Love Thy Freaking Neighbor

Let’s get one thing straight right now: I'm not a huge fan of self-righteous people. Maybe that makes me self-righteous for not being thrilled about the self-righteous. I don't know. 

Righteous people? I'm a big fan. Note that righteous is not an adjective exclusively for religious folks. Anyone can be a righteous human being! Righteous is synonymous with noble, ethical, good, honorable, decent, principled, upstanding. Whether you're a person with deep religious convictions that you strive to live or you're simply a good person regardless of any religious affiliation, then please keep doing your thing. I do not expect anyone to be perfect, as that would be incredibly hypocritical of me, not to mention disappointing. But if you're doing your part to be a nice human, I am genuinely a huge fan. Or in the words of the leader of the Free World, "Yuuuuge fan."

Anyway. 

I happen to be one of those religious types, who I hope is also a decent human. Because I’m well-aware that being a religious person does not automatically equate to being a "righteous" one.

I was super blessed to have been raised by parents, who were (and are) righteous, in every sense of the word. My entire existence, they have taught me to be good. They still do. Their wisdom and insight has blessed my life immensely, and their devotion to what they believe is commendable to say the least. In part because of their devotion to their religion, and because my parents are just good people regardless, they have taught me all sorts of lessons, largely by example, even when they didn't realize I was paying any attention. 

They always encouraged me to sit by the person who was sitting alone. They are both great examples of looking out for the underdogs. They encouraged turning the other cheek when people were less than polite, and they taught me to pray to God before I was in preschool. My relationship with Him has been the biggest part of my life and the biggest influence on who I am trying to be. Emphasis on trying. My parents never forced anything, but instead have fostered my faith by living it so well themselves. They have taught me the importance of being like Jesus and what that actually looks like. But, spoiler alert - I have eons to go before I am anything remotely like Him. So please, don't hold that against me. 

One funny thing my Mom has frequently said since I was a little girl has always stuck with me. She is known for excitedly shouting, almost in a singing or catchy jingle sort of way, this specific phrase. Anytime I complain about someone being rude or in the wrong, anytime I get frustrated, anytime I have the sass turned up a little too high, my momma responded with her famous slogan: "Kindness begins with....."

And then one of my siblings or I was supposed to race to finish the sentence with, "ME!" 

Not only was this fun as a kid, and still fun as an adult, because who doesn't like yelling the word "me" at the top of their lungs?  But this lesson that she still reminds me to learn taught me that being kind is valuable. Being kind trumps being right. Being kind trumps being prideful. Being kind trumps being rude. Being kind trumps being judgmental. Being kind even trumps being important. If you get my drift. 

Now, you might prioritize kindness differently than that. That's just the way I see it and I cannot speak for anybody else. But spoiler alert: I'm going to anyway.

One thing that has really bummed me out lately has been watching people that I love and respect share all sorts of hate-filled things in the name of "Christianity" that are not even remotely aligned with true Christianity. It seems that a few folks have forgotten to live the 11th Commandment: Thou Shalt Not Be a Hateful, Self-Righteous Idiot. 

I am not suggesting that Christians are the only type of people who may tend to exhibit symptoms of self-righteousness. There are good eggs and rotten apples in every religion, culture, neighborhood, socioeconomic status, or professional occupation. Close-mindedness is not only evident in the Bible thumpers on the far right. Close-mindedness goes ALL directions, and I am well-aware that the pendulum can swing both ways.

But lately, I've been extra disturbed and saddened by some of my fellow Christians sharing hate-filled rhetoric. And that's not the worst part - the worst part is that they actually believe they are taking the moral high ground. It's sick and twisted and I'm SO over it. 

I know that sharing my feelings probably won't change anyone's mind, but I must say that I do not condone the way many people have chosen to treat others, using the scriptures as an excuse. I would love to know one thing: how on earth is acting like a jerk the same thing as being like Jesus? I must have missed that Sunday School lesson...

People can be so close-minded and condescending, and in the name of religion no less. Now, I can't eliminate this problem, and I've probably inadvertently contributed to it myself before because I am so far from perfect and there is always room for improvement. So, excuse my self-righteous sermon on kindness because here it goes.

Enthusiastically wanting to kick people out of our country solely on the fact they are not white or "American" or Christian, is NOT Christian. Wanting to tear children apart from their parents is NOT Christian. 

Treating others as less than yourself because they don't speak English, because they wear different clothes, because their skin color is a few shades darker than yours, because they get married differently than you do, or pray differently than you do, or don't pray at all - those things should all be COMPLETELY irrelevant points in how we decide to treat people. We should just treat people with kindness because they are PEOPLE. 

The thing that KILLS ME and literally EATS ME UP INSIDE, SO MUCH THAT I FEEL A NEED TO DRAMATICALLY KEEP CAPS LOCK ON JUST TO MAKE MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR - is that not only can people be obnoxiously, hateful idiots, but THEY CAN BE OBNOXIOUSLY, HATEFUL IDIOTS IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST. 

If you're going to use the Bible to back up your bigotry, you obviously missed the point. While the Old Testament has some pretty intense stories, the New Testament is by far my favorite part of the Bible. 

If you've read the New Testament, then you understand that the entire mission of Christ's life and ministry was to LOVE. And He didn't just love a select group of people. Nope. He loved ALL people EQUALLY. He particularly demonstrated why it was important to love those who were "different," those society views as "lesser," because God loves them JUST the same. Christ didn't hang out with the popular, fancy people. He fished with fishermen. He blessed little children. He administered to those who were crippled or inflicted by diseases. He advocated for sinners and forgave their offenses, teaching others the importance of not casting stones. Yes, he never condoned sin or wickedness. BUT He loved and loves the sinners, because hello?! Aren't we ALL sinners?

