To Every Thing There Is A Season

I don't expect everyone to agree with me, and I'm always willing to have respectful conversations about differences. Especially given that I try very hard to extend respect, though, it's really exhausting how many people phrase their questions to me or people like me in truly confrontational terms - "What kind of idiot believes..." and, "How could you possibly..." and "How can you ignore..." That last one is especially annoying when it's wielded by people who define "ignore" as, "You didn't change your mind after I told you that you were wrong!" Folks, that is not what "ignore" means. Ignoring you would be not responding at all or pretending that you hadn't spoken. It does not mean hearing what you have to say and simply maintaining one's own opinion (even when you think that opinion is wrong or "stupid"). I don't tell you that you're "ignoring" me because you continue to have opinions and beliefs that I do not share. Let's try to extend each other the same courtesies, shall we?

Anyway, there's been a whole lot of interpersonal and online questions aimed at people of my religion lately, because we 1. (gasp!) Believe things that others do not, and 2. My church leaders have made quite a few procedural changes in recent years. People who know that they do not agree with my religion are apparently continually astonished that they still don't agree with us - like that should be a surprise, to them or to me. There's lots of, "Can you believe that someone said/did..." like it's just amazing - which puzzles me, because I don't spend any time being surprised by the fact that I don't agree with religions to which I do not belong. I certainly don't post on social media about it, or engage people who are members in conversations about why I'm not a member.

Anyway. I digress.

So, I'm going to explain 1. why changes don't bother me, and 2. why not everything will, or should, change. I don't think I'll change any minds, but I assume that others really do want to understand, not just to insist on agreement. (Call me crazy...) You will definitely not agree with me if you think that all religion is superstitious nonsense, but please save us time by not being surprised or outraged by that. You also won't agree if you don't view Jesus as the Messiah; don't be surprised by that, either. It'll just save us both time and frustration.

To demonstate my points, I'm going way back - back to the Old Testament. For centuries, people followed the Law of Moses. A significant part of that was the law of sacrifice. Dating back to the time Adam and Eve left the Garden of Eden, people had been commanded to sacrifice the first and best of their crops, livestock, etc. in the temple. There were all kinds of associated laws - what was acceptable, when to sacrifice it, how to sacrifice it, where to sprinkle or spread the blood of the sacrificed animals. It was part of what separated God's Chosen People from the "heathen."

Following me? OK.

Now, it's New Testament time. Here comes Jesus. He declares that there should be no more "burnt offerings," no more animal sacrifices, no more crop sacrifices. This law had run its course; it had been "fulfilled."

Theologically, the sacrifice was supposed to remind people of the Messiah, the Savior. Now that the Savior had come, those were no longer needed. Christ asked them to offer "a contrite spirit" instead of animal sacrifice.

Were the people thrilled about this? Did they say, "Wow, this is great! Not only has the Messiah come, but this frees up time and food that my family can use!"? No; they accused Jesus of trying "to destroy the law and the prophets."

Some of what they said is recorded in the Bible, and I'm pretty sure that I can imagine how a lot of conversations not recorded went. People were furious and scandalized. This was, after all, The Way Things Have Always Been Done, it was the Word of God, it was how one earned salvation, generations had followed these precepts - and now they were being asked to discard it. This made no sense to the vast majority of believers.

The problem was in thinking the same way many people today think. "Were you wrong before, or are you wrong now?" Because, people assume, if you've changed something, something has to be wrong. People don't seem to be able to understand that both ways can be right, for their time and circumstances.

Of course, not everything is fulfillment of prophesy, like the arrival of the Messiah, but the idea of different behaviors for different circumstances shouldn't be too difficult for anyone who's been younger than they are now (which is all of us), and especially for parents. Do you treat your toddlers the same way you treat your teens? Of course not. Does that mean that you were wrong to treat them differently, that "different" automatically equals "not fair?" Of course not.

Now that brings us to the flip side of that coin, people who assume that everything must unavoidably change; that, in fact, anything that doesn't change is wrong. To look at that idea, let's go back to the Old Testament again.

Let's look at the Ten Commandments. Most societies, religious or not, agree with at least some of those commandments, things like "don't murder each other" and "don't take things that don't belong to you." Let's agree that, even if you don't follow all of the ten, you recognize that these rules go back many centuries, and are accepted by people of differing religions as the basis of their moral code.

I'm going to take one of these as my example - "Do not bear false witness against thy neighbor." There are so many laws based on this concept - plagiarism, libel, false advertising, perjury, breach of contract, defamation, slander and more. Pretty much every system of government has laws against false witness.

If I come across a religion that tells me that these ideas are outdated, outmoded, unnecessary, embarassingly backward, I know that I do not want to practice that religion; I don't think anybody should practice that religion. (The same is true, actually, of a government.) That's because some things do not change, so our attitude toward them, and our observance of them, shouldn't change. Saying, "OK, it was accepted in the past, but we know better now" doesn't sway me.

In general (although this isn't a hard and fast rule), practices change; doctrine shouldn't.

Many practices will change, and those changes don't mean that anyone is, or was, wrong. But some things are wrong, and time, popular opinion and other societal changes don't make wrong things, like false witness, right.

Sometimes I hear from people who are waiting for changes that they think should come, or those who feel wounded by changes that have come, and they talk about how pained and unhappy and angry they feel. The entire church (or all humanity), they think, should so obviously be doing things the way that makes sense to them. I understand that their pain is real, but I don't think that's the fault of any religion or its adherents. It's a problem with unrealistic expectations. How many times were you in tears as a child, or have you watched your child be in tears, because you couldn't have a pony, had to take a bath, had to do homework? That's what that pain looks like to God. He's lived many centuries longer than we have, so He has perspective and experience that we don't. He hurts because we hurt and He loves us, but not because He's doing things wrong and we children would do it better.

So, in summary, change is inevitable - but not all change. Makes sense?

"Offensensitivity"

As always, Berkeley Breathed and "Bloom County" are sheer genius.

Sorry to break it to you - I hope that you're sitting down - but "life is offensive."

Some people wear the sentiment "I'm offended!" like it's a badge of honor. Even when it's phrased differently - "That sentiment is so hurtful!" - it comes down to being aghast that someone is different from you, and expecting them to change because of it.

"I don't expect them to change because they're different! I expect them to change because they're wrong!" I hear. Of course, they think that you're wrong - and round and round we go.

We're all so easily offended, aren't we? And we think that everything is about us, personally - or, that it should be.

I like to travel, and I've spent recent years working as a travel agent, so I read a lot of travel related stuff. In one list of things actually written in online reviews was this gem from a Caribbean resort: "There was a sign in the lobby that said, 'No hairdressers on property.' We are hairdressers, and we think that they knew, because we did not get attentive service."

