Majority Rules

I posted this on my Facebook page about a year ago. I was annoyed, and I not only quite often communicate better in writing, I can't stand having the same conversations over and over. "Maybe," I think, "if I say this in a public forum, I won't have to engage in repetitious conversations." Yeah, it's never worked that way, but I feel better after I write something. It's like thoughts just need me to give birth to them and set them free.

And some things shouldn't surprise me, but they do - I'm surprised every time someone says, "You know that most people disagree with you, right?" Sometimes they're very gentle and concerned, patting my hand. Sometimes, they're angry, and insisting that I have no right to speak an unpopular opinion aloud.

Here's why the query surprises me - I'm a Mormon. I homeschool my kids. I classify myself as a housewife. I mean, what about my life says, "popular choices"? How does anyone suppose that it's escaped my attention that I'm a minority, in multiple, fundamental ways? I cannot imagine how deluded someone would have to be to, say, belong to an unpopular religion, but still think that most people think and act like they do.

So, I find myself making pronouncements on social media.

Consider with me, People of Facebook -

Photos like the one of the man standing in the middle of a crowd in Nazi Germany, folding his arms while everyone else gives the Nazi salute, go viral. We share them all over our social media, saying, "Be this guy!" We like to pride ourselves on being individualists, on standing out; especially Americans, who coin terms like "sheeple" to deride those who conform. We like to think that we're all about being our own person.

Yet, one of the first things that anybody says when they're trying to sway my opinion, or to explain their own, is how many people agree with them. If I had even a penny for every time I heard the phrase "most people," I'd be wealthy.

The truth is, that guy with folded arms probably faced outrage and indignation from his loved ones. "What are you thinking? How could you be so disrespectful? The man is the leader of our nation! The Fuhrer lifted us out of poverty and chaos and restored us to our rightful place as a great nation! How is it that you can't even lift your arm to show your respect?" Even if they disliked Hitler and his policies, the guy would catch flak. "You're drawing attention to yourself! How can you put yourself in danger like that? What you say or do in the privacy of your own home is one thing, but you're drawing targets on all of us, on everyone you know, on your family, everyone you work with! Think of us! Think of (list of his loved ones and co-workers)."

And that's the people who LIKE him; what about the general public? The truth is, that guy may not have lived to the end of that day. Any number of people would have been happy to point him out to the authorities, in order to curry favor for themselves, because they thought he was dangerous, or both.

It's not just the big stuff, either, but all the small stuff. We're critical of the way people dress, the way they wear their hair, the cars they drive, the entertainment they watch. We decide what restaurants to eat at by checking Yelp reviews. We decide what movies to see by checking Rotten Tomatoes. I cannot tell you how many times I've bought a book or a movie ticket and had people say, "Why would you do that? It had terrible reviews." The idea that I want to decide for myself is often roundly criticized. I've actually been asked, "What makes you think that you know better than everyone else?" That's the wrong question. The more relevant one is, what makes everyone else think that they can, or should, override my own decision making process for my own life? I don't make choices for you; you don't get to make mine for me. Things become both absurd and dangerous if we all decide that we agree with the majority just because they are a majority, or that we need to let others decide for us because they are more qualified than we are.

Being contrary just because we think that it makes us superior or more intelligent is just as ludicrous and dangerous. It should not matter what others think, or whether it's a majority opinion or a minority one, when we're forming opinions. We should take in information and decide on our own, regardless.

Please know that if you say to me, "But most people think/do this," all I hear is a statement like, "This shirt is blue." It may be true, but I can't imagine why it would be relevant.

We pay a great deal of lip service to admiring people who stand alone, but in practice, we think they're odd, and view them with suspicion or discomfort.

So, People of Facebook, cut the oddballs some slack. They may be onto something. And even if they're not, at least they're thinking independently.

And people still say weird stuff to me.

Two of my (four) children have left the religion in which we raised them. We treat them exactly the same way we always have, but I was informed that, "Your child will never be able to be happy if you think that they're doing things wrong." What? What parent thinks that their child has never, ever done, said, or thought anything wrong? That's just silly. I was thus informed that if I think my kid (or, presumably, anyone else) is doing or thinking anything wrong, that I don't "truly accept them for who they are."

I'm sorry, but that's just poppycock.