The parable of the Good Samaritan illustrates Christ's teachings beautifully. The man known as the Good Samaritan helped a stranger on the side of the road who had been robbed, beat up, and essentially ignored by several other men passing by. One key thing about this story: the Good Samaritan's kindness was culturally unacceptable because the stranded man was a Jew, and the Jews and Samaritans were not huge fans of each other. But the Samaritan man cared more about being kind than he cared about tradition or prejudice. He did the right thing because it was right. He went against a stereotype only to receive no glory or accolades. He didn't do it for the accolades. He spent his own money and his own time on a stranger, a stranger that he had been taught to disregard. But he didn't. Because kindness began with him. 

And it begins with all of us, if we simply decide that it does. Yet, how many of us have passed by others who are suffering without offering them any compassion or encouragement or even good manners? How many of us are too busy? Too self-centered? Too "good" to help someone that isn't as important as we think we are? 

Why is it that we place ourselves above others and think that because we are a certain religion or color or culture, we are better than those who are not like us? Because, fun fact: Jesus Christ was a Jew from the Middle East. He wasn't white. He wasn't blonde. He didn't speak English. And He was even a refugee. 

Just throwing that out there. 

I'd like to mention that I have friends, family, and associates on both sides of the aisle; some staunch Republicans, some diehard Democrats, and everything in between. The stereotype that all Republicans are a bunch of racist, sexist, xenophobic, deer huntin', tobacco spittin' uneducated, country bumpkins who beat their wives and don't share their cake is often untrue. And the stereotype that liberals are a bunch of Godless, arrogant, pompous, immoral sleaze bags who love to murder babies and freedom all while hugging trees is also incredibly inaccurate. 

We all know at least one person who fits each stereotype. Trust me. I grew up in the reddest county in the country where the 2nd Amendment is taught before the alphabet. I am well-acquainted with the bleak reality of stereotypes. But don't forget to thoughtfully evaluate your own snap judgments of others because some idiot(s) may have ruined it for the rest of the group. 

Yes, some of those conservative, white trash, gun-slingin' rednecks can be so kind and so loving and all be darned, so can those snooty booty, arrogant hippie liberals. Amazing, isn't it? 

Politics aside, I'm not saying that to be a good Christian you have to adopt 52 Muslim refugees and wear a "Nasty Woman" shirt to church. Although, both of those things sound really fun. Maybe add them to your bucket list. 

I'm just saying that to be a good Christian, you DO have to be nice. Or at least be TRYING to be. None of us are perfect, but if you profess to be a follower of  Jesus Christ, then let your light shine by being kind to others. Isn't that the whole point of the Gospel? It isn't to force your beliefs on others, it isn't to condemn anybody to hell, and it isn't to judge everyone else's sins when you have your own repenting to do. The point of the Gospel is to treat other people the way that the Savior would. It's a tall order. And trust me, it isn't easy at times. I am not the prime example of how it's done. 

All I'm saying is instead of placing yourself on a pedestal as a good, impressive, noble religious human being, maybe JUST BE ONE!

We've already established that religious people aren't the only ones who elevate themselves on pedestals. I get it, I am well-acquainted with the opposite side of the spectrum and the "open-mindedness" that  is often more closed than my Torts casebook. But I frankly just can't stand watching people use Christianity as a tool to discriminate and mistreat other people. I know it's been going on for years. (I'm looking at you, Crusades.) But it's 2018 and I think it's time we get with the program. 

Under the giant umbrella that is Christianity, there are so many religions. Contrary to popular belief, Mormons are Christians too. The name of our church is the Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints. The Savior is literally the whole point of Mormonism. Because of our belief in Him, we value taking care of the poor and needy; we value the importance of gaining an education; we value the importance of religious freedom for ALL people - including the right to not worship; we value being kind to everybody, period, no matter what; and we value the principle of agency - that men and women are free to choose for themselves whether we agree or disagree. I understand that Mormons, Catholics, Protestants, Baptists, Methodists, Non-Denominational Christians, etc., vary in practice, doctrine, and culture. But for anyone who considers themselves to be a Christian or simply a decent human, isn't being nice the basics? The bare freaking minimum?

It's not as hard as we sometimes make it. If you disagree with someone's religion-great. If you don't like an aspect of how someone lives their life-cool. 

Generally speaking, I don't really care about your opinion. I will [generally] respect it whether it differs from mine or not. If you hate dogs or support white supremacy, then I truly have no clue how to talk to you. Ultimately, I care about how you treat other people. But if you worship or live or think differently than me, fabulous. Isn't that the point and premise of this country? Aren't we supposed to be diverse and not divisive? 

But when you express your stance on an issue by using racial slurs? By insisting that orphans in Aleppo deserve to be blown up because their parents are probably terrorists, and therefore terrorism is in their DNA? Matthew 18:6 teaches us that anyone who harms little children is in for a harsh sentence from the Big Man Upstairs. It would be better for someone who hurts children that a millstone were hanged about his neck and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea. For the record. Be careful what you say about any of God's children. #childadvocacysoapbox

How about calling Muslims terrorists? Do you even know anything about what Muslims believe? What about all the white trash terrorists committing "heritage-not-hate" crimes? I took an Islam Studies class at my Mormon college and it was incredibly insightful and enriching to learn about a different religion than my own. Turns out Muslims and Mormons (and all Christians) have a lot more in common than most folks realize. Knowledge is power and ignorance is not bliss. 

How about calling Mexicans rapists? I have one word on that: WRONG. Google Brock Turner's white privilege and his slap on the wrist sentence and get back to me. Just look at all the creepy white people you know. There sure are a lot who like to brag about grabbing women by certain body parts. And a lot who like to assault women with no consequence. But hey, it's just show biz. If you can't think of any creepy white people, I have a list you're welcome to borrow. Also, if you seriously can't think of any at all, maybe it's time for you to self-evaluate. 

