Learning to Love My Grass, Part 2

          So often we look at others’ lives and wish they were our own – or that we could have that kind of luxury or peace or knowledge or whatever.  For the most part we only see just one piece of the puzzle.  We see what we perceive as beautiful and elegant and glamorous; we don’t see the struggles behind whatever it is that we think we envy.

          Everybody has struggles.  Those that don’t or think they don't are at a disadvantage because they aren’t growing.  We all make sacrifices.  Little day to day things.  Sacrificing the doughnut as a result of better health.  Giving up a bit of time each month to contribute to your child’s education or the welfare of those in your neighborhood or church.  Not spending money on one’s self but giving it to another who’s more in need – though it often feels like the finances of the giver are even less than the receiver.

          I had a missionary companion whose family put all their Christmas funds into buying wheat.  That’s what Santa had left them.  It was hard for her to explain or even comprehend when she went back to school and listen to her classmates talk about gifts they had received.  She was only six.

          There have been those who have sacrificed their jobs while attending to their families or the other way around.  Losing their families because they are always at work.  Everything comes with a price – or so it seems.  And we don’t always know or understand the price that the other person has had to pay for whatever we perceive as wanting a part of our own lives.   

          And certainly the cruise appeals to us a lot more than attending a child’s bedside while at the hospital AGAIN – but at what cost.  Do we ever see the full picture?  Do we see the cruise as a luxury that we may never have because we obviously don’t have the finances that the other obviously must have.  Obviously?  Do we understand what sacrifices were made on their part in order to have a cruise – or why?

          Are they cruising to satisfy the wishes of a dying spouse?  Are they cruising because it was recommended by a physician or therapist?  Have they been setting 10 dollars aside every month for the last 30 years? 

          Until we understand fully what we see on the surface isn’t always the glamour we envision, until we understand the sacrifices made to get there, we don’t really KNOW if the other man’s grass is always greener than our own.  It may only appear that way on the surface.  But do we have an understanding of HOW it was grown?

Learning to Love my Grass, Part 1

I love this recording by Petula Clark.  Unfortunately the video is actually quite boring to watch.  Thus I’ve include the lyrics by Tony Hatch and Jackie Trent so you can follow along as you listen.

Life is never what it seems 
We're always searching in our dreams 
To find that little castle in the air 
When worry starts to cloud the mind, 
It's hard to leave it all behind 
And just pretend you haven't got a care 

There's someone else in your imagination 
You wish that you were standing in their shoes 
You'd change your life without much hesitation 
But would you if you really had to choose? 

So, don't look around 
Get your feet on the ground 
It's much better by far 
To be just who you are 

The other man's grass is always greener 
The sun shines brighter on the other side 
The other man's grass is always greener 
Some are lucky, some are not 
But just be thankful for what you've got 
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/p/petula+clark/the+other+mans+grass+is+always+greener_20316218.html ] 
Many times, it seems to me 
There's someone else I'd rather be 
Living in a world of make-believe 
To stay in bed 'til nearly three 
With nothing there to worry me 
Would seem to be the life I might achieve 

But deep inside, I know I'm really lucky 
With happiness I've never known before 
And just as long as you are there beside me 
I know that I could ask for nothing more 

Then living can start 
With the love in your heart 
So, with you all the time, 
All the treasures I've longed for are mine 

The other man's grass is always greener 
The sun shines brighter on the other side 
The other man's grass is always greener 
Some are lucky, some are not 
But I'm so thankful for what I've got 

Conversation With Mom

          My mom has dementia. Normally I visit her on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  This week I happened to drop by on Wednesday evening as well.  Since she had seen me three times in a row, yesterday morning I jokingly asked, “Are you tired of me showing up on your doorstep?”

          Quite relieved, she said, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.  I’ve been by myself all day!”  It was 10:00 a.m.

          “Well, [Corey]’s here,”

          “No.  [Corey] went to Las Vegas.  And I don’t know when he’ll be back.  But it sounds like he will be gone for a long time.”

          “Well, his car’s out front.”

          “Oh, is it?  Well he must have taken the train to Las Vegas” {There is no train from Salt Lake to Las Vegas – not that I know of}

                “I think he’s here.  He’s just still in bed.”

          “No. He got up early this morning.  He’s gone.  And I don’t know when he’s coming back.”

          It’s sad to see her so sad and distorted.  I knew that Corey was there – but I wasn’t going to wake him up to prove it.  And there was really no point in trying to convince her otherwise.  So I just let it go.

          She appeared to have wanderlust.  I asked her if she would like to go for a drive.  Something.  Get her out of the house.  I wish I would have thought to take her to the senior center.  I never think about it when I’m with her.