Still, I'm willing to accede to that world view and say, those people are 100% right. My poor children - they will never be happy, and I don't truly accept them. BUT HERE'S THE THING: If that is true, it means that I can never be happy, because my children think that I am wrong. And those children do not truly accept me for who I am. I mean, after all, if it applies one way, it applies the other.

Plus, my religion is not something like my nationality or hair color, something I was born with, or had handed down to me by my parents - I chose it, on my own. In fact, that's one of the reasons I find this thinking to be so ridiculous; I joined my church, alone, when I was 12. My parents were never members. Yet I did not feel unloved, and they were not unhappy because of me.

Sometimes, too, people will feel judged by the simple fact that I homeschool. We'll be having an ordinary conversation, and then they'll find out, or be reminded, that my kids do not attend school. Suddenly, someone will get defensive, insist that I think they're a bad, unloving, selfish parent who's ruining their child's life by sending them to public school. No, I will say, I think no such thing. I'm in favor of many choices, and I made the choice that works best for my family. And often, I will still be treated to an extensive recital of why they chose public school, as if they need to convince me, or need my approval.

Or, they'll tell me why they don't agree with homeschooling, but will qualify it with, "I'm not talking about you and your family," as though I am somehow an exception to every rule.

And just when I've pretty much forgotten that Mommy Wars exist, someone will tell me that my choice to be home full time has ruined my children's lives, and mine as well. Or, they'll be sure that I'm condemning them for wanting and enjoying a career.

Folks, I am NOT judging you and thinking that you're a bad person if you do things I do not do. I have no illusions that people always will, or should, agree. Sometimes we will be wrong, but that does not nullify our right to occupy space on the planet, our right to live as we choose, our right to express ourselves, or our right to be treated with civility. It does not mean that we do not love others who are different. And if you keep insisting that the simple fact that I do things differently than you do, or think that you're wrong in any way, means that I'm judging you, disliking or distrusting you, or thinking you are a lesser person than I am, I will be forced to conclude that YOU feel this way about ME. Because, I GUARANTEE, even if you're a member of my family, a member of my church, a member of my political party, occupation, or any other classification, there is something I do that you think is WRONG.

You're, of course, free to think that I'm six kinds of dreadful, but realize that fact alone doesn't mean that I think that about you.

Yes, I am thinking of all the election year rhetoric. You are not a terrible person if you vote for a candidate that I can't stand. I am not a bad person if I vote a way that you find to be wrong.

In Case You Were Wondering

One of the many ways in which I wish I was like Mary Poppins is her take on explaining herself: "Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I never explain anything."

But, I frequently spend a great deal of time, energy and effort explaining myself, because it's important to me that people understand me. If they understand me, we'll live a harmonious existence, and everyone will be happier, right?

Yes, I actually do hang on to that hope. No comments about futility, please.

Anyway...

Apparently, there are people wondering if I've changed my mind about certain things, because, the theory goes, they didn't "really" affect me before.

You see, I belong - by choice, I feel impressed to add - to a religion that teaches that marriage is intended to be between a man and a woman, and my daughter married a woman.

For instance, someone recently said to me, "Have you come to terms with your daughter yet?" I have no idea what that inquiry means.

Do they mean, am I aware that my daughter does not follow the religion in which we raised her? Of course. When her age was still in single digits, she started arguing with us about church teachings because "nobody else does things that way." Once, when she insisted that "nobody else has household rules like that" (the subject was chores, something she detested) and I immediately rattled off the names of half a dozen families, she wailed, "Why are you talking about people at church?" I responded, "Why aren't you? When you use words like 'nobody' or 'everybody,' you'd better not know of any exceptions. Those words mean 'not even one person, worldwide.'" As a teen, she started saying things like, "Mormons do it all wrong." She stopped attending church at 18, and has never been quiet about her disagreements with doctrine or practices.

Do they mean, have I processed the fact that my daughter's in a relationship with a woman? Years ago. The first time I met my now daughter-in-law, she and my daughter were wearing matching rings. Even in the early years of the relationship, which dates back to when my now-28 year old was in college, my daughter's photos on my computer (her open Shutterfly account) contained an image of them kissing. Even early in the relationship, there were Internet searches of wedding venues. We didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes.

Do they mean, how do I treat my daughter's wife? The same way I always have, the same way I treat any person. From the time we met, we included her in family outings and family meals. Before we even met her, we bought travel souvenirs for her when we were on vacation. At Christmas, when we bought glasses with his favorite NFL team logo for my son-in-law, we bought her glasses with her favorite NFL team logo. We've included her name and photo in our Christmas card.