Let's discuss presidents of the United States that DON'T brag about sexually assaulting women...I must say that if you were not on the Obama train, fine. I admit that I'm sad for you because I miss that man and Michelle more each and every day, but I concede that you don't have to like him or agree with him. However, it's not okay to be a racist bigot and call our former president derogatory words even though they match perfectly with your Confederate flag bumpersticker. #classy 

Disagreeing? Go for it. Disliking? Sure. Being racist? Being sexist? Being condescendingly CRUEL all while quoting SCRIPTURE??? Come on, y'all. I know we all have our sins. But stick to smoking or drinking or cussing. No need to be disgusting toward your fellow men and women. 

Having strong opinions is fine but when you're sharing them in the name of Christianity, make sure that the way that you are sharing those opinions actually denotes Christianity. 

Nothing about Jesus' life or ministry or love for ALL men AND WOMEN-nothing about HIM ever, ever, EVER excused hate-fueled judgment as "righteousness." Nothing about Him ever allowed racism. Or sexism. Or xenophobia. Nothing about Him ever promoted being rude or conceited or acting better than anybody. 

He - He who was and is PERFECT - was never self-righteous. And when those good old Pharisees were, Christ condemned their behavior. He stood up for a woman who committed adultery; he literally saved her life! He defended the defenseless and emphasized that every single soul is valuable to God. REGARDLESS of what each soul has or hasn't done. 

When I hear people who read the same scriptures as me, mock refugees or make derogatory, uneducated statements about their fellow human beings, my blood literally BOILS. And folks, it takes a LOT for my blood to boil.

Some people justify their hate with good old patriotism. Look, I'm glad to live in America too. But our nation is far from perfect. I mean, we are #1 for gun violence among first world nations, but is that actually something to brag about? Not to mention, our education, healthcare, and justice systems could all use an extreme makeover.

But let's just say our country was perfect. It still would not be acceptable to exhibit all this nastiness at people because they "aren't American." Because they don't speak English that well. Go to Mexico and try to speak Spanish as well as the locals. Best of luck with that. You'll need to know more words than "tacos” and tequila.” 

Aren't we supposed to be a melting pot? Wasn't our country founded by immigrants? Do you think the Native Americans were thrilled  about their home being invaded by a bunch of white, high-maintenance British dudes who fought wars and bickered obnoxiously? At least they brought such a lovely housewarming gift of small pox. I'm no history guru, but I don't remember that the colonists really gave the Native Americans much of a vote on immigration. Unless the Trail of Tears was voted on.... #crickets... Now it's awkward. 

Immigrants who wanted to worship differently-or who didn't want to worship at all is why we have the nation that we have. That is why they crossed the freaking pond! They were sick of being uniformly told how to live their lives and who to pray to. Some of them didn't even like praying! They were so over the Church of England. That's WHY they came! And if it wasn't for that bunch of rebellious, radical immigrant refugees, where would you and I be?

Finally, I want to drive home with a snippet of Mormon history and I hope it resonates with not just people in my church, but everyone else too. 

The early Mormons were literal refugees. They were driven from state to state starting in New York, all the way to the wild, wild west of what is now Utah. I'm still sad they didn't hike a few more miles to California, but whatever. Utah was built by refugees, but before they made it there, many were tarred and feathered, beaten, raped, and killed. They were literally massacred; men, women, and children. The prophet Joseph Smith and several other leaders were repeatedly falsely arrested and imprisoned in deplorable conditions, they were treated violently, and they and their families suffered immensely at the hands of injustice. Why? Because they were different. Because they were new. They were perceived as a threat because they were seen as "infiltrators." With all due respect, who on earth would ever want to infiltrate Missouri? #kansaspride 

Especially in their early history, Mormons were very misunderstood and mistreated as a result of how they worshipped. Others feared the Mormons would outnumber them, take their resources, influence politics, and invade their towns. Sound at all familiar? #merica2018

But there's this super cool guy from history that I've always admired immensely. His name is Alexander Doniphan and he was a nationally renowned lawyer and Missouri politician. He was never a Mormon, but he fought for the constitutional rights of the Mormons, because he was a firm believer in the integrity of the law. For Doniphan, the law trumped being important or cool or popular. He believed in fairness, citing the Constitution as his guide.

Doniphan represented Joseph Smith and other Mormons leaders when they were falsely accused and imprisoned. In 1838, Lillian Boggs, the Missouri governor, specifically ordered Doniphan to kill Joseph Smith for something he did not do. Doniphan was the Brigadier General. He refused to obey this command at the risk of his own life and reputation. He boldly responded: “It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order. My brigade will march for Liberty at 8:00 tomorrow morning, and if you execute these men I will hold you personally responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.” 

Doniphan advocated for a group of people who were deemed peculiar and unwelcome. He didn't advocate for them because he liked what they believed. He advocated for them because he knew they deserved the same rights and privileges that he had. He advocated for them at the risk of his popularity and prestigious career. Even at the risk of his life! He clearly valued kindness and fairness above being cool. Above being powerful. Above being popular. Above being important. Doniphan valued the law and adhered to it in the strictest degree. 

Later that year in October, Lillian Boggs issued the infamous "Extermination Order", which allowed Missourians to legally murder Mormons and run them out of the state. Despite Doniphan's efforts, and the efforts of many other righteous allies, the early Mormons fled for their lives from Missouri to Illinois. Several years later, the prophet Joseph Smith was murdered and the Mormons were driven all the way to the desert and mountains of Utah, where they started to arrive in 1847. 

