The Whole of Human Suffering (or How the Love of God Makes Me Think of a Bench)

To be honest, the topic of adversity, trials and suffering is not one of my favorites. It’s a topic that comes up frequently in church talks and lessons, but it’s simply not a topic that I particularly enjoy. And, when I actually stop to question why, the reasons for my dislike and discomfort become pretty clear. I’m not a person who has suffered much in life, and, as such, it can be pretty guilt-inducing to think about those who have/are going through hell; I know I’m no better than them, so why am I getting off so easy?

Secondly, these kind of talks and lessons are extremely anxiety-inducing; they very effectively remind me that it’s not a matter of if I will suffer greatly in life, but only a matter of when and how much and in what various ways. The inevitably of future suffering is a hard fact to face square-on at any time, especially on a peaceful Sunday that has, up to that point, consisted mostly of pleasant family time and social interactions. 

If you’re anything like me, then you’ve felt yourself building a barrier between your heart and this topic and you’ve deliberately let your mind wander during these types of lessons. So much easier the wall than the vulnerability. So much better the distance than the fear and the foreboding. I’d much prefer a lesson about following the spirit or serving others –something I can fully engage with during class and then start attempting to implement right away. How do you implement a lesson about adversity in your day-to-day life aside from “waiting for the other shoe to drop” and hoping for the best? Hoping, that, when the time comes, you will be able to keep your heart open through the suffering and not lose your faith and not lose yourself? While, at the same time, being careful not to think too much about the suffering that’s coming, so as not to diminish your enjoyment of the good times that are happening right now?

I don’t know the answer. But I have thought a lot about human suffering in recent years. I’ve thought about the enormity of it. Suffering is a topic we should think about because we cannot, indefinitely, avoid thinking about. My goal is to find new and healthier ways to think about it. And, I’d like to somehow find a balance between enjoying today’s fair weather while still, at least to some extent, preparing for tomorrow’s storm (as completely unprepared as I feel and undoubtedly am).

Human suffering is immense; we come to understand it gradually and continually up until the moment of our deaths and possibly beyond. But we never understand the full spectrum of human suffering; we know it would kill us if we did. I believe that Christ did, and that the only reason that it didn’t kill Him was because of who He was and who His father was. However, even being spared the fullness of it, the longer we live, the more of it we taste, the more of it we understand. Hypothetically, if I live to be seventy, having suffered only mildly to moderately during the majority of my “trials,” my understanding of suffering at that point alone would be enough to completely overwhelm and incapacitate my twenty-year-old self (assuming it were possible to transfer understanding to past versions of ourselves). So, it’s probably a good thing that the process happens gradually. The rate of the exposure/learning isn’t constant, but the process never stops. And, when all is said and done, we hope to be better because of it. More empathetic. More human.

Everyone can give examples of how his/her understanding of suffering has increased in recent years. What are yours? For me, the obvious ones are: a better understanding of the potential pain of losing a child (I’ll hit five years of parenthood come October), a better understanding of the agony of helplessly watching a child suffer (watching both kids go through bouts of the flu or other minor traumas), and an increased empathy for those who lose a spouse after half a lifetime of companionship (as Dave and I approach the ten-year mark). These aren’t things I have actually suffered, but I better understand the potential suffering nonetheless. And as I do actually suffer them --please, please not these exact trials, but whatever does come into my path-- my understanding, and hopefully my empathy, will only increase –exponentially.

My understanding of suffering has also widened as I’ve watched others, particularly immediate family members, go through things that I wouldn’t have (and they probably wouldn’t have) ever imagined. It’s been “up close and personal” for me as they’ve dealt with depression, debilitating anxiety, losing a child, struggling to raise a child with disabilities, watching their financial prospects dissipate, undergoing a crisis of faith/leaving a religious group, or even watching my dad’s face as his peers and best friends grow old and begin to die.

On top of all this, other exposure to suffering (although I try to limit it) seems to affect me with its "realness" more powerfully than it once would have, as my muscles of empathy stretch to take on the load: stories of war/genocide, of oppression, of innocence lost too soon. And the heart-wrenching posts in my Facebook feed of young mothers made widows, debilitating sicknesses, chronically ill children. The extent of it honestly takes my breath away sometimes. How can this possibly be right? What order can be seen in this seemingly endless, senseless chaos? What do we do with all this suffering?!

