Voting for the Mob

After listening to a sickening quantity of debates, diatribes and declarations, carefully marking each better choice on my sample ballot, taking the cheat sheet down to the voting center and selecting each in turn, I found myself staring at the screen with a feeling vaguely reminiscent of trying to choose which of my children would die on the sacrificial altar of a God I don't believe in.

I have heard jokes and incredulity that there could still be undecided voters out there. How could anyone not know who they are voting for by now, after two years of inundation? But the concept didn't seem foreign or unbelievable to me. I was one. To be honest, although I voted several days ago, I still am one.

It sounds very defeatist, and I suppose it is, but I don't believe that any presidential candidate will do a good job as president. I don't believe that any of them can act as the figurehead of the modern world without leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Perhaps I am indecisive, but I cannot shake the feeling that a vote is an endorsement. I simply cannot endorse either of those people. Their behavior is juvenile, their pandering is nauseating, and I am left vaguely sickened and somewhat despairing in the knowledge that this is what the American people want in their politicians.

I know there is no way to find a president who will agree with me on every issue. That is not what I am asking. I want a leader for our country with some residue of integrity. I want someone who can say what he or she believes without having to simply tell people what they want to hear. I want a presidential race that is based on demonstrating one's own character, not on smearing the opponents or prattling about "the issues". Most of all, I want to live in a country where people are intelligent enough to look beyond what they think they believe, and see value in honesty and integrity.

I have no hope of any such country. That is why I am still carrying an unshakable heaviness of spirit. I feel rather lonely, despite knowing there are a few others who feel as I do.

I did finally choose. I prayed with all my faith that God would watch over His work and His righteousness, that my choice would not damage the things I feel He holds precious. I was left with the feeling that it would be alright. God is there, and He is still trying to gather those who will be gathered. I don't know who is going to win this election, but I know that I am ready to face the challenges that are sure to continue in my lifetime, whatever the outcome.

There may be no one I can endorse in this presidential election, but there are still people I can affect in my own life, and that makes all the difference.

Presidential Playground Politics

This is it: I am utterly disgusted with the entire presidential campaign. I expect some childish antics on the part of whichever nominees are elected. I expect it. Yet, they always amaze me with the depths of depravity they are willing to wallow in. Slinging muddy sandbox sand back and forth and crying loudly, "I'MRIGHTI'MRIGHTLISTENTOMEMOMMYI'MRIGHT," their so-called policies and sycophantic promises are deafened only by their immaturity. They are drowning in the things people want to hear and are not really looking outside the box. They are not really caring. I was under the impression from my U.S. History and Politics classes that you had to be 35 to run for president, but I'm beginning to doubt the accuracy of my information. It sickens me that my two-year-old daughter displays more maturity when I take her favorite cup away than either Obama or McCain show in their ostensibly adult politics.

What makes it worse is that the American public can be compared to parents standing nearby, egging their children on. We are so enamored with drama, that we encourage it in our politicians. I am certain that if the American public (and especially the media) showed the least bit of maturity, the politicians would not throw it out the window along with their sense. It is embarrassing to the nth degree. I want to internationally hide my face in shame. Perhaps I shall start wearing a burkha so I won't be recognized. There is little to no chance that our "exalted country" would elect a reasonable, tough but kind person even should one run for office.

I was joking about writing Mitt Romney in for president. It's not that I entirely agree with him, but that I could live with him in the White House, and I cannot stand either of the presidential candidates with one iota of tolerance. I think I'm going to change my write-in vote to my friend's cat, Mo, however. "Mo" is short for "Mo Evil Cat Genius" and I imagine he would do a better job of president than any human interested in the job. He has no chance of winning, as he reaches neither the age nor species requirement, but my vote for him would make my opinions of the presidential candidates perfectly clear (not that it would make a difference). His platform is "Moderation, Sense, and a Litterbox in Every Home." I prefer a candidate who is openly trying to take over the world and subvert the masses.

On a note of complete seriousness and sobriety, however, I do believe that there is no way to morally vote in this election. I feel that if everyone took off their colored shirts, dropped their pet issues for just one moment and really looked at the sorry situation American politics is in, they would leave their shirts in the mud and depart far wiser people. The system is broken, folks. I know it sounds pessimistic, but I believe it is only a matter of time before the consequences show. We will pay for our choices. Of that, I have no doubt.

New Servants Called

Welcome to our new presidency, Presidents Monson, Eyring and Uchtdorf. I am glad to see these representatives of the Lord in a place where He wishes them to serve.

What to Say?