I was born in Salt Lake City, Utah because of those refugees and because of the many allies who helped offer them refuge. And as much as I love to make fun of all the awful Utah stereotypes, the hiking in Salt Lake City is pretty phenomenal, especially because I've never had to hike while pulling a handcart. And Utah culture aside, I'm way proud of that part of my heritage. I don't think the early pioneers were perfect human beings. But I think they were some pretty dang good ones. I don't think their history is perfect. I do think they were unjustly persecuted for what they believed and I am grateful for their sacrifice and courage; and the many "good Samaritans" who stood by them in spite of their differences.

In my opinion, Mormons better be the kindest and most compassionate people to all the other "underdogs" out there; all the other people seeking safety and refuge. Mormons better be willing to stick up for all people and whatever they believe. Religious freedom is not exclusive to Christianity. Remember that. 

In the name of Jesus Christ, many people designate our nation as belonging to Him, as belonging to only the people who worship Him. 

In April 2016, in a worldwide semi-annual General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Patrick Keaton stated: "The Savior knows how it feels to be a refugee - He was one. As a young child, Jesus and His family fled to Egypt to escape the murderous swords of Herod And at various points in His ministry, Jesus found Himself threatened and His life in danger, ultimately submitting to the designs of evil men who had plotted His death. Perhaps, then, it is all the more remarkable to us that He repeatedly taught us to love one another, to love as He loves, to love our neighbor as ourselves."

Brother Keaton continued: "We must take a stand against intolerance and advocate respect and understanding across cultures and traditions. Meeting refugee families and hearing their stories with your own ears, and not from a screen or newspaper, will change you...Let us come from our safe places and share with them, from our abundance, hope for a brighter future, faith in God and in our fellowman, and love that sees beyond cultural and ideological difference to the glorious truth that we are ALL children of our Heavenly Father."

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love." (2 Timothy 1:7) 

Shouldn't Christ's believers be the most compassionate? The most willing? The most empathetic? Shouldn't His disciples be the quickest to offer aid and kindness to those who are suffering at the hands of fleeing violence and destruction? Those who are humbly seeking room in the inn?

You can agree with whatever side of the political spectrum you want. But please, do not use the Savior of the World to justify the way that you treat other people, when it is significantly less than polite. That goes for both donkeys and elephants. 

"Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." (Matthew 25:40)

Okay, y'all. Enough of this sassy calling people to repentance. I need to work out my own salvation. It is my sincere hope and prayer that those of us who profess to be disciples of Jesus Christ will take so very seriously our sacred duty to emulate His love that He has for EVERYONE. 

Because, whether your mom sings this to you on a regular basis or not, kindness begins with... 

YOU.  

Build Love, Not Walls

One of my favorite experiences so far in my life was when I went on an undergrad study abroad to Mexico, Guatemala, and Belize.

A lot of my friends assumed I was partying it up and drinking on the beach the whole time. But this was not a typical American spring break-esque excursion. In fact, we only went to the beach for a couple of days right at the very end of our trip. And not one shot of tequila was ever involved. #Mormoncollegestudentlife.

Instead, we stayed in hostels. We spent time with orphans. We went to a school in the middle of nowhere in the hills of Mexico to show the students there how to brush their teeth. Some of the people from that village had never seen a bus before. The entire experience was so surreal and such a privilege to be a part of. 

We even had the privilege of staying with Mormon host families for a few days. My host family bought me and my roommate a brand new fan so that we would have cooler air at night. The three young boys gave us their beds and slept on the hard floor so we could be comfortable. The shower, which was a separate unit, outside of the house, was filled with spiders and the small stream of water that came from the shower head wasn't enough to rinse my wavy, thick hair out. I remember one morning while showering, and trying to avoid the clump of daddy long legs in the corner, I stood there in the heat of the early morning and cried my eyes out. Not because I missed running water. Not because I was worried about my hair (I mean honestly, have you seen my hair? Am I ever actually worried about it? #LostCause) No-I cried because I had never before fully appreciated the amenities I have always been blessed to have; amenities that I have since tried to appreciate on a 24-7 basis. I cried because this poor, humble, hardworking, sweet, Christlike, Mormon family in Tuxtla Gutierrez, Chiapas, Mexico went out of their way to give two strangers everything they had so we could be comfortable in their humble home. A home full of hardly anything material-but filled beyond capacity with love.

On the study abroad, we went to church in places so remote and so run down-places off the beaten path, places with names I could not pronounce no matter how hard I tried. Many of the congregations were small, with Mormon populations in certain areas being more sparse. But their conviction to the Gospel of Jesus Christ was nothing short of big and bold. One of the meetings I particularly remember was in the middle of nowhere in the jungle of Guatemala. Our student group doubled the congregation there in that tiny, remote meetinghouse and we all fit in a small classroom to take the sacrament.

In every village or city we attended church, the members of my church sang the same hymns I sing every Sunday, only in Spanish. This wasn't surprising at all, because the Mormon church is universal all around the globe, with even the Sunday School lessons being on the same schedule in all parts of the world. But what was surprising was that the good saints of Central America seemed to sing with more enthusiastic reverence than I ever had. At one church, the bishop asked me to play the piano in sacrament meeting because nobody in their congregation did. I was thrilled to do something so silly and small to help. A little girl I will never see again turned the pages of the hymn book for me. I will never forget her.

We did plenty of touristy stuff too, don't get me wrong. We hiked pyramids and fed monkeys. I held a wild tarantula. We explored rain forests and caves and zip lined over Guatemala City. We ate incredible food and went swimming in lots of neat places. We also enjoyed countless hours laughing together as friends on a bus with several awesome bus drivers who happily drove us all over Central America-often with no luxury of A/C. 

Many of my friends on the study abroad spoke Spanish. I did not and still do not. I tried my best to roll my "R's." 

But I didn't care. There were times where I felt awkward and stupid because I couldn't dialogue with people as well as my peers could. But something I learned EVERY day on that experience was that love and kindness translate SO much more smoothly into ALL languages than we sometimes realize.