          She said she couldn’t drive {for the umpteenth time} said her driver’s license had been taken away and that she had to go to somewhere in Draper to get it back because they took it from her {as if they had stolen it} “. . . but say they will give it back if I come get it.  But how am I supposed to get it if I can’t drive?  Stupid people.”

          It’s all I can do to keep from laughing.  She then changes the subject to her first car – “you know, when we were living in San Francisco.” 
         I have never lived in San Francisco – but somehow she thinks all of us lived there.  She really was raised in San Francisco and sometimes will talk about where she lived as though I am familiar with all the landmarks and streets  and so doesn’t have to add further explanation – yet whenever she talks about her family she explains like I am not familiar with anyone but her

          “There were two of us that drove.  One lived north of Dudley Stone {an elementary school that went up to the eighth grade - when she wasn't driving} and I lived in the other direction.  And so she would take people who lived north and I would take ones that didn’t live north.  Remember?”

          I actually was familiar with some of the names she used just from her own resources given in years gone by – only I don’t know about the car pooling part - though I'm positive that she wasn't driving while attending Dudley Stone.  It’s true her step father had purchased a car for her – but I don’t think it was until after high school.

          “My mom and dad were divorced.  My dad was mean.  He used to smack my mom around.  I was scared of my dad {I think she was} but he ended up with this other woman.  I don’t know if they were married.  But she called me one day and told me that something was wrong and so I went over to her house and my dad was laying on the lawn and he was dead.  I don’t remember what happened.  I think I went to find the police and they took him away”  

          It’s true that my maternal grandfather and his second wife may have lived in California for a while – but had moved back to Utah sometime before my mom had turned thirteen – as she was thirteen years old when her mother put her on a train to Utah so that she could visit with her dad.  He didn’t die until several years later –

He didn’t die until after mom had married and given birth to three children.  We had even gone to the funeral.  I remember my brother, Patrick, looking into the casket and asking, “Why is that man in a box?”

 He died in a small town in Utah.  But mom believes (with every fiber of her being) that her father passed away on the lawn in California when she was a driving teenager

          “And my mom was 90 when she died – Oh, you are not going to believe this – my mom died at the cemetery while she was visiting . . . I don’t know who she was visiting – but she had family in the cemetery and she died while she was visiting them.  And they called me and told me I should have her cremated and they threw her ashes over the graves that she was visiting.”

          I had to throw my hands over my face so she wouldn’t see the laughter I was trying so hard to hide. First of all the only person my grandma would have known in said cemetery was my dad.  She, herself, did NOT have any relatives there.  Nor did she ever visit the cemetery to my knowledge.  My maternal grandmother died at Cottonwood Hospital.  And she was in her 90’s – I think that and cremation are the only parts my mom got correct.

          The cemetery doesn’t strongly advice cremation just because a person’s body was found lifeless over some headstones that they presume are family members.  Nor are ashes scattered over headstones.  There is a certain procedure that takes place in “scattering one’s ashes” and it had been grandma’s wish to be scattered in the ocean.  Mom had received some pictures that were taken on the east coast (Maine, I believe) to show her where the ashes had been scattered.  Whatever.  We take it upon faith that it was done, but we don’t really know

          She has lunch with a friend the second Thursday of every month.  They had met in San Francisco but had learned that they had both been born at the same hospital in Ogden.  She says they were in the hospital at the same time {I don’t know how much of that is accurate – especially since she says her friend’s birthday might be in July and mom’s is in June} and that her friend lives up the street but she’s not sure which house (probably because her house is NOT at the end of the street – though the two really are living in the same city and have lived in the same cities at the same time)

          Corey was home.  Mom was very surprised.  And happy. 

         

           While there are some things that my mom truly does remember and the details are truly real, there are just as many “myths” that have entered into her mind and have become just as real (if not, more than) the memories that really did happen.  
            Not a very reliable source, my mom.  It’s sad to watch her fall into another dimension.  And I sense her slipping further into this “marshmallow world” and there’s nothing we can do to bring her back to reality.

          I think it's highly probable that my mind may be visiting that same world that mom is now.  I hope for my family's sake that death may claim me before my mind does.  And I hope that they will be at peace with that. I think the mind-slipping thing is a lot harder to deal with.

It's time to turn up the heat

These are not my words - but there is certainly power and I wanted to share with any who may be following:

I wish that we would all apply this to our lives.

There Must Be Uniformity at the Pulpit

          

Shortly after Roland was called to the bishopric, he was asked to summarize a talk that had been given about the conformity of testimonies and submit it to the monthly newsletter – which actually didn’t exist before this particular bishopric. 