The thing that amazes me most about this is the "we" - there was more than one of these people. Let's assume that there are two. Also, presumably, anyone old enough to have a profession that requires training or schooling is an adult. So, one of these otherwise functional adults expressed this sentiment - "They don't allow hairdressers to stay here! And I'll bet they've figured out that we're hairdressers, because they are not being attentive to us!"

Instead of saying, "Don't be a knucklehead. That sign means that the resort does not employ hairdressers; you cannot get your hair done on resort property," the other, otherwise functional, adult says, in effect, "I think you're right! Using no other information than our names and credit card info, they have figured out what we do for a living, told every employee at this resort, and now they are all making a concerted effort to give us less than their best service!" I mean, does that make any logical sense?

What are the odds that a property will decide to discriminate, and choose hairdressers as its target? Come on in, drug traffickers, strippers, phone sex operators, convicted felons - welcome! Stay out, you nasty hairstylists, we don't serve your kind! And we're going to do extensive background checks on anyone who stays here, so that if any hairdressers sneak in, we can give them bad service! That'll show them! Does that actually sounds plausible to you? And yet, at least two people agreed that, yes, that was exactly what was happening.

I saw a review for a doctor's office that complained, "He yanked up the back of my shirt with no warning, so that he could listen to my lungs." She went on to say that she'd never come back, because she feared that the doctor would be sexually inappropriate. She was obviously upset, truly upset, but I found myself thinking - he's a doctor. If your accountant yanked up your shirt, yeah, dump his services and file charges. But have you never been to a doctor before? He can't do an exam through your clothes. If you want him to warn you before he touches you or your clothes, tell him, explicitly. Otherwise, calm down. Every time a doctor has listened to my lungs, he or she has pulled up the back of my shirt, without warning. I have never felt mistreated because of it.

No wonder doctors, nurses, and anyone else who touches you is paranoid about lawsuits.

(I've had to warn my doctors - I will make faces. I will probably make noises (often with the faces). Do not touch my tummy without warning, or I'll yelp. I am not in pain, I am not afraid, you're doing fine - I just hate to be handled.)

Of course, it's usually most baffling when someone directs their outrage straight at me for things that are, honestly, just an ordinary part of life.

The first time someone informed me that I should not belong to my religion (or, presumably, many other religions) specifically because "when you think that other people are going to hell," it makes it impossible for other people to have a productive relationship with me, I was baffled.

Well, my first problem with that idea is the very flawed understanding of my religion's belief in the afterlife. We believe that everyone, and I mean everyone - Adolph Hilter, Ted Bundy - will go to heaven, where there will be no pain, death, hunger, illness, etc. It will be a beautiful, safe and peaceful place, where people will live with perfected bodies. It will not be possible for harm to come to anyone there.

That will be, however, the least desirable "level" of heaven - there are four more places that are even better. In the best of these "levels," people will be living in the presence of God.

Plus, we believe that if you messed up your life, or never heard about Christ, you'll get a chance to fix things in the next life; your fate isn't set at the moment of death. You can change and improve after death.

So, when you accuse me of thinking that people are "going to hell," you're not bothering to find out what I actually believe, or you're being deliberately inflammatory.

The first time that I told someone that my beliefs weren't what they thought they were, and they said, "Just because your church does it differently doesn't mean that religion in general doesn't shame people," I thought that they were just particularly stubborn and trying to save face. I've since had enough people say it to me that I have to concede that it's a pattern. The thing is, if you're going to judge me because of my religion, the conversation had darned well better be about my religion, not another religion or religions as a general concept.

"You just don't understand how painful it is to be told that you're going to hell," people (yes, plural) have told me - ignoring, I suppose, that under the belief system of most of the people on the planet, I personally am going to hell. Born again Christians, Muslims, Catholics, Seventh Day Adventists, Jews, Jehovah's Witnesses, all believe that I, myself, will not be going to heaven. There's more religions that think so, I'm sure, but I'm not well enough versed in their teachings. (On more than one occasion, someone who's telling me how I "just don't understand" the pain of being condemned has also told me that I'm headed to hell; I suppose that I'm not supposed to notice the contradiction.) This means that I have family, friends, health care providers, casual acquaintences, people that I will hire and people that I will work for, who all think that I am going to hell. And, as the person who spends the most time in my life, and knows it the best, I can say with authority that it does not harm me. I can assure you that those of other religions do not make me feel condemned.

I once asked someone (accusing me of being a bad person, by virtue of my religion) if they knew of any instance in which I'd treated someone badly, based on my religious beliefs - smacked alcohol out of their hand while yelling, "SINNER!", said that I feared for the souls of their children, refused to spend time with them or told my children to avoid them, for instance. The answer: "No, the way you treat people is fine. You just think that they're inferior."

Whoa, there, Thought Police. Aside from the fact that you are not a mind reader, and therefore can't accurately speak to what anyone else is thinking, even if you could, are people's thoughts a big issue for you? Every day, people wish they could push past everyone else in line and be served first, they want to slap rude clerks, waiters or customers, they lust after strangers (or those who aren't strangers), they think about how easily they could shoplift that item they want, but they don't do any of those things. At least the hairdressers and the patient were complaining about something that someone actually DID. I cannot get behind the idea that you are a bad person, and I should censure or shun you, based on what you might be thinking. (Because, of course, no one knows exactly what you're thinking unless you tell them.)

Treat me politely, even if you don't like me, and we'll be fine. No one is required to enjoy someone's company. But, every human owes other humans civility.

Pressed for an example of how I thought that other people were "inferior," the answer was that I think that ordinances performed in my church are "better" than those performed elsewhere.

Oh, for crying out loud. Every religion recognizes its own ordinances, but not necessarily those of other religions. If you want to join a religion, you may need re-baptized, remarried, re-ordained. Churches generally do not mirror civil authority; a justice of the peace, for instance, can perform civil marriages, but not religious ones. At my church, I am a teacher (Sunday classes for adults), but I hold no civil teaching credentials, and I would not be asked to teach religious classes at any other church.

If people do not agree with religion in general - say, they're atheist - I can understand them thinking that the entire concept of religious authority is silly. But if you're a religious person, and you get angry at another religion for having its own criteria, procedures, etc., I just can't get behind your outrage. You're entitled to have it, and express it, but not to expect me to change because of it.

Don't be the Thought Police. Don't suffer from offensensitivity. Live and let live!

My Parents' Anniversary

Today is my parents' 58th wedding anniversary. I'm thinking about them today.

I've previously written about the fact that my mom got married twice to her first husband. We recently discovered that she'd also married my dad twice.

("What is it with Mom and having two weddings?" my sister said.)

We've always known the date and place of my parents' wedding. We teased them about taking the wedding to the guests instead of the guests to the wedding, since they were married in the church my uncle and aunt attended. "That's not how you're supposed to do it," we'd say. "Yes, well, that's how we did it," Mom would say.