I have an immense love for Mexico, as well as the rest of Central America, and the people who live there. In six short weeks, they taught me so much. They taught me how to be a better Mormon. They taught me how to be a better American. They taught me-without feeling any kind of sorry for themselves-just how much I have been given. And just how grateful I should be-on a daily basis. They taught me that happiness does not come from things. It comes from relationships and making memories. It comes from being kind. It comes from being good. 

Those good people taught me that barriers-whether they are language barriers or something more tangible-don't need to be an issue. They just don't. Life is more fun and more happy and more sweet when we find ways to connect instead of divide. 

I will forever be grateful for my study abroad experience. I'm not being dramatic when I say it was life-changing. I literally think of those sweet people every morning and night when I brush my teeth or when I turn on the water for any reason. 

I think of them when I'm half heartedly singing in my Mormon congregation in Lawrence, Kansas. And when I do, I sing a little louder and prouder. I think about why I'm sitting in that pew and how I can try a little better to be more like the Savior.

I think of those sweet people when I meet someone who has a hard time speaking English. Because heaven knows-my Spanish will never be very eloquent. And on a very small scale, I know how it feels to be the one who talks different. The one who is different. 

I hope humanity will seek to show that walls are not necessary to put between one another. Walls are not worth it. Walls are not kind. 

I am forever indebted to the people of Central America who accepted me fully, in spite of my crappy Spanish and my larger than life, frizzy blonde hair. (Lots of dry shampoo + humidity = major volume, people.) My heart has never been the same since meeting such wonderful people; people who I want to be more like when I finally grow up. 

I hope to live in such a way that demonstrates the principle that kindness trumps hate. Kindness builds bridges. Kindness is a verb. And because of my study abroad experience, I am better at doing it. 

Build love, not walls. Go. Do. Be. 

Walking Through Puddles

Often when we think of courage we think of heroic, fearless examples who-against all odds-achieved the unthinkable. We tend to think of big moments. We honor those who have saved lives. Who have risked their lives. We applaud those who have been brave enough to make significant changes for humanity. Those who have gone to bat for the underdog. We look up to those who have conquered enormous obstacles. We cheer them on. We hold them up. We want to emulate them somehow. But sometimes we feel so inadequate to even try and relate to their bravery and their incredible contributions to the world, that we don't realize that courage is something we all can attain. Something we all can be.

This afternoon I took my two dogs on their usual afternoon walk. Ernie is a dachshund mix. He is basically just an overgrown weenie dog. The other one, who we recently added to our family, is Sammie. She is part Yorkie, part beagle, and part dachshund. She thinks she is part wolf, until the windshield wipers turn on in the car and she fears the world is ending. Both Ernie and Sammie are sweet as can be and have blessed our lives more than I can begin to describe.  

As we were walking around our neighborhood we came to an intersection where we started to cross the road. There happened to be a massive puddle in our way. It wasn't very deep, but it took up several feet of space in front of us. I thought nothing of it as Sammie jumped through it like a fish. But poor Ernie held back, cringing at the thought of getting his big clown feet wet. He started bracing against the leash, trying to avoid any possibility of going through that horrifying puddle. I gave his leash a gentle tug and coaxed him to keep walking. He looked at me with his beautiful brown eyes of his, hesitated one last time, and took a step. The look of fear never left his face as he hurriedly rushed through the puddle. He did manage to somehow survive, in case you were wondering.

Now I know this is maybe a little bit cheesy. And maybe it's just a dumb, silly thought I had as a result of this experience. But I think it's important that once in awhile we stop to acknowledge that courage doesn't always have a brave face. Courage isn't always being history book heroic. It isn't always about making huge waves or blessing thousands of lives. Sometimes courage goes entirely unnoticed because nobody knows what you are personally facing, or how scary it might be to walk in your shoes. 

Courage isn't just about vastly changing policy. It isn't just doing the unthinkable. It isn't always about conquering your foes when the odds are stacked against you. Sometimes courage is doing something that is personally terrifying to you, but you proceed to do it anyway. 

And you might not give yourself any credit, because you think that the only reason you're managing to walk through your puddles is because someone is pulling on your leash and prompting you to take another step. And maybe that is the only reason you're still walking! You might even have to be dragged at times. But that doesn't mean you're just a big, ridiculous baby who is incapable of overcoming hard things. It just means you're pretty lucky to have someone in your life who has full confidence in you, even when you lack all of it. There is a reason people believe you can do it. And I think trusting each other is one of the most courageous things any of us can do. How important it is that we protect that trust by cheering each other on for both the gigantic, as well as the seemingly small things that life throws our way. 

For most dogs, including Sammie who is half the size of Ernie, walking through puddles is nothing short of a party. It's a good time. It's exciting! It's fun! It's definitely no big deal. 

To clingy, pathetic, overgrown dachshunds, walking through puddles can be terrifying. And while I definitely won't hold it against you if you laugh at Ernie's "courageous demonstration of nobility and determination," we shouldn't be so quick to laugh at each other's fears, anxieties, or self-doubts. Or how we choose to face them. 

We all have different gifts and talents. And we all have different weaknesses. Something you feel extremely confident in might be someone's literal worst nightmare. Your puddle of fun might be an ocean of doom to someone else. You just never know. And you never know what trials others are quietly enduring. Something that might appear to be shallow and insignificant to you, might be causing someone else to sink. 

I'm not saying that we need to put each other on a pedestal for merely putting on pants and leaving our houses. I'm not downplaying the many historical and present courageous heroes and heroines who have left our world a better place. 

I'm just saying that next time you see someone struggling with something that is a piece of cake for you, or something that you can't relate to at all, realize that other people might find that very same thing daunting, or humiliating, or unbearable. 

Sometimes we don't stop to try and understand what someone else's experience might be, because we are so focused on how we would handle, or have handled, such an experience. 