Now there are a few people in the ward who tend to drone on and on until the gratitude that is felt in their hearts turns into penetrating boredom on the part of the audience.  Every ward has them.  They start off by expressing what it is that brought them to the podium – and then they take us on a stroll down memory lane, or into their health, or into their entire week.  Gradually the testimony gets lost in their words.  And all eyes turn to the clock and you can almost hear a chorus of silent groans.

Sometimes there is a dead silence and often times the droner just feels it’s his (or her) duty to fill the silence while the audience wonders which is worse: the silence or the droning on and on.

Today it was announced in each first meeting (primary, Relief Society and Priesthood) that if one spends more than three minutes at the pulpit than it is no longer testimony.  And we are reintroduced to five subjects that should be topic of one’s testimony.

I get it to a certain degree – the timing thing.  Sadly, it doesn’t seem to register with the ones who are guilty of running off the mouth.  And though I do have a testimony of the five given subjects, I don’t always feel inspired to share – especially because it now seems so conforming.  I like to hear individual experiences and a brief history of the belief – but not by just one individual for the whole entire meeting.

Sweet Jeff got up to bear his testimony.  He’d written it down so that he wouldn’t stumble.  And yet he did.  He is a member of the special Olympics.  They treat him like he matters, but not all people do.

Our ward mission leader quickly followed him up to the stand, and stood by his side.  The words he used were non-conforming and perhaps out of line with what a true testimony is – but it was real.  It was genuine.  And as he teared up with his plea for prayer support, the ward mission leader stepped closer to the mike and finished reading what Jeff had written.

Before Corey had even decided to go on a mission, my dad had had a series of strokes.  His brain wasn’t able to communicate to his muscles quickly enough to have them do what and when he wanted. 

He had a one or two minute talk, but it had taken him an entire minute just to get out the first sentence.  Corey lovingly put his arms around dad and asked him if he (my dad) would like  Corey to finish reading it.  That moment between Jeff and our ward mission leader triggered those memories.  I started bawling.  But it was actually a good memory – for there had been so much gratitude on my dad’s part – it shined as he told Corey “thank you.”  And I wasn’t the only one crying.  Those who didn’t cry (if any) were definitely in the minority.

Shortly after Jeff sat down, a couple came to the stand.  Roland and I often refer to them as Frank and Marie Barone –though he is certainly way more humble than Frank could even dream of.  It’s just the constant bickering they seem to do with one another.  They genuinely do love one another.  And perhaps their arguments are just playful on their part (well at least on his) it still doesn’t seem in harmony with a happy marriage.

He got it.  His testimony was short, sweet, covered at least three of the subjects.  He was very humble.  His testimony was genuine.  It was nice.

His wife didn’t drone on as much as usual – but she did drone.  Time to sit down, Marie.  Oh, I would not want the bishop’s job for anything.

I enjoy watching the second counselor.  His expressions often mirror my own thoughts.  He looked like he was trying to keep from laughing while the bishop painfully checked the clock.  She finally sat down without his inviting her to do so.

Overall, it really was a nice meeting.  Not a lot of conformity.  I must say I liked that as well.  I realize that I do not go to meetings to be entertained.  But the heart gives me more focus than guidelines do – though I really do understand their purpose.  I just think it’s sad that so many of us have to be asked to conform because there are individuals that just don’t get it – even with the guidelines.  

Another One Bites the Dust

Ode to Skool Lunch

I was working downtown when

I first met you And you

were fabulous!

You welcomed me with

your awesome deliciousness. 

How your scents penetrated in

my nose and I thought I had

found true love,  but alas I

did not visit you often. 

Oh, I wanted to –

I wanted to savor the succulence

on a daily basis –

only there was a hole in my wallet. 

I was allowed to visit just

once in a while and you were

always so good to me.  But you

always left me wanting more.

How I craved for that

Wonderful chicken salad and

baked goods that would

satisfy my pallet.

Years passed.  I was

no longer downtown but

at the other end of the valley. 

Imagine my delight when

I found you near my work.

Good food.  Good company.

I introduced you to

my friends.    We saw you just

a few times but still

not often. 

And then I got married.  My

finances went down and

I couldn’t visit you as often.

But I did introduce you to

my husband eventually. 

We saw you at least a

couple of times – usually at

somebody else’s expense.

It’s been a while - 

a very long while and so

we decided to visit you today

Only to learn that you are gone. 

The economy killed you as

with so many others.  And there

was a pang in my heart. 

Truly.