Do they mean, am I prepared for public scrutiny or questions? Always. How will people know anything if they don't ask? Plus, I'm generally a TMI person, not a privacy obsessed one. Virtually everything on my social media, for instance, is set on "public," so everyone knows what I'm saying about anyone and anything. I have never, ever asked my daughter or her wife to hide, to lie, to make themselves scarce, to not bring up their relationship around certain people. If people are obnoxious, well, that's a good sign that I need to keep those people, not my daughter, at arm's length.

Do they mean, am I aware that my daughter has unfavorable things to say about my religion? See above; yes, since her childhood.

Do they mean, am I prepared for this to be my reality? Of course. Anyone who believes that other people and their actions are, or should be, under the control of anyone but themselves is delusional or power hungry.

Do they mean, have I changed my mind and left, or doubted, my religion? That mindset - and yes, I have come across it - has always been so annoying. Do people usually change their minds, especially their deeply held beliefs, because someone else doesn't agree? Should they? I'm not easily swayed. Besides, it's outright offensive when someone says to me, "How can you belong to your religion, knowing that its beliefs cause your daughter pain?" but they are aghast and horrified if the question is reversed - "How can my daughter hold her beliefs, knowing that they cause her parents pain?" Take any answer you would give to one of us about free will and determining our own destiny, and apply it to the opposite question, as well, because the answers are the same.

Do they mean, do I agree with my religion? Yes, I do. Any official doctrine of my church is something that I embrace. Sometimes that has come quickly and easily (sometimes, before I even attended my church), and sometimes it's taken years of study and prayer. It's also offensive to me when someone sees me treat someone, anyone, outside of my religion with love and friendship, and then says, "So, you obviously don't believe (insert doctrine here) that the Mormons teach." (Yes, this has actually happened to me.) They are almost universally puzzled when I say, "Yes, I do. That's why my treatment of people doesn't depend on me agreeing with them. That's what my church teaches, that we are all children of God." I have no idea why people equate "children of God, who should be loved and cared for" with "agrees with and acts like me." I assure you, that is not what LDS members are taught.

As a subset of that, do they mean, do I think that this is the life that my daughter was destined to live? No, I do not. I do not believe in the "soul mates" concept that there is only one perfect partner for you. Anyone who's had a spouse die, or gone through a breakup thinking, "I will never love anyone that way again" knows that you will meet someone that you can love again (and that love is every bit as "real" as the love that you previously had). I think it is also possible to be deeply, truly in love, and have the relationship be one that should not be pursued. We know that, even if we don't enjoy the actions, or they don't come easily, we still need to practice good nutrition, exercise, hold a job (at home or somewhere else), be polite, be helpful, treat everyone fairly, clean our homes, do our laundry, refrain from violence, and a host of other behaviors. So, it makes no sense to me to say, "Unless you act on your sexual feelings, you're not being true to yourself, and you're doomed to failure." I don't think that "normal" necessarily equates to "desirable." I think that the fact that it biologically takes a man and a woman to perpetuate the species indicates that the ideal environment for raising them will contain a father and a mother.

A friend works for the local crisis hotline, and once went to her social media to ask, "What should I say to callers like this?" A caller said he was afraid to tell his parents that he was gay, because they thought homosexuality was wrong. My response was: I would say, "You think your parents are wrong. You think their views are hateful, divisive, inaccurate and hurtful. Yet, YOU LOVE THEM, and you WANT THEM IN YOUR LIFE, ALWAYS. That's undoubtedly EXACTLY how they feel about YOU."

So, I'm sitting there, having been asked if I've "come to terms," and having no earthly idea what that actually means. So I went with the only fact that matters, and said, "I love my daughter."

"I know that's what you say, but what about the Sharon in private?" Um - what? Did you just actually imply to my face that I do not love my daughter, AND that I'm two faced?

"She's the same person," I said. Remember the old computer term, WYSIWYG, which meant What You See Is What You Get? That's me. I do not have the energy to be different things to different people, and to try to remember how I'm "supposed" to act around them. My kids (and this daughter in particular) used to hate it when they'd tell some story that they were sure would embarrass me (on the theory that I'd bribe them to get them to shut up), only to discover that people already knew the story. Or, if they didn't, I was likely to say, "That's not the worst part!" and share more. I don't believe in tying myself in knots trying to make sure that others don't hear unflattering tales.