I figured that choice was a combination of not wanting a big fuss, but wanting a formal ceremony. Mom was very practical, and I can imagine Dad wanting a ceremony that rivaled the one with her first husband. Neither of my parents were members of any congregation, so they didn't have their own church to consider. So, the 90 minute drive each way made sense. (It still does.)

After my mom passed away (Dad's been gone for years), I found the certificate from their wedding. It is an ornate piece of parchment, with flowers and filigree and the writing hand done in calligraphy. It's tied by silk tassels, in a leather folder. Very showy, very fancy; it looks regal. It had all the information I was used to - date, place, my aunt and uncle as witnesses.

The problem was, on either my FamilySearch account or on my Ancestry.com account, the two geneological programs that I use, I could not find an online record of it. Neither could my sister. Oh, well, I thought. We know that it happened. New documents are being scanned or info uploaded every day; sooner or later, it'll be online. I don't need another record of it so badly that I needed to drive across four counties to get a copy.

But then, we came across another record online, a record showing that they got married more than a month after the first wedding, by a Justice of the Peace in another, closer, neighboring county. What was that about? Lots of people, myself and my husband included, have a civil ceremony first, and later, a religious ceremony. But why do it the other way round? And why so close together?

My parents are gone. My uncle and aunt are gone. I'm willing to bet that the minister (and Justice) are gone, even if he remembered them. Some of my cousins are gone; my oldest brother is nearing 70, and all of my children are grown. We're reaching the age at which we are the older generation. There's no one with first hand knowledge around to ask.

There are, however, stories and records from years gone by to help us extrapolate. There's the fact that many religions are very strict about how they will, and won't, perform ceremonies.

As nearly as we can figure, the minister from my uncle's church found out that my mother was divorced after he'd already performed the ceremony, and he then refused to file the paperwork with the state, so the marriage wasn't considered legal. "My mother couldn't have told the church that she'd been divorced when she married my dad. Otherwise, they wouldn't have let them get married in the church," one of my cousins told me. It used to be uncommon to find a church that would perform ceremonies for divorced folks.

So, my parents drove to the next town over in order to make it legal; but, they continued to celebrate the day they actually chose to be married, the day they first said vows. That's very typical of my parents. "This is my anniversary."

That makes sense. We celebrate the day of our first wedding. By the time of our second wedding, the religious ceremony, we'd been married for years, and had two children. That's a different day than the day we chose to get married.

I am a religious person; I stand behind the idea of religions acting in accordance with their beliefs. And yet this story tickles me. It amuses me. I stand behind my parents and their choice to celebrate their non-legal wedding day. Call it like you see it, Mom and Dad. Don't back down.

I come by my stubbornness honestly.

"What Would You Do If...?"

One of my children has spent a lifetime in experimenting with her ideas of parental affection, and how and why it's bestowed. "Will you still love me if I do this? Will you still love me if I do that? Will you still love me if I'm different from my siblings?"

I knew from reading extensively that this was very normal, and I didn't take it - don't take it - personally. It didn't resonate with me emotionally, though, because I could never recall feeling that way myself. My parents' feelings were a constant, like the mountains. I don't think I felt particularly capable of affecting their affection, one way or another. I didn't either luxuriate in it or long for it.

One of the problems this child and I have in understanding each other is that she's a figurative speaker and thinker, who chooses her words for the effect she thinks they'll have instead of for their accuracy. I am a literal thinker, who chooses my words for accuracy, and understates when in doubt.

This means that she frequently looks for hidden meanings when there aren't any. She also tends to think that I'm being sarcastic when I'm not. When given any household chore as a child, she was likely to ask, "Why do I have to?" The answer was always, "Because you live here." She was sure that this was me being a smart mouth, even after complaining to other adults in her life and being told, "That's honestly why you have to."

(Sometimes, though, she took me at my word. In her early teens she wanted to know, "What would you do if I dyed my hair blue?" I responded, "Nothing. It's hair. It'll grow back." She never did dye it blue; it wasn't as much fun if her parents wouldn't be scandalized.)

She was also convinced, deep in her heart of hearts, that if other people disagreed with us, especially if they were people she liked, or a number of people that she considered to be significant, we were legally and morally obligated to change our minds and our rules. At 13, she was sincerely convinced that if we didn't send her to summer camp, we'd go to jail. ("Don't all kids think that?" she asked as an adult. Um - no, Child, they don't.)

"So-and-so thinks your rule is stupid!" we heard repeatedly. I'd usually reply with something like, "Well, I make the rules in my house," which she thought was both a cop out and "stupid." At 12, after I'd pulled rank and said, "I'm the parent. I get to decide," she said, "So you get to do things just because you're the mom? I thought we were all equal here!" My reply of, "Then you thought wrong" infuriated her.

If she kept at it, I'd say, "So, if they get to make the rules for my family, I get to make the rules for their family, right?"

"NO!"

"Why not? That seems fair."

"Because your rules are STUPID and theirs aren't!"

"All my friends think you're so mean!" she snapped at me, after I'd said no to something.

"Good. That means I'm doing my job right." Like most parents, I would die for my kids, but that doesn't mean I should cave to their every whim. The kids would think I was a fantastic parent if I threw out every rule and let them do whatever they wanted, but that wouldn't be good for them, or create healthy, functioning adults.

After my daughter huffed away, another mother pulled me aside to assure me that she spent time with my daughter's friends, "and none of them think you're mean. They all really like you." It was sweet of her, but she needn't have bothered. I do what I think is right; I don't try to win the approval of children. (Or adults, for that matter.)

Throughout her childhood, we heard a constant litany of, "What would you do if...?" More than once, she asked, "What would you do if I was sent to prison?" The answer was always, "Visit you on visiting day."

She must not have believed me, because she was still asking into her mid-20s - "What would you do if I was in prison?" One day, after getting the usual answer, "Visit you on visiting day," she said, "What if it was for a really terrible crime?"

"Visit you on visiting day."

"What if it was for a really awful, messy, premeditated murder?"

"Visit you on visiting day."

"Really?"

"Are you planning on murdering someone?"

"No. But would you really?"

"If you've done something stupid or violent, I expect you to face the consequences. I'm not going to lie for you. I'm not going to hide you from the police. I'm not going to whisk you away to a country with no extradition. I'm not going to bake a file into a cake and help you escape. But you're still my child, and I will always love you. I will visit you on visiting days, and I will be there on the day that you get out."

She must have finally believed me, because she hasn't asked since. (She has not planned or committed any murders, either.)

I think this is how we treat God sometimes. "Will you still love me if I do this?" "If you're really a loving parent, you'll love me even if I do that." Or, "You can't possibly love me after what I've done." "If you love me, you'll give me what I want. If I don't get it, you must not love me."

