear, at which point Sister W explained the entire hellish morning to her. Her partner then stated she had an extra pair of shoes in her bag if Sister W needed to borrow them. Sister W gladly did so, and then gave us the moral of her amusing, yet stressful experience.

In order to learn from the Holy Spirit, to be forgiven of our sins, to find solace in our Father in Heaven, or any of the many blessings that come through Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, we have to do the very best we can to meet our needs--like plugging the holes in our shoes with a bunch of Skittles--meeting our trials with our best efforts in order to overcome them on our own. Only then will our Heavenly Father answer our prayers and take us the rest of the way.

My initial impression of Newark was that of a very busy ward that somehow seemed impersonal. But today I saw a different side--especially when Brother W made a comment about how the counselor closest to him could have at least raised the podium "2 courtesy inches," and the counselor happily obliged him right when Brother W began to speak, which brought a chuckle from the crowd.

I see now that Newark 1st isn't just a building full of busy people. As they described it themselves, they are a "ward family."

It's good to see that my quirky, lovable Church family exists no matter where my adventures land me on the Sabbath.

Paradox is spreading the word

I have to give mad props to Brother Murray once again for his post about the FLDS trial over on Messenger and Advocate.

Check it out. There's plenty to chew on.

Why Paradox reads her history books

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
~Pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984)

Who will speak for the innocent FLDS now that their children have been taken away?

"They said they were going to bring us together so we could see each other, and they lied," said Marie, a 32-year-old mother of three children, ages 9, 7 and 5, who were separated from her earlier that day. "They read a court order and said, 'Your children are ours.' "
From Deseret News

If her children are 9, 7, and 5, she was never a pregnant teenager. Why, then, did the state of Texas take her children? Because Texas has bigamy laws?

I live in a state where it's still legal to marry your cousin. Just because a state does (or doesn't )have a law about something doesn't mean they're protecting anyone's "best interests," or that the laws preserve any kind of justice.

Aside from the allegations of abuse, I've also read that the Child Protective Services argues that the environment of the community poses a hazard to the children's safety.

I live across the street from a neighborhood full of drug dealers. I just found out a violent sex offender lives down the street. Should Child Protective Services come and take all the kids out of my apartment complex and the surrounding neighborhoods?

No. Because as any rational human being will tell you, that would shamelessly victimize innocent people.

The videos I've posted above speak volumes about this case.

After being "interviewed" by Child Protective Services, there are FLDS children now under the impression that holding his/her mother's hand is "child abuse."

If that's child abuse, then every single parent in this country is probably a criminal.

In one of the videos above, it also goes into a nice little tangent about how local Texas churches are making blankets for the children. I notice the women all smiles as they happily go about their business. One made a statement about how it's a relief for these children to be out of an environment "most people would consider to be unwholesome."

Well excuse the rest of the world for not being an Evangelical Lutheran, I guess.

Just because the Fundamentalist Latter-day Saints are polygamists does not mean they are unwholesome. In fact, I've seen more emotion and visible devotion from these mothers than I've ever seen from my own mother. But because these women are FLDS, their children have been taken away; and knowing that frustrates me more than anything else.

I've watched as the women have tried to speak for themselves, as they plead for help from the deaf and dumb. Unfortunately, the only person interested in the YFZ case each night on the news is Anderson Cooper.

(I won't tell you what I think of that arrogant expletive, because it isn't very nice.)

Two nights ago he spoke to Kathleen Jessop, one of the wives from the compound in Eldorado, and she compared the situation in Eldorado to the Nazi concentration camps. Cooper then questioned her familiarity with history and concentration camps because he didn't see the connection.

Well, as someone who is very familiar with the totalitarian policies of the Nazi regime and the events of several different concentration camps, I admit her metaphor was apt. That's why I made the connection several hours before the interview. That's also why multiple bloggers, of varying experience, have also made the same connection of their own volition.

But if Anderson Cooper doesn't like the analogy, allow me to put his mind at ease with a new one.