"I said Sharon."

"I know. And I'm telling you, the public and private Sharon look the same."

"Oh, I know you say that. But I know you."

Obviously not too well! This is someone who spent almost two decades in a relationship that they would not acknowledge in public, and they know very personal and often embarrassing things about me, and I'm the one accused of hiding? Seriously? I've told scores of people things that were none of their business, just because I overshare.

"You keep things inside." Do I make every effort to be civil, even when I'm angry, to be courteous, even when I don't like people, and make every effort to refrain from gossip? Yes; that's not being deceitful, that's being mature.

So, here I am, typing, trying to explain myself again, with no idea if that's possible, or even a good idea.

Let's try this. Here's a photo from my daughter's wedding:

That's my husband, me, our 4 kids, and my new daughter-in-law.

Here's one of all of the wedding guests:

Almost all of those people are members of my family. (The number inches closer to 100% if you count Mickey, and many of us would.) Since going on a cruise is expensive, the couple knew that the numbers would be small, but for a small ceremony, that's a lot of people. Now think about the fact that some people are there because they think my daughter is doing the right thing, and some are there just because they love my daughter.

The couple had a beautiful day that made them happy, and they shared it with loved ones.

Here's one from my oldest daughter's wedding:

That building we're in front of is the Salt Lake Temple. The woman in the wheelchair is my mom. She is not LDS, and she did not think that it was important to be married in an LDS temple. She is there, far from her home and in no small amount of physical discomfort, knowing that she cannot set foot inside the building, and that she will not see the wedding ceremony. She is there, in a borrowed wheelchair, because she loves my daughter.

The couple had a beautiful day that made them happy, and they shared it with loved ones.

This was taken at my grandniece's naming ceremony, at the synagogue my niece attends.

Only 3 people in this photo are Jewish, the parents and the new infant. The rest of them traveled a great distance, and are at the synagogue not to worship, but because they love my niece. (And, just as an aside, my niece is also in a same sex relationship.)

The couple had a beautiful day that made them happy, and they shared it with loved ones.

In sharing this I by no means am saying, "We are so amazing!" In fact, quite the contrary. My family and I are extremely ordinary. There are no rich, famous, or powerful people. We are flawed. We can be petty, bad tempered, forgetful, lazy, annoying, hurtful. We have money issue and health issues. We squabble and bicker. There are no Superhumans here.

Other people are doing the family thing better than I am. You're a good parent and your house is clean? Hats off to you. You work full time and coach your kid's team? I get exhausted just thinking about it.

We are so, so ordinary. Ordinary is good enough.

Any time someone wants to pat my daughter on the back for being willing to love such clueless parents, or to pat us on the back for loving such a difficult child, they need to stop. The idea that the main purpose of human interaction is achieving agreement is prejudicial and oppressive. I am amazed that so many people subscribe to it. It amazes and puzzles me any time someone feels that in order to truly love someone, or in order to even get along with civility, you have to agree, at least on the big stuff - religion, politics, etc.

Things that others said to my daughter undoubtedly contributed to the ridiculously long time it took for her to have The Conversation with us. Every time the subject of same sex relationships came up, we assured her that the horror stories you hear about people behaving badly in the face of such differences are a small fraction of the population. Most people handle them quite well, but those aren't the stories you hear repeated over and over again. Nobody calls up their friends and says, "Did you hear about Sally's parents? They behaved perfectly reasonably." Nobody re-shares "... and life went on as usual" stories on their social media. But many people perpetuate the idea that people will only treat you well if they agree with you. The positive stories that do get reblogged are the ones that say, "... and because we all agreed that Jimmy was right, everything was fine."

People say things like, "Religious parents are going to be the ones who behave badly," and, "Mormon parents are going to be a problem." Sometimes they say things like, "They'll come around eventually," indicating again the idea that everyone will need to agree for things to be fine, and that eventually, of course, everyone will agree. When I've asked people why this is, I get answers like, "Well, you hear all these stories..." or, "I had Mormon neighbors once, and they..." When someone says something like, "I had a Mormon uncle, and he...," I want to point out that I don't consider, for instance, my devout Catholic niece to be the final word in Catholic doctrine, or the poster child for her religion, or indicative of how all Catholics will (or should) behave. When I say things like, "I know a lot of Mormons who behave differently than that," I'm told that it's irrelevant, but those same people will insist that the people that they know or have heard about are hard evidence. Or, someone wants to get into a game of numbers - "I have more examples than you do!" (This is often despite the fact that they have never met as many LDS members as someone who regularly attends LDS meetings has.)