Sometimes, I think we sound like small children. Any of us who are parents have faced furious or despondent offspring, just sure that if we love them, we'll let them have candy for breakfast, buy them a pony, abolish bedtimes. They can't believe that we ignore their tears or their feelings or their protests. We're sometimes like that. We're seriously, deeply hurt when things don't go our way. Doesn't God love us? Shouldn't that mean that life is easy and we are always happy, and we get what we want? We recognize that our children don't have our perspective and experience, but we can't imagine that God knows something that we don't.

Or, we go the opposite direction. We decide that God loves other people, but not us. We screwed up. We did stupid, willful, harmful stuff. No one could ever love us after that.

The older I get, the more I see theology as a parent/child relationship. God is the parent. He loves us, more than we will ever know. He always will, no matter what we've done. That does not mean that he should always give us what we want - even if not getting it pains us and makes us sad or angry, and even if other people agree with us and think things should be done our way. He not only knows best, it's his job to do things as HE sees fit, not as we see fit.

Like every parent, he will be disappointed, exasperated, angry. Yet he will be beside us whenever he can, and he will be waiting to help us start over and get it right after we've screwed things up. He will do this even if we hate him or think that he's mean.

Because that's what good parents do.

And if we humans can figure that out, trust me, God knew it long ago, and he's better at it than we could be.

Thank You For Your Support

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." - Inigo Montoya

OK, part of it is the problem of the English language itself, with its ridiculous rules and exceptions to rules. I'll grant you that.

Still. Let's talk about support. The actual word - "support."

We so often use it to mean "agree with." People will insist that "the way to support" someone is to tell them that you think that they're correct, or that they should be doing whatever they're doing. They will tell you that to "support" your family or friends, you need, in essence, to say to them, "You are right. You are absolutely right."

It makes me crazy.

Most of the times that I felt most supported by my parents were the times when we disagreed.

Look on dictionary.com. They supply 19 definitions for "support," and not one contains the words "agree" or "agreement." Number 3, though, says, "to undergo or endure, especially with patience or submission; tolerate." My parents did a lot of that.

I've shared before the fact that I started attending a church at age seven. I went with the neighbors. My parents did not belong to any religion. Both of them, especially my dad, distrusted organized religions as a whole. Plus, this was one outside the mainstream, deemed kind of loopy. Still, when I announced at age eight that I intended to attend every week, that I wanted to be baptized a member, my parents eventually gave permission.

Were they thrilled? No. Not even close. Did they try to talk me out of it? Sure. I rarely share those details, since I consider them irrelevant to the outcome, but it wasn't all sunshine and roses. My family had reservations. My mom worried that being religious would equate to being judgmental. My dad said things like, "They talk about the importance of the family, but I think that this could tear the family apart." When I wanted to attend Sunday services as well as weekday activities, they worried that two meetings a week was too much. My dad also stressed out because Sunday had traditionally been our "pack a picnic and head into the hills" days, and we'd frequently be gone all day long. He was unamused when I countered this worry by asking, "Couldn't we do that on Saturdays?" To me, his answer of, "But we've always done it on Sunday" sounded like a non sequitur. I got to hear everyone's stories about how they "knew this one Mormon man/woman" and how they did something wrong or hurtful or stupid. My dad's family had some long standing beef with the church that went back to his childhood.

How did they handle all this? They let me join, without undue complaining. I could attend meetings weekly, but I had to wait until I was 12 to be baptized; that was OK with me. By that time, they were pretty comfortable that things would go on as usual at home; nobody had grand worries any more. By the time I was a teen, and my mom had to drive me to and from meetings and activities, it was just a normal part of our lives. They attended activities with me when invited. When my teacher suggested a 40 day sugar fast so that we could better understand Jesus' 40 day fast, my mother obsessively read labels and bought special groceries. When I had early morning religion classes in high school, my mother got up with me to make sure I had breakfast. They didn't worry about sending me on youth group trips or sleepovers, even co-ed ones.

Did they still think that my church was odd, my choices were odd, and sometimes hope that I'd decide that I didn't want to attend any more? Sure. Did they say nasty, snarky, passive-aggressive things? Never. Did they gripe to everyone else, outside of my earshot? No. They told people how nice members of my congregation were.

On the other hand, did I secretly throw out their coffee and wine, sigh and look mournful when they drank those things, when they swore, when they stayed home while I went to church? Never. Did I, or anyone else, pressure them to join, remark on how sad it was that I attended alone, tell them that their salvation was at stake? Nope. Not even once. It's called "being mature."

That's certainly not the only time we seriously disagreed. My dad was deeply upset that I had no interest in being an athlete. They were both deeply disappointed when I decided not to go to college after high school. They didn't always like my friends, and were not happy when I chose one of those friends as my roommate when I moved out. (Truth be told, they weren't happy about me moving out, period, and they disliked the girl in question.) (Also, they turned out to be right that living with her was a bad idea.) When I started dating my husband, my mother told me that she never wanted to meet my new boyfriend, and my dad referred to him as "that wild. bearded thing." They were not happy when I got married at 20, when I had a baby that year and another at 21, when we moved hundreds of miles away, when we bought a home in our new town, when I chose to be a stay at home mom... I mean, there are literally dozens of instances in which they would have made very different choices for me if they could.

(Despite the fact that they thought that I was too young, and the fact that my mother hated playing hostess, we held our wedding in my parents' back yard. I felt very supported.)

It should be noted that my extended family and my friends were often equally horrified, or even more distressed than my parents, by any or all of these events. Quite often the collective opinion was that I'd lost my mind, or that I had tragically low self esteem, or that I didn't know that I had alternatives. Also, my inlaws were not fond of me in the slightest. When we were engaged, if I walked into a room, my mother in law walked out.

The fact that my family soon learned to adore my husband (and kids), and that the years bore out the fact that I had not, in fact, ruined my life, is an aside here, instead of the point. The point is that my loved ones continued to love me and continued to treat me and my family the same way they would have if I had done things differently. This does not mean that everyone lived in a state of denial or that nobody voiced concerns, complaints or (my least favorite) advice. It means that the fact that we disagreed was totally secondary to the fact that we loved each other.

That, folks, is what "support" looks like.

I cannot stand it when I read some account or other of someone doing something that could be controversial - leaving medical school to become a jazz musician, or coming out as gay - their loved ones think that they're doing the right thing, and say, "I agree with you 100%! Live your truth! Follow your path! God wants you to do this!" and other people respond, "Now that's the way to support someone!" and "Anyone who tells you that you're wrong is not supporting you!" Listen up, everybody. That's not support. It's agreement. It's expected. It is the very definition, the epitome, of expected. Can you think of any instance in which someone will agree with you, will think that you're doing the right thing, and will say something derogatory or rude? Will they question you and offer alternatives if they think that you're already taking the best course of action? Good gravy, folks, it is the closest thing to a guarantee that if someone agrees with you, they'll say something positive. I repeat, that is agreement, not support.