Like most people, I can think back to a time when I was struggling deeply with something (something that seems silly now but didn’t seem silly at the time) and then…I found a measure of peace. For me, like for many of us, that peace came when I opened my heart to God (knowing that “God” means so many different things to different people). When I felt like screaming at the sky, “This can’t be right! I’m-so-so-angry-I’m-so-so-confused!” the answer that came back wasn’t a shout at all; It was a calm and simple “I love you. I’m here with you.” That was all. Somehow, that was enough. To me, the love of God is best visualized as an old friend sitting on a rickety park bench. The friend has been sitting there a long, long time and will continue to sit there forever –just beyond your line of sight but ready to step in at a moment’s notice, no matter how long it’s been since you sent that last greeting card. The friend waves at you from his bench, and tries to get your attention from time to time, but is never pushy, never going to rush or force you. The friend just loves you. And understands you wholeheartedly.

That’s how I would describe my experiences in resolving suffering, anyway. And it’s exactly the type of experience that I hope to think back on to get me through upcoming difficulties. But just remembering it isn’t going to be enough. How could it possibly be enough in the face of future suffering so intense that I cannot now begin to comprehend it?

There are many ways to respond to suffering, many of them destructive and unhealthy, and we all engage in them from time to time: bitterness, jealously, numbing ourselves, self-hatred at our perceived impotence, and a fear-inspired mask that keeps us at a distance from everyone and everything. The alternative? Take a deep breath…Courage. Keeping our hearts open to God (or a higher power or our own “better angels” or whatever God is to you). Learning about vulnerability and practicing it. Staying “real” and connected to others as “naked” as it sometimes makes us feel. Respecting our limits and setting boundaries when possible. Loving and forgiving ourselves. Giving ourselves time. And, for me, turning to God and turning the suffering over to God. Again. And again. And, imperfectly, again.

I’d like to be better at remembering Christ whose heart was bruised beyond any of ours will ever be, but who remained open and giving and brave as he prayed for others during his own excruciating death. So, without having done anything to celebrate Lent or even having done anything particularly spiritual to celebrate Easter (I was too sick to even go to church on Easter Sunday), I’d like to resolve here and now to be better at doing just that. To be better at remembering Christ as the friend who always stays, as the friend sitting on the bench, as the friend who teaches us how to suffer.

Austenland and Me (or, How One Line from a Very Silly Romcom Changed my Life)

This is not a movie review; it’s a post about self-discovery. I’ll need to give a little background about the movie, Austenland, first though (spoilers follow). The movie is based on a novel by Shannon Hale of the same title (which I haven’t yet read). Our heroine, Jane, is a single woman in her 30s obsessed with the world of Jane Austen who decides to blow her savings on a vacation to Austenland (a theme park where romance is guaranteed) in an attempt to get the whole thing out of her system -once and for all. She arrives and, well…hilarity ensues. (Jane Seymour is excellent as Mrs. Wattlesbrook, the resort’s director, by the way). At the end of her stay, Jane decides to reject her scripted romance with "the resident Mr. Darcy” in favor of “something real.”

I’ll jump in at this point to say that my husband, David, is my Mr. Darcy. In fact, before I met David, my best friend’s mother (who was reading Pride and Prejudice at the time) told me that the guy I was currently dating was my “Mr. Wickham” but that my “Mr. Darcy” was just around the corner. As it turned out, just months after this exchange, I met Dave, but unlike Elizabeth Bennett’s initial reaction of disdain, mine was nothing short of love-at-first-sight. Don’t ask me how I knew, but from the moment I walked into that half-empty BYU classroom and David turned around in his chair and smiled at me in that perfectly genuine way of his, I knew. I could feel the rest of my life about to unfold.

There’s a part in The Happiness Project in which Gretchen Rubin talks about her feelings for her husband, Jamie. She explains that, to her, he exists in epic proportions, like a hero from Greek Mythology. I immediately related because I feel the same way about my David. I’ll save my love letter until our anniversary next month, but, suffice it to say, I adore him. Or, to get my Austen on, we have been “incandescently happy” in our marriage these past seven years.