I always feel strange when someone I know passes through the veil. I feel even stranger when someone who is a great influence in my life - who even drives it - passes through, especially when that someone doesn't know who I am. It leaves a strange sort of gap that feels as though it shouldn't be there, a gap-within-a-gap so to speak.

I am glad for President Hinckley. His time on earth is done. He has finished his course. I am also glad that the Lord has provided for such a smooth transition through a time that for most religions would be cacophonous.

President Hinckley, thank you for your life.

Confessions of a Half-feminist

Due to my recent vacation and return, I had the pleasure of experiencing two of the "The Women of the Church" lesson, one in Connecticut and one in my home ward in Utah. I found an interesting phenomenon that proves 1) that different environments affect one object differently and 2) I am multiple personality. Allow me to illustrate.

The Connecticut lesson was taught in a relatively small room in a relatively small and brand-new ward building. The attendant Relief Society was diminished in numbers from their usual women. The president had us pull our chairs around into a circle. I felt as comfortable as I could feel chasing a toddler among strangers. Many of the attendant women were single, widowed or divorced. The president taught the lesson gently and beautifully, quoting from the book where applicable. The Spirit was the strongest I have felt at Church in a long time. Several women testified to the beauty of women's God-appointed role. I felt moved to bear testimony of the divinity of women, the divinity of servitude and the Divinity of women's calling to serve and to seem to take a second-place role. It was amazing, despite the toddler (who, blessedly, fell asleep.)

***One week later***

The Utah lesson was taught in a recently-expanded Relief Society room in a fairly large, though somewhat aged Church building. The room was packed with about 80 or 90 women. We sat in the usual rowed seats. I felt as comfortable as I could feel chasing a toddler among somewhat-disapproving mostly-strangers. Many of the attendant women were single, widowed or divorced. The teacher stood in front of the class and read from the lesson manual with a modicum of discussion. There was an uneasy feeling in the room. Several women testified to the appropriateness of women's role. Feeling an increasing unease, I felt moved to testify to the need to teach our sons the same lessons about preparation for marriage and responsibility that our daughters get. I mentioned that the Priesthood rarely get prepared, spiritual lessons (based on reports from my husband and brother.) I mentioned that boys are not taught to prepare themselves to be good husbands and fathers the way girls are taught to be good wives and mothers. I testified that, in the words of the manual, "Every [boy], and I say every [boy], should prepare [him]self for marriage and for domestic responsibilities." I am certain I offended at least two women who took their turns to emphasize that their husbands got the same lessons they got in Relief Society. Despite believing that, as in Connecticut, I was moved by the Spirit to say what I did, I left with a feeling of embarrassment and frustration.

The same lesson. The same me. The same toddler. Two vastly different experiences.

It is funny, because I know I'm labeled by the largest portion of LDS bloggers who have registered my existence as a very conservative person. Sometimes this frustrates me, too, because no one online has any idea of the things I have gone through in relation to the Church and the behavior of her people towards me. No one has any understanding of the years of soul-searching and divinely-oriented pleading I have willingly traveled through to finally reach my current level of faith and acceptance. Only my Father and I know that. For years I have longed to speak personally with someone who knows, despite knowing I will never have that chance. What I wouldn't give for a half hour with one of the Apostles, certain of the Seventy or the First Presidency. What I wouldn't give to speak with them. I wouldn't ask them questions, exactly. I'd only want to hear from a friend of Christ that I'm doing alright and I'd want to hear them speak of Him - as a friend. To testify of Him. Not in a General Conference sort of way, but in a way that is real.

Red Shirt, Blue Shirt, Old Shirt, New Shirt

I find the flurry of politics somewhat overwhelming. As if I am walking into a Hatfield/McCoy battleground, each side is screaming for me to "come and join us, WE are RIGHT!" Both sides have issues I agree with, both sides use tactics I do not like. I can't seem to decide, do I want to wear the Republican red shirt, or the Democratic blue?

When I proudly informed my father some time ago that I was independent of party, he told me I had to choose one or the other to make my vote count. "The real politics," he said, "happen in the primaries. If you don't declare a party, you get no vote in the primary." Each time I have voted and gone to fill in the little black bubble by one party or the other, something holds my hand. I can't commit, despite the benefits.

On top of that confusion lies the mystery of candidacy. I have yet to see a single presidential hopeful exhibit the slightest iota of moral accountability. How can I vote for someone whose main goal is simply power? They do not wish to serve the country, no matter what they say. In the eyes of each candidate lurks the fervor of competition.

"We have had no good president since Washington," is one of my favorite sayings. Why? "Because he is the only one who refused the job."