We never cautioned our younger children against spending time with, or listening to, their sister, either. We didn't view her as contagious in any way.

Someone once told me that the mere fact of my church membership indicated bigotry. Aside from the fact that that belief is the dictionary definition of prejudice, I was letting my children sit on the lap of my gay best friend with AIDS before my accuser was even born. I was still hugging him when the disease was advanced, and that was in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when people still said things like, "We don't know if the virus can spread through casual contact." Do not try to talk to me about bigotry if you have no idea what my life looks like, or if you think that a single piece of information is all that you need to know! (I get almost as upset at people who say, "Well, you can't blame her for thinking that. Most Mormons..." Again, that's prejudice, and again, you don't know most Mormons, even in your own community, much less worldwide.)

People told my son stuff like this, too, when he decided to leave our church, and not serve a mission. "Oh, your parents are going to just freak out!" It's almost understandable coming from people who've never met us, but even then it's annoying. Plus, we aren't the freak out type. Neither my parents-in-law nor my parents freaked out when we joined the church, either; the odds that we'd lose our minds over a child leaving were very small. (Plus, we'd already had one child leave the church; surely that's a pretty good indicator of how we'd act.)

"It's different when it's your own child," people said, dismissing the way we'd treated anyone else, gay or otherwise. You know how it's different? The parent/child relationship is permanent. Marriages are dissolved, friendships fade, but children are always yours. My child could never speak to me again, and I'd still be her mother. I could die tomorrow, my husband could re-marry, and I'd still be her mother. The parent/child relationship is the only biological relationship that you choose. You can't choose any of your other biological relatives, but any woman who has given birth has chosen, daily, for months on end, to bring a child into the world. That's how it's different.

(As an aside, I can speak to the mindset of giving birth, because it's what I did, but adoptive parents spend more time preparing, and they have to go find their children. They are equally determined; perhaps more so.)

So, for better or worse, I'm putting us out there, pointing at my family and saying, "People can disagree on fundamental things, and still love and support each other." "Support" does not mean "agree with."

In case you were wondering.

Now, when people say, "Well, I know this one Mormon family..." you can say, "I do, too." Plus, if we aren't impressive enough, I can point you in the direction of some really impressive people.

Come on, Arizona!

In early 18th century America, you could tell how someone was inclined politically by looking at the words they chose to describe the rumblings of rebellion against Britain here in her 13 North American colonies. Ask someone how they felt on the question of independence, and you favored splitting from Britain. Ask how someone felt about treason, and you favored staying a British citizen. Keep in mind, speaking out against the crown and plotting to overthrow the established government was treason. But, history books are written by the winners, and so we generally laud the revolutionaries as forward thinking freedom fighters.

Much can be accomplished just by simple choice of words. "The Devil's Dictionary" offers this definition for a standard household item: "An implement used chiefly to place dead animals in the mouth." EEEWWW, you say, until you read that the item in question is a fork. I've had restaurant meals with relatives who asked if a dish was vegetarian by saying, "Are there any dead animals in there?" After all, that's what meat is. (Full disclosure: I eat meat, and I do not mind hearing it described as dead animals.)

We often choose our words so that anyone holding an opposing view will sound narrow minded, unreasonable, violent, or any other negative connotation, just like choosing "independence" over "treason." Right now, as I write this in February 2014, the Arizona state legislature has passed a bill that is being described as a "religious freedom" issue. Who can be against religious freedom? Even my non religious, atheist or agnostic loved ones feel strongly about allowing religious freedom. Most Americans do. We have grown up seeing it as important. How could someone be against Arizona SB 1062 and therefore against religious freedom?

Well, here's the problem, from my point of view. The bill is not about religious freedom. It is not about free exercise of religion or conscience. It is specifically aimed at making it legal to exclude people with whom you do not agree, and prevent them from doing business with you.

So, why is that so bad? For instance, I own a photography business. I would not want to photograph a KKK rally. I would flatly turn down any offers to shoot porn (despite the fact that there are buckets of money to be made in porn, and I can think of lots of good, noble and also fun things that I could do with buckets of money). My husband once turned down a request to shoot portraits of a funeral, including portrait-type shots of the deceased, because he was uncomfortable doing so. That should be our right. No one should howl discrimination or file a lawsuit if we turn down their proposed job.