Displaying expected behavior is not amazing or worthy of praise. It's a given, like the sun rising.

Actual support should be expected behavior, but alas, it is not.

A friend posted a question on their Facebook page about whether or not it was possible to civil and supportive if your family members disagreed on religion. This was my response.

"When I joined my church at almost age 13, my parents and siblings were supportive (if baffled). I do not belong to the same religion as my parents, siblings, parents-in-law, siblings-in-law, or any of my 11 nieces and nephews (or my grandnieces and -nephews, either). (I also do not belong to the same political party as my husband.)

Having grown up in an environment where I was taught that all people have intrinsic value, unrelated to their beliefs or actions, and in which I was both encouraged to be respectful to everyone and to think for myself, I will never be able to understand people who think that everyone has to agree, or they can't truly be close, or love each other. I don't understand people who see differences of opinion as betrayal and rejection.

We recently returned from a naming ceremony for my grandniece, daughter of lesbian, Jewish parents. Someone actually said to my husband, "You would go when you don't agree with them?" Of course! They flew here and celebrated with us, with genuine happiness, when our daughter was married in an LDS temple. They don't agree with us or our religious practices, but it made no difference. That's just what reasonable people do for each other.

Most of my friends are pretty great about differences, too. When I invited a (very non-religious) family to my son's baptism, they didn't say, "We don't believe in that, and we think you're a little weird. It would make us too uncomfortable." They said, "What time do we need to be there, and what is the dress code?" When they invited us to their son's gay pagan handfasting (wedding) ceremony, we said about the same - "When should we get there, and what's the dress code?"

I know people who say they'd love people, regardless, but they'd be very upset if, say, their daughter announced a desire to be a nun. Unless someone is sacrificing children or planning other acts of violence, allowing them to freely practice their beliefs, or unbelief, benefits everyone."

I mean, how is this even a question? How are we not all clear on this?

When you look at my close friends, my lifelong friends, my relatives, people that I truly and sincerely adore, you'll find members of my religion. You'll also find drug addicts, drug traffickers, alcoholics, promiscuous people, transgender people, homosexual people, three pack a day smokers, cross dressers, unwed parents, people with multiple sexual partners/spouses, pagans, Jews, Evangelicals, atheists, Wiccans, people who fit more than one of those categories... all kinds of people whose lives do not mirror my standards. Why is this not a problem for me? Because they are my standards, that I have committed to live. They are not their standards.

And let it also be noted here, because this often gets overlooked, that these people love me, despite the fact that I live a vastly different life than they do.

Three of my children are adults, and the youngest is in high school, so now they sometimes hear details that I may not have shared when they were younger. They know now that one of their deeply loved bonus uncles spent years as a drug addicted, alcoholic, promiscuous manager of strippers. When they were children, I didn't let them in on those details, because they didn't need to know. They arguably don't need to know now, but we never ignored those things, or pretended that they didn't exist. We went the route of, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Sometimes, we said a lot of nothing.

We've always answered questions truthfully, though. When one of my daughters was working on a play that I was in, she asked one night, "Did (our makeup artist) used to be a woman?"

"Yes, he did. His name was (different) then. I knew him as (that person) when we did university theater together years ago."

"I though so. Don't tell him that I could tell."

"He's not touchy about it. He doesn't broadcast it, but he doesn't mind if you ask. Most of us knew him back then. It's not a secret." I don't know if she ever asked him anything - probably not - but it was just another piece of info, like what any of our actors did for a living.

I have never told my children to love someone despite our differences - I simply love that person. There's no need to qualify the feeling or the relationship.

I've never told them to choose only LDS friends, or to avoid certain people, or not to listen to a friend or relative if they have questions or want to explain their own beliefs or practices. When we've been invited to other churches, if our schedule allows we've said "yes." My kids have gone to Vacation Bible School with their friends. I have never displayed dismissive or superior attitudes because someone is different from me. I don't allow my kids to behave that way, either.

Someone once accused me of being "hateful" and "homophobic" because my religion teaches that homosexuality is aberrant behavior and because I believe that same sex unions (and perhaps even opposite gender civil unions) should be "partnerships" instead of "marriages." I felt compelled to point out that my toddlers were sitting on the lap of my gay, HIV+ best friend back in the 1980s, when people were terrified that the virus could be airborne - and, I might add, before my accuser was even born. I have little patience with anyone trying to give me a sensitivity lecture without knowing about my life. Don't assume that because you have one piece of information that you know me.

Do my kids always agree with me? No. As in so many other areas, I follow my mother's lead.

Two of my children have decided to leave my church. Keep in mind, according to my beliefs, this means that they have effectively opted out of the family unit. They may be in heaven, but they won't be my children in eternity. (This is, arguably, harder than my parents had it, since they had no beliefs about an afterlife or the state of one's eternal soul.) Is this painful? Deeply. Does it feel like rejection? Sure. Do I hope that one day, they change their minds? Absolutely. Do I love them less, criticize them more, insist that they move away, withdraw any financial help, tell their siblings to ignore them or plead with them, lie to our family and friends (or ask the children to do so), refuse to spend time with them or to take them on family trips, or engage in any other ridiculous, alienating behavior? No. Do I forbid discussion of religion? No. Do I continue to have weekly family night lessons that are religious in nature? Yes. I do things exactly the same way I always did. My choices are mine. Theirs are their own.

A friend asked not too long ago how I felt about something in my child's life. I replied with a wide smile, "I adore my child."

"Well, that's a very political answer," they said. Yes, it is. It's also the only thing that really matters. How I feel about my kids and their lives is 1. no one else's business, and 2. not going to change anything.

Thank you for your support.

Let Me Explain

Just so we're all on the same page, I want to point out, again, that I share my opinions so that others will understand me, not so that I can change their minds.

Compare it to someone who refuses to eat breakfast until they've made an origami flower for the table first. You, especially if you're the caregiver, maybe of an elderly relative with this trait, find it to be an aggravating waste of time. But, when Granny explains that this is her good luck charm, and that her days just seem happier and more successful if she has that flower on her breakfast table, you can understand her, and maybe even help her make it. You still don't think that the flower affects anything, but that's not as important as understanding Granny.

Also, people who might already agree with me can feel supported, and not quite so alone. That's important, too.

Now - let's discuss religion.

I belong to a religion. It affects everything I do, every day - what I wear, say, watch on TV, eat and drink; it's important to me. I realize that others live differently, and I'm OK with that. Free will is the most important thing that humans possess.

Whenever someone shares why they left their religion, especially if it's my religion, I always hear a chorus of voices in agreement - "Me, too!" "I thought the same thing!" "That's why I left." Nobody seems to want to hear a dissenting voice, one saying, "I think that's a mistake." Those comments are deemed rude. So, in case anyone wants to peruse, at their leisure, what I may be thinking when I hear or read those reasons and/or comments, I've written them down here.