How about the U.S. internment camps for the Japanese-Americans after Pearl Harbor? Has our nation truly forgotten how our government stripped completely innocent people of their Constitutional rights as a "precaution," forcing men, women and children to live in deplorable conditions without any cause? I suppose because nobody was gassed and cremated, what the US camps seemed like a lesser sin than Nazi concentration camps, and has therefore been forgotten by the majority of our people.

But is it really a lesser sin?

The FLDS mothers don't seem to think so.

“They just as well line us up and shoot us as take our children away,” said Donna, a 35-year-old mother who left behind a 10-year-old daughter.

From The Salt Lake Tribune

And the most frustrating thing is to hear the cries of these mothers--to know that their children weep just as bitterly, to witness the Child Protective Services abusing these children as they try to force "confessions" out of them--and not to be able to help the innocent.

Anderson Cooper said he cannot believe that in this day and age that something like a polygamist community can exist in the United States.

What I cannot believe is that all it takes is one phone call to Child Protective Services to make that community just as broken as the rest of America.

All I can say is, I hope my religion never instantly labels me as an unfit mother, because history and current events have taught me that if the Crusade comes for me with affidavits, inquisitions, and extermination orders, my pleas for mercy wouldn't make it to Heaven before falling around me like heavy, heavy stones.

Paradox on Polygamy

Polygamy.

Everyone has an opinion about it, and they always seem to manifest whenever the Fundamentalist LDS Church has a run-in with the government.

I have to give Brother Murray over at Messenger and Advocate a huge thumbs-up for his continued coverage of the case in Eldorado, Texas as it continues to unfold. His post, Standing with Our FLDS Sisters and Brothers, sparked my interest when I read it earlier this evening--especially as I read the reactions of other LDS bloggers on the web.

As members of the LDS Church, we seem to be in agreement that how the FLDS are being treated is unprofessional, and most likely un-Constitutional. It's disconcerting to see that an affidavit based on the claims of one family on the compound is enough cause to bring the state government of Texas descending upon the entire compound to take 400+ children and their mothers away. Especially since the original subject of the affidavit--a single girl--cannot be located. I have seen, as I've read different reactions of the web, that I am not alone in my frustration that the FLDS church should have their Constitutional rights so blatantly denied.

Where members of the Church vary--vastly, I might add--is how they choose to distance themselves from the FLDS themselves. The title of Brother Murray's post really poses this question in my mind. Where do we stand in relation to the FLDS sect?

Our churches are different. Our doctrines are different. But being LDS, we are taught that all men and women are literal children of a Heavenly Father and Mother. Should we not, therefore, look upon these men and women--our brothers and sisters--with compassion and understanding?

I must admit, I don't see a whole lot of that.

I see a lot of personal attacks that condemn the collective FLDS church for their belief in polygamy, and for the presence of teenage marriages and pregnancies. I see comments that make the association with all FLDS to criminals--pedophiles, rapists, wife abusers, and the like--even though this case only represents one compound in Texas.

And I have to say something, even though many members of the Church who want to condemn the FLDS aren't going to like it.

When the LDS Church practiced polygamy, it wasn't uncommon for there to be huge differences in age between the participants; and marriages EVERYWHERE were like that. Believe me--I've had to dig through marriage records from 19th century Virginia, and you'd swear the entire state was full of pedophiles, if you judge them through a contemporary perspective/ bias. So I have to question: Were their men sick, depraved, heartless wife abusers? Were their women voiceless, ignorant child brides?

There's no proof that they weren't. Does that mean they were?

It's in that spirit that I look upon the Church's polygamous roots AND the FLDS church. I'll admit, I have an added sympathy for the LDS chuch's polygamy because I believe it was ordained of God through the Prophet Joseph Smith. Plus, I've read accounts of women like Emmeline B. Well, who was an advocate of women's suffrage AND polygamy. Of the practice, she said:

The world says polygamy makes women inferior to men -- we think differently. Polygamy gives women more time for thought, for mental culture, more freedom of action, a broader field of labor... and leads women more directly to God, the fountain of all truth.