Part of what I think courage means is recognizing that life is far more than about us. And I hope at the end of my life that I look back on how I chose to live, and see that I encouraged people to walk through their own puddles-whether they were big or small. I hope I can gently pull a few leashes along the way and offer words of sincere encouragement. As one of my best friends put it, "At different times of our lives, we are all drowning. The point is to help each other stay afloat."

Courage isn't always about doing big, grand things. I have ALWAYS had a ginormous love for people who have strived to improve humanity in big ways. Ever since I was a kid, I have loved reading about such people who have literally changed the world. They have become my heroes. And while I will always immensely revere folks like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Anne Frank, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Muhammad Ali, Corrie Ten Boom, Elie Wiesel, and many many others, my overgrown weenie dog taught me something today.

Sometimes courage is knowing you are going to have to face something you don't want to face. Sometimes it's hard to put on your big girl shoes. It's hard to find your game face. Let's be honest-sometimes it's hard just to put on pants and interact with other humans. Courage doesn't always look pretty or composed. In fact sometimes, you might risk looking like a total idiot or a big scaredy cat. Your face might be filled with dread and you might look like a nervous wreck, because you probably are. Courage doesn't mean you're always brave right in that moment. You might not even feel brave at all. Because sometimes the obstacles in your way seem bigger and deeper than you ever anticipated. How will you make it? Why can't you just handle it like so-and-so? Why can't you just get over it?

Courage isn't always done confidently. Courage just means that you keep on walking, with or without swag. I think it's critical to remember that the person who is gently tugging at your leash, believes you can do it, regardless of how you perceive yourself. It's perfectly okay to feel doubtful and inadequate. But there are people cheering you on for a reason. Often I think this is how we acquire courage. We coax it out of each other. 

Puddles come in many forms. Some of them we walk through daily, maybe even constantly. Some of them eventually evaporate. But we all have to walk through them with our own kind of courage. Walking through your own puddles doesn't automatically vanquish any fears you may have. It just means that you are brave enough to keep on walking. And often, it is because there is someone tugging at your leash, telling you that you can do it. So you put on your Nikes, and you just do. 

I'm grateful for all the people in my life who keep tugging at my leash. I literally look up to you, sometimes while I'm drowning. Thanks for helping me keep afloat by throwing me lots of flotation devices, for swimming alongside me at times, and for cheering me on from the shore. 

I'm especially grateful for a God who somehow has the time, with all of the other people in the world He loves, to remind me that I am capable of getting my feet a little wetter than I usually want to. I am grateful for His influence in my life that is felt every day. I am grateful He knows when to yank the leash a little harder because I'm too stubborn or too afraid to carry on. 

And one last shout out to Ernie, the bravest dachshund I know, who taught me today that you don't always look cool when you have courage. You don't always accomplish amazing things that change society. Sometimes you just get to enjoy a walk with the people who love you the most, because you-yes, YOU-were brave enough to get your feet wet in the process. 

Happy walking! 

Not Just a Dog

It probably sounds totally dramatic when I say that a 21-pound Dachshund mix puppy saved my life.

Yall, I'm just being honest. 

And crazy enough, this wasn't a one-time thing either. In fact, after the first few rescues, I just stopped counting altogether. 

I've had Ernie for almost three years. A lot has happened in these three years. A lot of grief and loss and growing pains. A lot of wonderful stuff, too. Don't get me wrong. 

But there have been days where the only reason I got out of bed was Ernie, and plenty of nights where the only reason I could finally relax enough to fall asleep was Ernie. 

He's been my safety. He's been my fearless (okay-not that fearless) protector. And despite his physical size, his loyalty has always been nothing short of enormous. 

To some people, Ernie is just another dog. I get that not all people are animal people. And I'll really try not to judge you immensely for the fact that you have no soul and are devoid of normal emotions. 

Sorry. Us, dog people, tend to be slightly defensive. 

I have always been obsessed with animals, but before Ernie, I never realized the extent of a dog's ability to heal your soul. Literally. Dogs are the best medicine. In fact, I had to get a "prescription" for him from my nurse practitioner so I could have him in my apartment. 

It's cheesy and sappy but totally true-Ernie is hands down the best prescription I've ever gotten.

Ever. Better than Vyvanse. Hands down. And he's the only medicine I've ever taken where the side effects were pretty awesome. 

I got Ernie in the winter, in southeast Idaho. Winters there are basically like living in Antarctica, only worse. I bet you they at least plow the roads in Antarctica, but in Idaho, "real men don't plow roads," so that makes life fun. Your nose hairs freeze as soon as you walk out the door and if you're anything like me, you just want to eat and watch reality tv all day, every day. And by eat, I'm not referring to salads in any form. 

But what about all those fun winter sports? Skiing? Sure, once or twice a year. Sledding? Not since I was 15. Going outside for any reason besides picking up hot chocolate or dragging myself to work? No, thanks. 

Once the magic of Christmas is over, I hate winters in Idaho. They're dark. They're cold. They're gloomy. They're long. (We sometimes get snow in May.) They're not my thing.

Enter, dachshund mix puppy. 

That freaking baby dog got me up every morning that winter. And he made getting up happy. He made those painfully dark mornings bright and exciting and sweet. And mind you, I lived on the third floor in my apartment complex, so potty training was inconvenient to say the least. But I honestly never minded. Because I had a new and worthy purpose to get my booty out of bed each day, and he was counting on me to do it so I couldn't let him down. We went on walks first thing each morning, and I even started looking forward to becoming a morning person. If you know me, then you know that is more impressive than any Biblical miracle.  

Ernie helped me lose weight.  He helped me get on a schedule. I couldn't wait to see him after work and school every day. He was always excited to reunite. Whether I'd been gone for eight hours or five minutes, his enthusiasm to see me walk through the door was the acceptance and love I was desperately in need of. And he gave it freely, with no conditions. 