The thoughts or reasons will be like this, in bold type.

My thoughts will be below that, in regular type.

I just have to live my own life and make my own decisions.

Well, that's a good thing. As I stated, free will is the most sacred of human rights.

I do find, though, that overwhelmingly, people say this when they are disagreeing with their family, and/or the way they were raised, and very infrequently when they are disagreeing with their friends or mentors. Very rarely does anyone say, "I have to make my own decisions, and that's why I do things differently than my friends/classmates/mentors do."

People tend to pat someone on the back for being "brave" and "independent" and "free thinking" when they disagree with their parents. Keep in mind, though, that if I was brave for, say, leaving my parents' Christian faith to become an atheist, then my children would be brave to leave what I had taught them, and become fundamentalist Christians. I know many people who congratulate others for leaving any faith, but say to someone who's joining one, "Are you sure you've thought this through?" They say that they will support whatever their children decide, "provided that they've really thought it through," but would be horrified if their child converted to Islam, or became a Buddhist monk or a Catholic nun. ("I raised you better than that! How can you turn off your brain that way?")

The problem here is using the thoughts and decisions of others to determine what YOU, yourself, think and do, and why. I understand all of the built in human needs to be part of a group, to feel accepted and protected. I understand, too, the necessity of differentiating oneself from one's parents. I just find popular, or unpopular, opinion to be a very unreliable way to make important life choices. That's NOT thinking for yourself, that's a herd mentality. "Others that I admire are doing it this way. I feel protected and accepted when I am like them. Therefore, I must believe what they believe." Or, "Because most people think this, and I am more intelligent and educated than they are, I cannot agree with them." I just can't understand someone seriously thinking that the best way to decide what you believe is to gauge what others believe - or how well spoken those beliefs are.

This church leader (or church member) is someone I don't like. They've done things that upset me.

If an individual hurts, upsets, annoys or confuses you, that's normal. That's OK. It's about them individually, as a person, though (even if what they've done or said is based on their understanding and practice of their religion). Using this to dismiss an entire religion is like saying, "Because no human being is perfect, I don't think that truth exits," and that should be an obviously flawed conclusion.

I've seen them make mistakes (or do something hurtful).

See above answer.

The church leaders seem to be wrong on scientific issues.

In my case, people have frequently pointed out to me that one of my church leaders said publicly that he didn't think men would ever reach the moon; he said it only a handful of years before men did land on the moon. People love to crow, "How could he talk to God and not know that?"

Simple. Did Moses invent the internal combustion engine? Did Abraham understand molecular biology? Did the Apostle Paul invent the airplane? No. I don't go to my accountant to fill my cavities, or my surgeon to repair my home, or the guy who built my deck to do my taxes, either. People have areas of expertise. Religious leaders are inspired to tell the people about how God wants them to behave. These are the things that will do the most good on Earth, and bring us the most happiness after this life. Those things - be honest, be kind, be hardworking, be compassionate, be trustworthy - are the same whether we're living in caves and just discovering fire, or building a self sustaining colony on Mars.

There are huge worlds of knowledge and accomplishment for humans to discover on their own, because learning on our own is what best benefits us, but the religious basics will never change. And unless a religious leader is a doctor, I won't ask him/her about medicine. It's not in their job description.

I think that their youth group (or Scout) activities are lame.

I'm not making this complaint up. Sincerely, folks? If you were talking about leaving a club, or skipping your neighbor's next party, I'd be with you. I think, though, that you're missing the point of religion. You're going to decide what you think that the creator of the universe wants you to do for the eternal salvation of your soul based on whether or not you thought that a group's youth activities were lame? I'm sorry, I have a hard time taking that thought process seriously.

There's no evidence for it.

There's no "evidence" of most of my ancestors. There's no birth certificates or death certificates; even when they were "recorded," that meant that it was hand written in a family Bible. Go far enough back, and there's no military service records, employment records, bank accounts, census records. Yet, because I am here, they obviously existed.

For most of human history, "recording" something meant that the community leaders memorized it. The idea that everything important can be verified to the satisfaction of most people is a very new (in terms of human history) idea. And, for crying out loud, if we can't agree on whether the moon landing was real, whether OJ Simpson is a murderer, whether the Holocaust happened or whether the trails left by airplanes are part of a sinister plot, despite those events being recent and the fact that we have pages and pages and volumes upon volumes of scholarly research and conventional, modern documentation on the subject, there is NO way that we will agree on things that happened long ago, or that defy conventional documentation.

("But only people who are being deliberately ignorant disagree with me on those things!" people say to me frequently. They disregard the fact that the opposite side says exactly the same thing about them.)

Does it matter to me whether we have the actual stone tablets containing the Ten Commandments, or if we can examine Noah's Ark? Not in the slightest.

I've had doubts for most (or all) of my life.

OK. Doubts are legitimate. Still, you need to allow for the fact that reality is not shaped by opinion, yours or others. When the best and brightest scientific minds on the planet thought that the earth was flat and that the sun revolved around us, it didn't affect the actual shape of the planet or the orbits of heavenly bodies or the laws of physics or anything else.

Look back at law enforcement during my early lifetime, and I'm not even out of my 40s. Science could only determine a person's blood type if they were a "secretor." DNA identification was impossible and unheard of. Almost every year, a discovery is made that "changes everything" in a certain field.

The brightest and most educated humans tend to be the ones who know that we as a species have hardly scratched the surface of the knowledge that's out there. Believing that you, personally, hold all the possible knowledge in the universe, or that everything can, and should, be explained to your personal satisfaction is just arrogance. You don't have all the answers because no one ever will have all the answers.

I don't understand/agree with certain principles.

See above answer.

The meetings are boring.

Again, this strikes me as self centered. "Because I am not entertained, this can't possibly be true." Churches could, and sometimes do, dress up meetings with rock music, dancing and any number of other efforts to be engaging. If they offered alcohol, snacks and scantily clad dancers, they'd draw bigger crowds, and the people would be more enthusiastic. Would that be "success"? I do't think so, because it would have zero effect on whether the message was true.

I feel uncomfortable (or like I don't belong) in church (or in this congregation).

See above answer. Truth is unaffected by whether you're having fun, or even understanding something, or whether other people are "nice." Again, I assume that you're searching for a religion, not for a club or for entertainment.

God can't possibly punish me for doing my best.

This assumes that God's primary purpose is to punish, which I think is flawed thinking, but look at it like this: the world is a classroom. In a classroom, each child can try their very hardest, and stretch their very farthest, but only some will do A work. Should everyone else be handed an A, on the theory that it's "unfair" otherwise? Are the kids getting Bs or Cs (or even lower) being punished, or picked on by a teacher who hates them? No.