The thing is, it's already legal to turn down work. It happens all the time. Sometimes I'm already booked for that date, or I'll be out of town, my price is beyond their budget or any number of other reasons. Sometimes people turn me down, instead. I'm a writer, but I certainly don't get a "yes" every time I ask if a publication will publish my work. If I needed an attorney, the attorney would get to decide if they wanted to represent me, not the other way around.

You know those signs that hang in virtually every business that say, "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone"? Those exist for a reason. Maybe you walked into a restaurant with dreadful body odor. Other patrons complain, or just get up and leave. The restaurant owner is within his rights to ask you to leave. He shouldn't even have to give a reason. If he wants you to leave, it's his restaurant, so he has a legal right to kick you out. He does not need a special law that says, "If persons with offensive body odor ("offensive" being defined as noticeable and unpleasant to a reasonable person, or to a majority of persons) come within x number of feet of persons preparing, serving or eating food or beverages of any kind, the business owner may ask said person(s) to vacate the premesis." It is totally unnecessary for the law to be that specific, or for laws addressing each instance in which it would be OK not to serve someone. Bartender thinks you've had too much to drink? He can refuse to serve you. You're not dressed appropriately (either violating the "no shoes, no shirt" clause, or not wearing dress clothing at a high end restaurant)? They can refuse to let you in the door. It's already legal to make those decisions.

Can you imagine the legislative gridlock that would result from trying to spell out every single instance in which it's OK to turn down business? Even assuming that there were no other pressing needs to be addressed (HA HA HA!), it would be exhaustively time consuming, nitpicky and counterproductive. Plus, there would always be some loophole - "Ah ha! The statute says I can't come in wearing snowy galoshes, but it says nothing about muddy ones!" It's just beyond ridiculous.

Business owners reserve the right to refuse you business. Period. It doesn't need spelled out any further.

That's issue 1. Issue 2 is related, but on a different subject.

Remember, this law says that it's about the exercise of religious freedom. Again, such a statute should be unnecessary, because religious freedom is already guaranteed by law. No one can be forced to worship, or to worship in a particular way. No one can be kept from worshipping as they please.

Members of the clergy cannot be told to whom they must provide services, or how. If you go to a particular church or clergy member and ask, for instance, to be baptized, they will decide that based on their church's requirements. The government cannot tell them what those requirements are or should be. The answer may be yes, or no, or "after you fill these requirements," but no one outside the church should have any say in that at all. Opinions, sure, but influence, no.

This, folks, is the essence of religious freedom. With these two provisions - worship, or don't, as you please, and keep non-church interference out of churches - you're set.

I'm assuming that Arizona lawmakers are well intentioned. I assume that about anybody, until they prove me wrong. I have to assume that they're trying to make sure that nobody has to violate their conscience during the course of the work day. Here's the problem: they have explicitly stated that it's OK to refuse someone service because you do not agree with their lifestyle and/or religion. The impetus behind the law was to make it legal to turn down a potential customer if they are gay, and your religion teaches that homosexuality is wrong.

What?

In well over two decades of taking photos professionally, I have never asked a client about their sex life, ever. My religion teaches that premarital and extramarital sexual relations are wrong, but I have never, ever asked a couple hiring me for a wedding if they're having sex. I have never asked someone who wants a portrait whether or not they are an adulterer. EVER. Do you know why? Because it's none of my business.

We, as a society, have lost all sense that there are things that are none of our business.

If I were a member of the clergy, and a couple asked me to marry them, I'd have a right to ask about things that do not affect the wedding vendors. I might well ask about their sex lives. But I'm the photographer. I don't need to know! Neither does the caterer, the florist, the band or DJ, the dress shop, the servers, the limo driver or anyone else they've hired. Their sex life is between them, God, and occasionally, their clergy. If I am not any of those people, I don't need to know. Don't ask me to photograph your sex life, and we'll get along fine.

"But how can you work with people whose lifestyle you find offensive?" people ask. "Isn't that violating your moral code?" Setting myself up as judge violates my moral code.

Not only do I not believe in premarital or extramarital sex, I believe that alcohol and tobacco use is wrong. I believe that gambling is wrong. I believe that lying is wrong. I believe that cheating on your taxes is wrong. As a religious person, I do not think that civil authority carries the same weight as religious authority; therefore, I do not view civil marriage in the same light as I view a religious ceremony. I also believe that proper religious authority is available only in my church.