But here’s the catch: while these feelings of intense love and appreciation for my husband are entirely wonderful and healthy, the undercurrent of unworthiness that so often accompanies them is anything but. For instance, the seemingly innocent thought, “I’m so lucky to have him,” often holds a darker side -a side that says, “I’m so lucky to have him because I really don’t deserve him.” It’s funny, because the thing I probably love the most about my husband is his great esteem for me, and yet, deep down, I don’t believe that his feelings for me are truly deserved or completely based in reality. And so I’ve gone on, year after year, with a distant feeling of shame or unworthiness in my marriage that has sometimes ebbed to an almost inaudible echo of an echo, but that has sometimes risen to an almost deafening shout.

Which bring us back to Austenland. In the last scene of the movie, the Mr. Darcy character (Henry Nobly) shows up at Jane’s apartment. He tells her that his love wasn’t, in fact, scripted. “The night of the ball you said you wanted something real. I’d like to think I am real. Is it possible that someone like me can make you happy? Will you let me try?” To which our disbelieving heroine replies, “No. See, people don’t do this. This is my fantasy. This isn’t…” And then, with conviction, Mr. Nobly cups her face in his hands and says, “Have you stopped to consider that you might have this all backward? Jane…you are my fantasy.”

 It hit me then. (Okay, to be honest, it didn’t hit me until my second viewing of the movie, but, eventually, it did hit me.) I. am. Dave’s. fantasy. It was an incredibly empowering thought. His feelings for me are every bit as valid as my feelings for him. And I’m convinced that by remembering this, or, more importantly, by believing and internalizing this, I will transform my life and my marriage for the better. Without turning this into a lengthy post about shame and worthiness, I’ll just share a little bit about what I’ve been learning from author Brene Brown in her book, Daring Greatly. Self-love is foundational to any relationship. It takes self-love to be “real” and to be vulnerable and to really connect with others. And love is what grows out of this honest and respectful connection. So self-love isn’t just good; it’s essential and it greatly magnifies our ability to wholeheartedly love those around us.

So, the next time I catch myself thinking, “How did I ever get him?” or “He does so much more for me than I do for him” or even just a, “Dang! I’m lucky to have him,” I’m going to force myself to repeat these words and I’m going to try to really believe them: “He is lucky to have me. I enrich his life deeply. I am worthy of love and I am going to approach the people in my life from a place of worthiness. I am David’s fantasy as much as he is mine.”

My 2016 Politics

This post started as a Facebook comment, in an attempt to explain my political opinions and who I'll be voting for this election year.

So…here are a few of my thoughts: ;)

1. The Economy.

Prosperity as we know it has always been based on a thriving economy. Republicans and Democrats agree on this, but they have wildly different ideas about how we reach that end goal. To me, it makes sense to listen to economists, historians, and other scholars who have devoted much of their lives to studying these issues -to try to see past some of the political rhetoric, as hard as it is to do. Of course, the “experts” will always have their own political biases and will often give very different solutions, but I think some common threads may arise. For instance, most economists seem to think that investing in our infrastructure is a good idea -not just for the immediate jobs it will create but for bringing businesses to our shores in the future. Many of these projects are best handled at the level of the federal government. Not all government spending is created equal; some represents a logical investment.

While everyone agrees that job creation is central to the economy, I think it's important to emphasize that it's not just about creating jobs, it's about creating good jobs. When many jobs are so low-paying that only illegal immigrants will work them, or when a growing number of Americans work full-time but still live below the poverty line and require government assistance... This is a serious economic problem. Despite the conservative narrative, an unwillingness to work is not the central problem here.

While it's true that not all government spending/involvement is bad for the economy, it's also true that not all cuts to federal spending are good for the economy. As one example, cuts made to the IRS cost much more than they save in total revenue lost through increased tax evasion. Finally, there is so much government spending (or lack of spending) that just doesn't seem logical at all, until you follow the money trail. Which brings me to…

2. Corruption.

Why do we spend the enormous amount that we do locking up non-violent criminals (addicts) who often become repeat offenders? It doesn’t really make sense until you take into account the enormous power of the prison lobby. As another example, a lot of the problems with our healthcare system suddenly make sense when you consider the sizable influence of the insurance lobby on our government. And the list of examples goes on and on. It sometimes seems like we could find bipartisan solutions to almost any problem if only we could eliminate lobbying from powerful interests/groups. The fundamental problem seems to be: How do we make politicians vote in a way that is not in their own, personal best interest? How do we build more accountability into system? I think that change will of necessity come from the people. I think the level of support that Sanders has received (which was totally unexpected, by the way) partially represents that movement. Campaign finance reform is going to be central to that movement. We can't hope to have candidates make it to office without being beholden to powerful moneyed interests, if they don't stop accepting increasingly enormous amounts of money from said interests in order to get elected in the first place.