The US government looked upon the LDS church and women like Wells like they were too foolish and indoctrinated to make their own decisions, and tried to "save" them by making their lives a literal Hell on earth in order to dissuade them from their beliefs.

As I look at what is happening to the FLDS in Texas, I can't help but notice the relationship. And because I don't have a huge chip on my shoulder about polygamy, I sympathize with the FLDS. I realize that a lot of what I'm going to read and hear about them is going to be distorted by the ignorance of others, much like my beliefs are on a regular basis.

So when I see a comment over at By Common Consent from a practicing member of the FLDS church--and her comment reads like a perfectly rational, educated woman capable of making her own decisions--I'm not surprised. Her remarks about her church really resonate with me:

Most of the members do hold jobs. The FLDS, and other fundamentalist, are some of the best in the construction industry. In fact, we have built many of the LDS buildings in Utah and Arizona. My husband works construction with a fundamentalist that’s framed many LDS chapels. When the Stake Center in Snowflake was remodeled, who did the LDS Church hire? Once again, fundamentalist. We’re grateful for the work we do for the LDS Church, and we hope to do much more. ...

So we're willing to tolerate the FLDS when they're building our chapels, but we can't find it in our hearts to be compassionate towards them for their differences? Weren't we, as members of the LDS Church, just taught by Elder Wirthlin to be more tolerant and accepting of other people's differences less than a week ago in General Conference? Or is that council only for people whose culture and religion match our own?

...Many in my community were children during the Short Creek raid in the 1950’s. They are extremely paranoid about outsiders. Many of us that are more progressive have tried to open up our community, but this raid will make things more difficult for us.
Personally, I’ve been a little scared by this. It’s not very comforting to know that if anyone claims abuse against another family in my church, that the state can come in and take my kids away with no cause. Can you imagine that? How can we not view the government as our enemy?

And considering the only thing that separates my church and her church in the minds of so many people is the word "Fundamentalist," I am concerned. If the government of ANY state is still willing to throw Due Process out, despite everything that their dealings with the LDS church should have taught this nation, what is stopping any state from repeating the mistakes of Missouri and its extermination order?

As members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we may still be in more danger than we're willing to admit. And the LDS Church does a lot to separate itself from the FLDS, but I wonder at what cost? Because our members are saying a lot of things at the moment that even though they match our doctrine by renouncing polygamy, they don't sound very Christian in the way they condemn the FLDS for worshipping "how, where, and what they may."

Do we believe in the 11th Article of Faith or don't we? Because as I look around the Bloggernacle, I'm not entirely sure. Not when polygamy is viewed as something ghastly and abominable, instead of something that people all over the world hold dear to their hearts as a part of their way of life, the way our LDS ancestors once did.

The LDS persecution complex has been so sensitive to polygamy for so long, it's not like members of the LDS church haven't had time to think about this issue on their own. I remember talking to a Sister in the lunch line at Youth Conference last year about polygamy and she said that she didn't think she'd be able to support polygamy even if the LDS Church re-instituted the practice. And ever since then, I've had that question in my mind.

Could I ever support polygamy, or be in a polygamous union, if the LDS Church were to suddenly encourage it in the same magnitude it encourages us to prepare for and seek eternal marriage?

I trust that these circumstances are highly unlikely, and chances are excellent I'll never have to bear this particular cross. But I've still given the matter a lot of thought as I've woven my testimony of the Church, which has raised a question that ALL members of the LDS Church must answer:

Is there anything I wouldn't do to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?

Personally, the Church requires things of me every day that are infinitely harder for me to accept than polygamy would be.

Perhaps we all should ask ourselves that question a little more often if polygamy is the biggest sacrifice we can think to make.

Why Paradox Believes in Continuing Revelation

My high school only allows five unexcused absences before a student will fail the marking period for attendance. After several days of almost no sleep, I stayed home on Thursday; I knew, however, that I couldn't miss any more days after that.