Yet, I have photographed civil weddings, weddings for people of other faiths, weddings for couples who live together (and even who have children together), weddings for homosexuals. Although I'm not privy to details, I'll bet I've taken photos for adulterers. At many, many events I work, there is alcohol served and tobacco consumed. I'll bet that I've photographed gamblers, liars, cheats, and other less than sterling types.

I did my best work for all of them.

I cannot, simply cannot, imagine a mindset that says, "I should only deal with those who belong to my faith and are living it to a degree that I find acceptable." It is not my job to shun huge swaths of society.

A friend of mine owns a computer consulting firm. She's Buddhist. If someone wanted her to design a website for a butcher shop, or a terrorist organization, I would not be surprised if she turned them down. Yet I will venture to say that she has never turned down a client because they were Christian, or Jewish, or ate meat. I'm very sure that she doesn't even ask. She's undoubtedly done work for restaurants that serve meat. I'm pretty sure that if a parochial school or church congregation wanted her to design a website, or troubleshoot their machines, or any other work, she'd do it and do it well. That's what being a reasonable human being looks like.

We have family in Arizona. Right now, under Arizona's law, my daughter could have a restaurant refuse to serve her because she's Mormon and the owner (or hostess or server) thinks that the Mormon Church is a cult. Is that what we want in America?

Once upon a time in America, it was legal to kill someone, just because they were Mormon. Governor Boggs of Missouri decided, under pressure from angry citizens, that Mormons were a threat to the peace and security of the community. In 1838, Boggs issued Executive Order 44, which stated, "the Mormons must be treated as enemies, and must be exterminated or driven from the State if necessary for the public peace—their outrages are beyond all description."

The law remained on the books until 1976, when it was formally pronounced unconstitutional. I remember hearing, as a young person, about a Missouri man who murdered his neighbor and plead not guilty, on the grounds that his neighbor was Mormon, and the law was still on the books.

"How did the citizens tolerate Hitler's laws?" we ask; this is how. He said that the laws were protection, for the good of society - and besides, they won't hurt YOU, Average Citizen. They'll hurt other people, people who deserve it.

It doesn't matter if it hurts you.

My niece lives in Arizona, and could be grilled about her sex life if she went to buy a sofa, or a car, or a sandwich. Do you want to be asked who you're sleeping with before you can take home merchandise? Do you really need to account to a sandwich shop employee? (Do you need to ask about their sex life? What if they're an adulterer or polygamist or into something icky with animals - how could they possibly assemble your sandwich?) How is it that the Arizona legislature thinks it's OK for businesses to even ask who, if anyone, my niece is intimate with?

When I go to visit my family, I don't want to be turned away from a museum because I'm Christian and the owner is Hindu.

A woman in a headscarf or a man in a turban could be legally denied virtually any service under Arizona's new law, if the business owner were Christian and felt affronted by those who are not.

Religious freedom does not mean refusing to deal with those who are different from ourselves. Calling this bill a "religious freedom" issue does not make it a good idea.

I do not want to talk to total strangers about my worship or my sex life before I can make a purchase. I do not want to ask them about theirs before they hire me. No one should have to answer those questions in order to conduct business. That's religious freedom.

"That's Just Not Normal."

I'm missing church today - car trouble, don't ask - so I've been reading my scriptures and otherwise trying to have churchy moments at home. That got me started thinking about a recent conversation I had with one of my childhood friends.

"How did you live a Mormon life in a household that was very definitely not Mormon?" she asked.

"I don't know that I can explain it to you. It was the only choice that made sense to me," I told her.

Her response: "That's just not normal."

I don't know that I worried about "normal" then any more than I do now. "Normal" is beside the point. I was sure it was the right thing to do, so I did it. I didn't care that much about whether other people did, or would do, the same in my place. I didn't know why, either, they'd care if I agreed with them.

I was seven years old when my best friends, our neighbors, took me to church with them for the first time. Back then, they had children's meetings on Tuesdays after school, and it seemed like it took forever for them to get home so that we could play again. "You could always come with us," they'd say, but we, my sister and I, turned them down. Finally, I agreed to go.

I remember the lesson from that day clearly. It was the story of the "pearl of great price" found in the Bible in the book of Matthew. A merchant, searching for pearls, finds one exquisite pearl, and sells everything he possesses in order to buy this single, perfect pearl. The teacher explained that it was a metaphor for giving up something good for something better, but I was a very literal child. I could not wrap my head around the idea of having a pearl, but no food, clothing, place to live, or money. What good would the pearl do?