3. Sensible Regulations.

A capitalist economy has proven to be the best for many reasons. Even “socialist” countries/groups never advocated a total and equal redistribution of all wealth (with the only notable exception being the United Order of the LDS Church). To me, it seems that what all this debate really revolves around is the extent to which our government should regulate our capitalistic economy. What I truly don’t understand it the far-right/libertarian point-of-view in which the free market seems to magically solve all problems. That seems like a fantasy world to me. In the absence of strong regulations from a democratic government, other “regulations” and “governments” would rise up to fill the power void. These organizations may not be formally recognized as “governments” (Secret Combinations, anyone?), but they would attempt to consolidate power and to rig the system in their favor. Most importantly, these “governments” would not be accountable to the people. That doesn’t sound like “freedom” to me. Corruption would run rampant (much more so than it does today). History has shown this to be the case. I love to read what Teddy Roosevelt said and did about cronyism and about breaking up monopolies in his day. To me, it’s not about “wanting the government to fix all my problems.” It’s about wanting to feel protected by the government because I, as a common person, still have a voice in that government. That means a democratic government that puts strong and sensible regulations on our economy.

4. A Level Playing Field.

Life is not fair. Some children are born into the Romney household and some are born into poverty. The narratives we tell about self-made men often prove false; generally, windows of opportunity were open to them that were not open to others. Granted, they had to grab hold of those opportunities and succeed (where many tried to grab hold and failed) but the point is, the opportunity was there. Life is not fair, but, as a society, we should try to be fair, meaning that we should try to open more "windows of opportunity" for more people. It's not that everyone gets to score a touchdown, it's that everyone gets a fair shot at trying out for the team. Much like justice, it's not something we hope to achieve in its entirety, but it is an ideal that we strive toward nonetheless. This is a moral conviction for me that began while I was working for the Disability Resource Center (DRC) during college. The DRC's motto was "A Level Playing Field." I saw students succeed once higher education was made accessible to them, like a blind friend who turned out to be much better at math than me, despite stereotypes that blind people can't do math. She needed a system that made it accessible to her. She needed a fair shot. 

Providing opportunities should be a hallmark of who we are as a nation. Isn't that what the American Dream is all about? In some ways it is (e.g. all children have the right to a free and appropriate education), but in so many ways we could do much better, particularity with community-based interventions (as one of the strongest indicators of a person's future success is the community/neighborhood they are born into). Unfortunately, America doesn't score very well on measures of social mobility, meaning that people who are trying to work their way up are having a harder time than ever at doing it.

Okay...I should probably attempt to address "who I'm voting for" thing at some point.

You know (or can guess) my feelings on Trump. Cruz is almost worse because he hides his “crazy” under a guise of sanity and respectability while mocking republicans who are willing to make compromises and get legislation passed. Dear Senator Cruz, an ability to compromise does not equal weakness (unless you are willing to call all of our country’s founding fathers wimps); it’s called being a politician and doing your job. Obstructionism is not the answer. (I really wanted to use an expletive there, but I resisted.) J

I don’t like Rubio or Clinton because I think they are both “bought and paid for” by their parties and by other powerful people and organizations. They scare me less than Trump or Cruz. I think Clinton is smarter and more experienced (especially with foreign policy) than Rubio, which I believe would ultimately benefit our country. I think she would be very concerned about her legacy as president, which I think would also ultimately benefit our country. I do not think Clinton is free from corruption (far from it!) but I still have a hard time understanding the overwhelming, venomous hatred that has long been directed at her. I would vote for her to stop a Trump victory.

And then there’s Sanders. I probably don’t need to elaborate on what it is that I like about him (based on the essay that I have already written above), but he is speaking out against government corruption --and he isn’t just talking the talk, he’s walking the walk. That’s the main thing. That’s a HUGE thing. And honestly, most of his policies make sense to me. We need a public healthcare option. We need to make college affordable again. We need to invest in our infrastructure. I think he goes too far with some of his proposals (e.g. affordable college education is probably better than free), but I don’t think he would have a prayer of achieving his entire vision of “democratic socialism” as president. I think he would probably be able to move us in the right direction though. But, then again, with how divisive he is (and Hilary is too), I wonder if the “gridlock” would only worsen.