Ernie helped me immensely with anxiety and depression. He vanquished heavy loneliness. (It's pretty hard to be lonely when there is an overgrown weenie dog constantly on your lap.) He motivated me to keep moving, and to even find enjoyment in the process. 

During all this, I was working with kids with special needs. I got to take Ernie to work with me several times. He was extra cautious and tender with each sweet soul he met. He didn't mind the occasional ear-pulling and definitely didn't object to the sharing of snacks. And he always left every kid noticeably happier. 

When I got divorced and moved in with my parents, Ernie kept my bed from feeling too empty. When Ernie and I moved to Salt Lake City, he gave me the courage to get my own apartment downtown. He was the best roommate a girl could ask for, and I honestly couldn't have done any of that without his faithful support. 

Ernie has helped me cope with my toughest losses, yet. He's alleviated my scariest fears, and helped me conquer my own self-doubts. 

It sounds way too good to be true, right?! 26 Year Old Woman With Anxiety And Depression Rescued By 3-Year Old Wiener Dog On a Daily Basis. You can't make this stuff up, people. 

And I know, I know, he isn't "perfect." He barks really loud and he is even capable of murdering chickens. But hey-we all have our sins. 

All I'm trying to say, is that Ernie Short is not just a dog. He's not just a pet. He's not just a cute pup with extra long ears and a visible conscience. 

He's my family. He's my sweet boy. He's my rescuer, fur child, and best friend. He's the reason I'm waking up tomorrow, way earlier than I want to. And that is a miracle in and of itself. 

If you ever struggle with feelings of hopelessness, depression, anxiety, a lousy marriage, trauma, isolation, or incomprehensible loneliness-for the love of all that is holy, do yourself a favor: Get yourself a four-legged critter. (Weiner dogs are the best, but to each their own.) And once you get the most powerful medicine you'll ever have, embrace the side effects. They may include weight loss, talking in "baby talk", gradually losing all your favorite pairs of shoes, preferring animals to humans, the presence of dog hair everywhere, and possible euphoria. 

You're welcome. 

Be Different

A little over a year ago I caught up with an old friend. We laughed, we cried, we reminisced. We thoroughly enjoyed being together and it was most definitely a positive experience for the both of us. 

But she said something that-while I didn't take offense to it-wasn't exactly meant as a compliment. I also don't think it was intended to be insulting. 

"You're...different," she told me. At first it felt more like an accusation than an observation. "You just aren't the same. I feel like you've changed in so many ways." 

Not knowing how she wanted me to respond, I hesitated. Do I apologize? Do I vouch for myself? Do I become defensive  or self-conscious? But before I sorted my thoughts completely I found myself responding with something that felt a little bit like confidence:

"I am different." And then I smiled. Instead of stressing out about what she might have been implying, I found myself somewhat flattered at her very accurate and very blunt observation. Since I had last been around her, I had grown. Years of growing pains-not all of them experienced with dignity. But all of them, experienced. By me. 

And since that conversation, I've reflected on what the word "different" often means because of the way we choose to use it. 

Often, the description "different" is negative. We might use it to imply that someone is weird. Odd. Awkward. Or that someone has changed for the worse. 

Different is often uncomfortable. Maybe even painful. 

But how necessary change is in life, and how beautiful it can be! 

When my friend pointed out how I had changed since our last visit, I thought about how the last time she saw me, I was so much younger. Probably dumber. Certainly more inexperienced. I was naive. I was a version of myself that has since evolved because of my experiences-as well as my ability to adapt to and make the best of-those experiences. I have become less submissive and more assured. I am no longer a scared, little girl that I have been before. I am much braver. Still scared. But it turns out that a little burst of courage can go a real, long way. 

I feel stronger. My life is filled with wonderful people who I adore. Many of them have watched me grow and change my entire life. Some of them found me at my best; some of them found me at my worst. And while several people have come and gone, many have stayed through thick and thin. They've been on the sidelines. They've encouraged my successes and celebrated my triumphs, as well as offered solace and love during the toughest times I've faced yet. Some of these amazing individuals have even changed alongside me. And I pray they have heard me screaming my head off on the sidelines while they've fought their own battles and become more of who they are meant to be. I see you. I love you. I accept you-as you were, as you are right this instant, and as you hope to be tomorrow. Or next year. Or whenever. The sky is the limit. 

I am different than I was, even a year ago. I feel different. I hope I keep being different. The world always needs change. It needs progress. The world needs hope and possibility. You're never stuck in whatever life has thrown your way. You're never stuck being a version of you that you no longer want to be. You can change. You can keep becoming a better version of you through authenticity, through the relationships you invest in, and through learning from lots and lots of failure. 

Be different. It's really not as scary as we let it sound.

No. It can actually be way, way scarier. 

And way, way, WAY worth the risk. 

There's No Place Like Home

In just one short month, Spencer and I will be moving to Lawrence, Kansas. I've driven through Kansas several times-from one end to the other. It's kind of like driving across a long pancake that never ends. But to be fair, Kansas is really good at corn and barbecue. And not too shabby at basketball. (Sorry-Kentucky girl for life, but mad respect for the Jayhawks)

It will certainly be a bit different than Utah-which is great at mountains and Mormons. But we are excited for a change of (very flat-compared to Utah) scenery and for this new chapter in our lives where we will both obtain a legal education. I can't help but get a little sappy as we get ready to relocate on this great adventure. 

When I first moved to Salt Lake, it was just me and Ernie. We found the greatest apartment right downtown. I got a job immediately. And with my recent bachelors degree in child development, I was ready to make some serious waves, improve every single aspect of society, and save all the children on the planet. I was also scheduled to take the LSAT because law school was my next step. I attended law school socials at a couple universities, met with professors, and attended some classes. I was going to ace the LSAT, work for six months, and go to law school. And I was not going to get a boyfriend because boys were nothing but incredibly disappointing. 