Metaphor is a method of communication that grows on a person.

It only took a year or so of tagging along with my friends to decide that I wanted to be a member of the church. My dad said that I was too young, and that he wouldn't give permission until I was 12. I think he thought that it was a phase that I'd grow out of. I didn't; I was baptized at 12.

When my neighbors moved away, other friends took me to church with them. When they moved away, my mother started driving me to and from my meetings; she did it for years, without griping of any kind.

My dad thought that my new religion was odd. He said repeatedly that, "They're good, hard working, honest people," but he didn't necessarily wanting me believing what they believed. My mother opined that, "The Bible was written for people who are less educated than we are," but she saw no real harm in letting her kids figure out what they believed, and why.

I was puzzled, as a kid, when people would ask me why I was doing this, or not doing that, "when your parents won't even care." It wasn't about what my parents thought or did, for me. It was about what I thought was right.

Besides, my parents weren't likely to complain about my adopting a code of behavior that was stricter than that of my peers.

It was never about rebellion, either. I am, by nature, a rule follower. I have always known those people who would never have considered a particular course of action until they were told that they couldn't do it. The word "no" is a huge catalyst for those people. That was never me.

Some people were sure that it was about conformity, about doing what would impress my friends. It wasn't. Anyone who really values conformity isn't likely to choose a strange, unpopular religion. When people were surprised that I kept attending church after the friends who introduced me moved away, I thought that was strange. I'd made a choice; why wouldn't I continue to act on it?

I value free will too much to want to have knee jerk reactions of any kind. Having obvious hot buttons, like either rebellion or conformity, makes a person far too easy to manipulate.

Trying to impress others isn't really on my radar, at all.

I never really thought that choosing and living my religion was easier or harder for me than it was for other people. Sure, I had anti-Mormon literature dropped in my locker at school. I had a family member say, in soothing, pitying tones, "You realize that your church is a cult, don't you?" Still, there's always somebody who disagrees with everybody, and most people aren't shy about letting you know.

Sometimes, my friends would gripe - "I can't believe I have to sit through Conference!" - and I would think, "What is wrong with you? I had to ask permission to be here." Other kids didn't "get" me.

As an adult, I discovered that most religious families - families practicing any religion - spend time and effort helping their family members figure out ways to cope with negative attitudes or behaviors. I became more and more aware that most people are uncomfortable having either society at large or their loved ones disagree with them. I can't imagine making important, moral choices by taking an opinion poll.

People would say, "Well, you know that most people disagree," as if they expected me to 1. gasp in horror at this startling revelation, and 2. change everything I thought and did, if I wasn't on the side of the majority (or at least, in whatever group people thought it was important to impress). Of course I knew that most of the world's population didn't agree with me. That's like knowing that it's two o'clock; true, but irrelevant.

Sometimes this would lead to conversations that would be funny if the other party wasn't deadly serious. What, exactly, I would ask, did they expect me to do about the fact that someone disagreed with me? Usually the answer was, in some form, that I should change my opinion (so that I'd be like "everybody else").

"Oh, so if someone disagrees, then other people should change their minds?"

"Yes. Once you've been educated about your errors, you should correct them."

"So, you'll be changing your opinion to mine."

"No!"

"Why not? I can explain why you should."

"But you're wrong!"

"What makes me wrong?"

"Most people disagree with you!"

"So, it's a numbers thing."

"No! It's about who's right."

"How do you know who's right?"

"I can show you all kinds of people and all kinds of sources that say that I'm right!"

"I can show you millions of people worldwide, and lots of scholarly sources, that say that I'm right."

"But you're not!"

"But you told me it was all about how many people agreed with an opinion."

It's just ludicrous.

I tried to prepare my kids for those moments in their lives. Still, when all is said and done, they need to decide, by themselves, what they believe and what they will do.

I'm happy to explain to people why I think and behave as I do. If someone wants to know, I'm happy to tell them. It's pretty obvious from the things I do, as well. My religion affects every choice I make - the clothes I wear, the groceries I buy, the movies I watch. I think that people would be happier if they made the same choices I do.

Of course, I'm also happy to let others make their own choices, because I cherish that right myself, and recognize it as sacred.

I learned that not only from my church, but from my mother.

So, OK. I'm not normal. I can live with that.