If you are working hard, and doing what you believe is right, you will receive rewards, whether you recognize them or not. This is especially true if you actually are doing what's right. Does that mean, that in the interest of fairness, every person who ever existed should get exactly what you get?

If God existed/if this church were true, the teachings would make sense to me.

Remember that God is a parent. He has lived longer than we have. He has more experience and knowledge. He wants what is best for us. This means, almost by definition, that He will occasionally ask us to do things, or give us information, that makes no sense to us. That doesn't mean that He's non-existent, or cruel.

Every day, especially when they were young, I told my children things that confused, annoyed, frustrated, baffled or angered them. I insisted on behavior that they thought was "stupid." I gave them unpleasant tasks, and unpleasant consequences when they broke the rules. Is that because I'm mean and I don't love them? They sure thought so, many times. Instead, it was a reflection of the fact that I knew more than they did, I had more experience than they did, and I truly wanted them to be happy. Sometimes, that meant not caring how they felt about me or my rules.

Plus, there's that whole, "My judgement is infallible and all knowing" thing again. There are some things you personally don't know, because there is no person who has all knowledge.

A loving God would never want some of His children to be separated from Him eternally.

God's been pretty clear on this subject; He loves us all. He wants us all to return to live with Him eternally. The things that will make this possible are available to everyone who ever lived or will live. God has said that the requirements can be met by the weakest and most rebellious of us. The choice is up to us, and it pains Him when we make choices that separate us from Him.

Think about being a parent. Do you say, "Because I love you kids more than life itself, because I want you to be successful and happy, there are no rules. It is not possible for you to ever do anything wrong. There will never be any punishments or negative consequences." Of course not. God doesn't say that to His children, either.

I don't agree with the church's stance on this issue.

Here you have two main options. You can decide that the religion itself is valid, and therefore, you might be wrong about this issue. Or, you can decide that disagreement on one issue will cancel out every agreement on every other issue, and that therefore, the entire religion has no merit.

For me, I again have to allow for the fact that I do not possess all the knowledge in the universe, so there may be a part of the big picture that I don't see.

I think that the church asks too much of us/you.

Nothing worthwhile is easy.

The Bible describes the same event differently in different books.

Of course - they were written by different authors. Think about the family stories your family has. Will it sound different if you or Uncle Bob or cousin Cyril tells the story? Do those differences mean that it never happened, or that you're being deliberately deceitful?

The Bible never mentions this subject. How can this rule about it be valid?

Imagine, again, that you're a parent. You go out for the evening, leaving your oldest in charge. You say something like, "Be good while we're gone!"

When you come home, and discover chaos, how will you feel if your child says, "You never said that I couldn't tie Timmy up and leave him in the closet. You never told me that I couldn't use your coin collection for the ice cream man. You can't be mad, and you can't punish me."

The best rules are broad enough to be applicable across many behaviors, time periods and eventualities. Just because the Bible never tells us not to sell national or company secrets doesn't mean that it's OK to do so.

All of the above arguments are pretty standard, no matter what your religion, although a couple of them are specific to Christianity. There's a couple more that I hear frequently that are peculiar to my specific religion. These include:

There are scriptures in the Book of Mormon that are identical to scriptures in the Bible.

Of course there are. If something is important, you make sure that you repeat it to every group that you speak to. Think about any story that you tell over and over. Think about instructions that you give, and methods that you use to teach. You will say the same things over and over. Others telling the same story or teaching the same subject will do so, as well. To me, this simply shows that the source - God - is the same.

I'd be worried if the Book of Mormon said, "That whole 'love your neighbor' thing? Forget it. And baptism isn't necessary any more."

I don't believe that the leaders in Salt Lake are prophets. What are the chances that most of the modern prophets would be old, white American men?

Do you believe that there were prophets in the Old World? Well, what are the chances that God would have chosen only people from the same race and the same geographic area?

(Plus, we're taught that there were prophets across the earth, and on all the "isles of the sea," in antiquity. We have the writings of only a few. Plus, if anyone missed the chance to hear the message on Earth, they have that opportunity later. Each community no longer needs their own prophet in order to receive instruction, because ideas can be so widely distributed in written or transmitted form.)

The church has too much money/I don't agree with tithing.

I'd worry more about this if we had paid clergy. We don't. Leaders, teachers, organists, cleaning crew, nursery staff - we're all volunteer. You won't find us going on TV to plead for people to send in additional offerings, only to have it go toward buying a new Lexus for the bishop.

Of course there are many more complaints, and many more answers. I'm not trying to Create the Final Word or mold official doctrine. As I said, I'm just writing it down because I hear these things so often, and I've been told that it's rude or intolerant to reply.

That doesn't seem OK to me either. If it's OK for someone else to tell why they think one thing, it's OK for me to say why I think another.

Thanks for listening.

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.

A Truly Grand Parent

My mother hated crowds and noise. For her, the concept of "crowd" was pretty small, too, encompassing groups that others might deem modest or intimate. When we celebrated my children's birthdays, she would only come celebrate with us if it was just the immediate family. If they were having a party, she would come by earlier that day to drop off a gift and then skip the party. They never felt neglected - they knew how she felt. If she went to the extended family Christmas party (and she didn't always go), she would stay for an hour or less and then slip quietly out without saying goodbye.

It was a big deal, then, when she went with us to Las Vegas for our daughter Terry's college graduation.

Mom had never been to Vegas. For most of her life she'd loved to travel, but at 78 she was frequently in pain and always walked with a cane. She also hated leaving her home and her cat in someone else's care, trusting only my cousin Ted to do a good job.

We offered to fly her there and back, sparing her the experience of a road trip of almost 450 miles one way. Still, she opted for the whole road trip, including the post-graduation trip to Disneyland. She'd be rooming with us, and sharing a bed with our oldest daughter. The kids were thrilled.

The graduation invitations had indicated that the ceremony would be held not at the school, a hotel or an auditorium, but at the Fashion Show Mall. We found that very odd - a mall? Really? Then we attended the rehearsal and saw why. The graduates would enter by being raised up out of the floor in a huge glass sided elevator, then walk down the fashion show catwalk, all the while accompanied by special effects smoke, lights and music. I forget which of my family said it first - "It's a very Vegas graduation."

So there's my elderly mom, surrounded by the regular shoppers, the graduation crowd, and loud rock and roll accompanied by smoke, in the Fashion Show Mall on the Las Vegas Strip. It would not have been unheard of for her to simply flee, but she didn't. She sat through the whole thing.

She also let us take photographs of her afterward. This too was not something she enjoyed. To say that she hated to be photographed is understating things. She would, however, agree to a few on special occasions.

Look at the sheer joy in that photo!

There was no question that she was proud of Terry.

Three years later, when Lana, our oldest, graduated from college in Provo, Utah, it was important to her to have Grandma there. It was even more important because she was getting married the day after graduation.