Well, folks. God is funny. And not always in a hilarious type of way. 

Instead, amidst the chaos of transitioning to a new city and a very new life, I didn't have a chance to study for the LSAT so I withdrew from my intended test date and rescheduled it. I quit my job because the hours were horrible, the pay was horrible, and heaven forbid-I was going to find a better job that actually valued my degree. I eventually found a better job where I met some lifelong friends, but I had to quit that job because of some medical issues that were exacerbated by the job. I don't think I improved society at all, definitely didn't save anybody, and instead wound up feeling super sorry for myself. And then-BAM-I completely broke my own deal and got myself a boyfriend. 

Worth it. 

During a chaotic time in my life that I had never planned on, Salt Lake City quickly became my home. It was where every single conviction I'd ever had was challenged. My faith became tested constantly. My paradigm more than shifted-it collapsed. And during a very delicate time of healing and rebuilding, I grew. I grew, and grew, and grew! And growing pains totally hurt, but I guess that's part of the deal, right? 

Salt Lake City was where I mourned my biggest losses, became acquainted with my greatest fears, and where I found my biggest loves. Not to mention-have you seen the mountains here??! 

So maybe I didn't check anything off my original agenda, but I did learn how to throw out the agenda entirely, and go with it. I also learned to love hiking. 

They say home is where the heart is. In that case, I have a lot of homes. Kentucky, Idaho, Utah. Soon to be Kansas. Because what makes home home is not really where, but who. Who you get to know, who you grow to love, and maybe even who you decide you are going to be. And fun fact: I actually have roots in Lawrence. My great-grandparents lived there and went to KU. My dad's first cousin, Amy Hurst, is the person responsible for creating the Baby Jay. And my Grandma Sue spent a lot of time in Lawrence as a kid. So, going back to my roots will be really neat and exciting. (Although my ancestors are probably not too thrilled about the Kentucky thing.)

While my heart is already hurting just from thinking about moving away from some of my most favorite people that God has blessed me with here in SLC, I know they'll always make Utah a home away from the next home.  

Home is more than beautiful mountains, more than an awesome downtown apartment you found on Craigslist. For some of us, home is having wiener dogs and a boy named Spencer.

And I think Dorothy definitely said it best-there's no place like it. 

So, Rock Chalk JAYHAWK. I guess it's Kansas, or bust. 

Loves, Losses, and Fears

I was supposed to be asleep two hours ago. Three, actually.

But I can't. My mind is racing. My memories are flying all over the place. My emotions, too.

This happens sometimes. I am a veteran of anxiety and regret-induced insomnia. I fall for the what if's from both the present and the future. And man. They are daunting. 

Tonight I'm mostly just sad. Like mourning sad. I'm mourning the loss of someone who died two years ago. 

I mourn her every day. And I'm not saying that to sound sentimental or sweet. I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. 

I mourn her. Every. Day. 

She was the first person who accepted me as I was that very second I met her. She was the very definition of love. 

In fact, she taught me a lot about love. 

One of the first lessons she ever taught me even came with a title on a white board: 

"Loves, Losses, and Fears" she called it. 

In a 7:45 am college course during a particularly dark January in Rexburg, Idaho, my classroom of peers and I had to face this seemingly silly and uncomfortable topic out loud, with each other. Our job was to essentially experience vulnerability, in a safe, judgment-free zone. We were instructed to turn to our neighbor and share with them one of our loves, one of our losses, and one of our fears. 

It was about to get personal. 

The only rule? We couldn't judge each other. OR judge ourselves.

And I think in our squirming vulnerability and insecure self-consciousness, the latter was the harder of the two tasks for probably most of us. 

It was an emotional class period. At first we all expected it to be cheesy, at best. But truly, it was a unique experience to say the least. We-who had previously been happy with being anti-social and detached from one another-WE (because of her master plan, obviously) had fostered a safe, judgment-free zone of nothing but listening, empathy and compassion. 

And even though we never would have achieved that feat without her, she gave us all the credit for being good, quality, human beings that day. 

I definitely felt a sense of love and camaraderie for my peers I had not felt previously. And I definitely walked away from that early morning class with more of a desire to be a higher quality human being. 

Since that lesson, I have often reflected on the importance of personally acknowledging AND sharing my loves, losses, and fears at various times in my life.

And for the record, this can be accomplished in a multitude of ways, with or without a formal setting and a white board. 

You don't even have to be a professor to teach. And you don't need to be in college to learn this stuff. 

We all need to. Share our loves, losses, and fears I mean. We share both by opening up and by tuning in to each other. Both can be challenging. But in doing so, love will foster and even flourish. 

We all are prone to loves, losses, and fears. 

I have a lot of each. Some of them overlap. Some of my biggest loves have become my greatest losses. Some of my fears are because of the enormous love I have for certain people and certain things. 

Some of my fears I am still too prideful to share with my "neighbor." Some of my losses are mine to mourn alone. Because vulnerability is still uncomfortable. And terrifying. 

I may claim to be an expert at insomnia and worrying about things I have no control over. But when it comes to the power of vulnerability, I have loads to learn. 

But I do know this: we all learn to unlock that sacred power through simply loving each other. 

Knowing this so personally, I hope that we can all try a little harder to make life a judgment-free zone. 

Well. I hate the feeling of not being able to thank again and again and again someone who took so much time to teach me such invaluable lessons. 

She will forever be one of my biggest loves. And saddest losses. And my fear attached to all this is that I won't ever be the best version of myself that she somehow saw me being. 

But at that, I know she is rolling her eyes at my mounting self-doubt and telling me to, "Get the hell over it." 

So, for now-I do.