Friday morning comes. I don't make the bus. I wake my mom up, but she refuses to take me to school. She tells me to call one of my friends that drive, but I had already done so before approaching her--she fails to realize that she is always, always my last resort. I informed my mom that I needed her to take me to school.

To which she replied, rather indignantly, "I guess you're walking."

No big deal, right?

Well, I live about 4 miles from my school, and there are two ways to get there; down a really long two-lane back road, or down a four-lane highway that eventually merges with the interstate in both directions--complete with truck drivers and all sorts of scary looking hitchhikers.

I laced up my knock-off Converses and started walking through the balmy morning.

I was angry. . . wait, no.

I was furious.

I listened to my MP3 player, and attempted not to get emotional about Mama Judas' latest betrayal. It didn't work, but I knew I needed to get moving. If I didn't make it to school by the end of 1st period, I'd only have a half day, and could still fail for attendance.

About five minutes into my trek, I realized I should have worn different shoes. My shoes were already damp, and I knew by the time I got half-way to school, they would be soaked.

I kept willing for the Mack trucks, or the cars doing 60--or any of the vehicles travelling down the first two-lane road I'd have to travel--to do me a favor and strike me dead.

I considered throwing myself in front of one of them, but I knew that with my luck, I'd survive. And there'd be no living with the therapy and the mark of Cain that would permanently follow me after that.

So I attempted to distract myself from my melodrama--and the swampy smell that accompanies fog here--with just about anything else that could hold my attention.

I saw an empty bottle of Hennessey, and realized that it never occurred to me that I didn't know how to spell that.

I pounded the white edge of the pavement in an angry swagger as I realized what it meant to "walk the line." (Thank you Johnny Cash.)

I walked the line, forgetting everything I ever knew about prayer. I walked the line all the way to the biggest puddle I've ever actually seen, and stomped on it without a miracle in sight.

I stared straight ahead of me, watching cars zoom past me like I didn't exist. I thought about where I would go if I was the one behind the steering wheel of a Mercedes, a Hyundai, a Ford. I fantasized about driving to BWI, hopping the first flight that goes anywhere near Salt Lake City, and never looking back.

I looked up at the sky. Why couldn't I just leave, then?

I wanted to scream. I had no answers, no one to call, nothing to do but walk... and that just didn't seem fair. So I cried.

"All BY yourseeeeeelf... by yoourseeeeeeelf..... all BY yoourseeeelf," crooned Gwen Stefani in my ears, which only made it worse because it was true.

"OOOOOH MISEEEEERY! OOOOOOOOOOH MISEEEEEERY!" followed Pink with Steven Tyler, and I knew that if I kept this up, I wasn't going to make it. Not to school, not through my day, not through anything else. But I just didn't have it in me to switch over to something else. What could I change it to? "I am a Child of God"? HA!

"An earthly home with parents kind and dear"?

More like an earthly Hell with parents kind of useless. Spare me.

Eventually, I reached the end of the first back road and turned onto the really long, really narrow road that runs almost directly to my high school.

I remembered learning that you're supposed to walk with traffic when you're on a road with no sidewalk. But I decided that if I'm going to be hit by a car, I would at least want to get to watch, so I stayed on the wrong side of the road.

And before too long, a school bus tried to pass another car on this really narrow road and almost hit me, so it's not like my thoughts were completely unfounded.

It then occurred to me that I might actually get lucky, and someone might pick me up. So I started to think about whether or not I would accept such an offer. I ultimately decided I was pissed off enough to not care if I got picked up by a rapist or something.

At which point I realized I was being somewhat ridiculous, and moved on to something else.

I decided to start counting all the cars that passed without stopping for me.

1. . . 2 3. . .4. . .5 6 7. . .

It gave me something to do that both passed the time and proved a point.

12. . . 13. . . 14. . .

Where are all these people going that they can't do the dang speed limit, let alone offer me a ride?

24 . . . 25 26 27 . . . . 28 29

"Especially since ah was nearly hit by yer stupid Escalade, ya jerk! The speed limit is 30 here, ya A-HOLE! Don't drive a friggen land yacht if y'all cain't read!!!"