Again, we offered to fly Mom there and back. This time, it was 560 miles one way. Again, she opted for the road trip and shared hotel, this time sharing a bed with Terry.

She was even slower and in more pain when she walked than she had been for Terry's graduation. Climbing in and out of our Suburban was difficult, painful and laborious, yet she didn't even consider not going.

Take a look at the size of that auditorium, and how high up we were sitting! Still, not a single complaint - not so much as a bad mood from Mom.

After she passed away, Lana found that "I <3 BYU" button in Mom's bedroom.

The graduation was so huge that it spread over 2 days. If you wanted to actually hear your name called and to walk across the stage, you had to attend your department's ceremony the day after the huge commencement.   Mom was in such pain from navigating the campus that she skipped those ceremonies for our son in law (morning) and daughter (afternoon). Even then she didn't complain, but simply said, "If I'm going to be up to all the walking tomorrow, I have to rest today."

Weddings in our temples tend to be small and private, often with only the couple and their witnesses or their immediate family present. Often, even the wedding party is not present for the actual ceremony. The reception tends to be the big event. Sometimes, there's more than one reception, especially if the wedding takes place away from the bride's or groom's home town. I've known couples who've had a wedding luncheon for the family and wedding party after the ceremony, gone on their honeymoon, and then returned to a reception in the bride's home town and one in the groom's home town.

In order to witness the actual wedding ceremony, you need to be an adult member of our church, in good standing, and have received certain ordinances.

Because they've grown up in this culture, my kids have never minded not attending someone's actual wedding, even when they're in the wedding party. They don't mind at all waiting in the waiting room. I fit all the requirements to attend the ceremony, but I've spent many weddings in the waiting room, simply because I'm not immediate family (and the rooms are small). I find that to be normal. Others, though, especially those who aren't members of our church or those who haven't been exposed to LDS weddings, find it very odd and are sometimes quite put out.

Not my mom.

Allow me to digress a bit here for some history. I joined my church, by myself but with my parents' permission, when I was 12. My dad's family was not particularly religious at all. My mom's family was moderately religious; they claimed a denomination, and my mom was baptized as a baby. When my siblings and I were children, we attended church once a year, on Easter, at the Methodist church.

All three of my mother's daughters joined churches that our parents did not attend. It did not bother or fluster Mom in any way. She spent all of my pre-driving years driving me to and from church services and activities. Sometimes, when invited, she'd attend meetings or activities with my sister, with me or even with my cousins. She never felt that anyone, at any church, was trying to convert her, or was judging her, or was expecting her to explain herself. If she had, she would have firmly declined any further invitations. When one of her granddaughters converted to Judaism and married a rabbi, my mother met it with the same acceptance and grace and true happiness for her that she had exhibited when her daughters joined Christian churches.

One of the governing documents of my religion says, "We claim the privilege of worshipping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where or what they may." I had been taught that precept by example my entire childhood, so when I heard it, I already knew of its validity. Your worship, or lack of it, is between you and God. I am neither of those people. I might admire you, pity you, or be annoyed by you, but it won't affect whether I love you or how I treat you. I learned that first, and best, from my mom.

Mom was not into very existential "there is no right, there is no wrong" philosophies. She was very sure of what she felt was right and what she felt was wrong. She just had no interest in making you agree with her, or even in knowing if you did or not.

I have seen and heard the way some other people react to situations similar to ours. Relatives who can't attend the wedding ceremony are very hurt, feel very left out, and are often vocal. They say things like, "I've waited my whole life to see you walk down the aisle!" and, "Your church can't really care very much about families if they're willing to put them through this kind of pain."

My mom, far from home and in physical pain, didn't even think about complaining. It's not as if she put on a happy face for us and vented to people about how awful and inconsiderate it was after she got back home. Trust me, my mother had no problem being very vocal about her displeasure. She never even considered that the day should be about what she wanted or expected. It was about what Lana and Craig wanted, and she was truly happy for them that they got to have what THEY wanted. She was very, very happy that her presence there that day made her granddaughter happy.

She wore the same dress she'd worn to my wedding 24 years earlier. It matched Lana's wedding colors.

She waited in the waiting room with the younger children during the ceremony. They had loaner wheelchairs, which she accepted after three full days of walking farther than normal, and climbing in and out of our behemoth of a vehicle. After the family photos were taken, a family friend - the closet thing we had to our side of the family being there that day - whisked her off on a tour after hearing that she'd never been in Salt Lake City before. She loved it.

She spent the reception that evening commenting on how happy the couple was, and what a wonderful thing it was for them to have a happy wedding day. She even let us take more photos.

A week later, after their honeymoon, she braved a larger crowd to attend the reception in our home town. Almost all of my side of the family made it there; my sister and her husband drove for 12 hours to attend the reception, then drove 12 hours back home so as not to miss work. My daughter felt very loved.

Some people spend a lot of time talking about tolerance, consideration, kindness and respect. Often, unfortunately, I have observed that what they mean is, "I don't think that you are sending enough of these things my way. You should do better." My mom didn't spend much time talking about such things, or telling us to treat everyone with respect; she just did it. She never said, "So-and-so is just as good as we are, even though his skin is a different color;" she treated So-and-so the same way she treated everyone else. We learned by watching.

So many people don't understand the difference between understanding someone, accepting someone and agreeing with them. They say, "I want your understanding," when what they mean is, "I want you to agree with me." They say, "I just can't accept you because of your belief system," instead of realizing that it's totally possible to accept someone while disagreeing with them. I think I have an easier time navigating those feelings than many people do, because I had such a stellar example.

Just as an aside, the niece I mentioned who married the rabbi - perhaps that's not an entirely accurate way to describe it. The rabbi is a lovely, red haired woman, and as far as I know, they haven't had a ceremony, religious, legal or private. They simply decided to form a family - and so, years ago, I gained a niece, my kids gained a cousin, my mom gained a granddaughter.

(Postscript: four years after this was written, my nieces made it official with a wedding on the beach, attended by their children.)

One of the last pieces of mail my mother got was a card from those nieces, letting her know the gender of the baby they're expecting. "Did you know that Kara and Mari are having a girl?" she excitedly asked Terry that night. She was looking forward to this 5th great-grandchild. None of us are concerned with the biology of this child; she's already ours, and always will be.

I have no idea how my mom felt about many things, including gay marriage. I do know that I was raised to accept others for who they are, not who we want them to be. We do not need to agree to love one another, to treat each other with respect and kindness, and to enjoy each other's company. My mother taught me that. My religion reinforced it. Most of the people I choose to fill my life with embrace it.

Take a look again at the elderly woman in a wheelchair, in front of a building she would never enter. That is the face of religious tolerance. That is the face of someone so secure in her belief system that she didn't need to challenge or argue with anyone. That is the face of love and acceptance. That is the woman who taught me  that to be sure of yourself does not mean belittling or demeaning others.

That is my mom.