33. . . . . 34. . . 35. . .

Just because you're mad doesn't mean you get to butcher English you bumpkin. You have to stop doing that.

49. . . 50. . . . 51 52. . . 53 (or was that 54?). . .

That's like the 3rd bus I've seen. Even THEY won't give me a break?

62. . . . . .

I'm really hungry. I should have eaten before I left.

. . . .66 67 . . . 68. . .

Ugh. Stagnant water. I won't miss that in Utah.

74. . . . . . .

Oh look, and empty pill bottle. I wonder what used to be in it.

81 . . .

Hey, it's TJ! I know him! I totally don't feel so bad now. Wow, that makes me wish I could skateboard too. Not that I intend to try.

89 90. . . .

It just wouldn't look natural. TJ is a total Rastafarian, and I'm just a book worm who reads books like The Bell Jar and worries that it's some kind of oracle for her future.

96 97 98. . . . . . . . . . 99

Well looky here, Mr. 100 drives a Cadillac too! When I write my first novel and make lots of money, I'm resolved here and now never to drive a Caddy because of these jerks.

105. . . . 106 . .

I'm almost there. Now do I want to follow this other back road, or do I want to go straight and go around with all the traffic?

107. . .

Well, TJ is going straight, and he would know better than I would which way to go. Lead the way Mr. Rasta.

115. . . . . . . 116 117 118. . . . .

Well, we're getting closer to the Christian school. Maybe someone will decide to be a good Christian and offer me a ride or something. I'm pretty sure a book bag, a college sweatshirt, and jeans are a decent indication that I'm not an ax-murderer or a prostitute.

. . . 121. . . and 122! . . .

Jesus saw that! That's right, drop off your progeny so they can learn about being the kind of Christians that drive Cadillacs don't pick up people walking to school!

. . . 134 . . . 135 . . .

Wow. That's a nice red Mustang, Mrs. 135. What do YOU do for a living?

. . . . . . . . . 142. . . the Mack truck doesn't count.

Mr. Passenger in the Mack truck, that wasn't an invitation for you to start gawking at me out the window. Mindja business!

. . . . 155. . . 156. . . .

Yanno, I'm not exactly being a Kosher Mormon right now. I'm gonna have Hell to pay when I watch Conference this weekend.

. . . 156 157 158 159 . . .

I'm practically there. I don't suppose it counts at this point.

. . . . 162 163 . . . . 164

I'm really hungry. I should have eaten before I left . . .

169 . . . . 170

That was a good, round number so I decided to stop there.

I pulled out my phone. 8:47. 1st period ends at 9:05! I was going to make it!

I rolled into the office at 8:52 to get a pass. My MP3 player was still going.

"I'm goin' to California... Will someone say a prayer for me?" sang Pink.

A tear gathered on my lashes. If this morning had taught me anything, it's not to rely too much on other people to do much for you.

I got to first period just in time to tell my friends where I had been. None of them knew what to say because they know where I live. Their expressions said exactly what I myself was thinking: Nobody in their right mind would walk that road.

And then of course I find out that Friday was the start of the new marking period, so my 5 days had started over that morning, and my going to school wouldn't make a difference at all in my attendance.

I got really mad.

One of my friends came over and started complaining about how he ONLY has A-'s in sooooo many of his classes, and how DARE our English teach not allow him to turn in his English project 4 days late because he has been so busy with this-that-and-the-other...

I looked at him like he was being absolutely insane.

He wouldn't stop talking, so I started screaming profanities and cursing all the way down the hallway to second period, where a bunch of freshmen and sophomores decided to stand right in front of the door. I screamed at them to move, and it scared them. Normally I would have laughed at their fear, but I really wasn't in the mood.

When I got into the room, I sat down for the first time that morning. The weight of what I had done hit me like all the Mack trucks that hadn't bothered to slow down as they passed me on the road.

And I finally said a prayer. . .

Please let me make it to General Conference. I need it Heavenly Father. I need it.