Because we had never had

the intimate relationship that

I so desired. Had I known that

your death would be today, I

would have paid my final

respects to you yesterday –

To taste of your goodness just

one last time. To have

a great last memory of your

wonderfulness.  Instead my last

memory of you will be a

note on the door informing all that

you closed at all locations on

August 31, 2012. 

As I write this loving tribute, there is

a tear in my eye. 

The economy bites big time.  Well,

that is one reason why we haven’t

seen you.  It hit us long before it

hit you.  We understand.  That doesn’t

make it any easier.

Good-bye my flavorsome friend.


                                                                                          KFRALC

A Triggered Doughnut Memory

          When Jenna and her classmate left the car this morning, they were talking about doughnuts – more specifically doughnut holes. 

          I took Highness for a walk and smiled as I thought at a memory about disappearing doughnuts.

          My brother Corey and I are nine years apart.  We seem to share a lot in common – particularly food habits.  Eating whatever is quick or handy.  Our kitchen skills were not the greatest. Plus we both appeared to be on the lazy side.

We also have a brother Patrick – who is two years younger than I and our baby sister, Kayla, who is thirteen years younger. They are both survivor’s. And both were quite comfortable in the kitchen from an early age.

         

When we were younger, we used to taunt Corey by saying that Kayla could be out in the dessert and live off the land; she would never go hungry.  Corey, on the other hand, could have starved to death less than three feet from a fully stocked refrigerator.

Afterall she was four and he was eight when he ran down the hall to our mom’s bedroom.

“Mama! Mama!  Kayla is making toast!”

“So.”

“But I’m older than her.  And even I don’t know how to make toast.”

I don’t recall how old Corey was when our family received one of those novelty doughnut makers.  It was actually quite a cool product according to the late ‘70’s standards.  Patrick had made dozens of doughnuts (note: only two doughnuts can be cooked at a time) and Corey decided that it was going to be his turn.

He had asked my mom if he could make doughnuts.  She said “no” – but he pressed her.  I don’t know if she finally gave in or if he just chose to disobey.  But the girl from across the street had come over and he decided that they would make doughnuts together.

He obviously did not follow a recipe as he used at least one cup of baking soda.  The doughnut batter had already been poured into the doughnut maker when Patrick and his friends (also from across the street) and I watched as he tried to impress Becky with what would be the first doughnuts he had fully made by himself.

The look on his face was priceless as he opened up the container and the batter he had worked so hard on had disappeared – except for a tiny bit of residue in the bottom.  Becky lovingly scooped up what was left and held it to her mouth and tasted it. 

“This is really good,” she said in a pathetic attempt to make Corey feel better. 

The look on mom’s face was quite hostile.  She had specifically told Corey NO and there was really no way we could salvage the rest of the batter (did I mention he had doubled the recipe?)  and we all sensed that Corey was going to get a beating so severe that we might all feel the pain from it.

But then Becky’s brother laughed about his own memories and said, “It’s alright Corey.  We all make mistakes” and then proceeded to spit out every bad thing we had ever done – burning experimental dinners, hiding food (I specifically remember half a roast and a turkey) in his room and then forgetting about it (but an unpleasant odor would reveal what he had done and he would get into trouble for it), lighting the grass on fire . . . the list went on and on.

It was quite a few years later when my mom said Becky’s brother probably saved Corey’s life that day.  You’d think after all those horrifying memories she would have wanted to strangle us all – except she was laughing with us.  Except for the grass fire.  That had been way to close to the house.

I think Corey and I have both gotten better in the kitchen.  Still not our favorite haunt.  But we won’t die of starvation.  I don’t recall what happened to the doughnut maker.  

Explaining Blogs

          When Corey started his Blog over six years ago, he gave himself a false identity.  He’s since been discovered by some, and I know from my own mouth there are even more that know the nature of his true identity.  However, because he hadn’t revealed his true identity on his Blog (there are certain individuals he still feel might need protection having their real identities revealed out of connection) I decided to keep mine anonymous also.

          I have changed the names of most of those I have or will mention.  I started out using “Cody” instead of “Corey” but “Cody” was/is his name, not mine.  So I changed it.  And now it doesn’t seem to matter one way or another.  He’s out and those mentioned may not need his protection anymore – though he continues with his name and only partial pictures.

I also keep myself anonymous for fact that Roland’s ex-wife is a sue happy individual – and I’ll leave it at that. 

          I often write things that sound a bit odd to me and ask for Corey’s assistance on changing the wording or grammar or whatever.  One was the idea for a post that I didn’t think I would ever post.  But he told me I should and asked if he could borrow some of it for his own Blog.  I was flattered.

          So I added two pages to the two pages I had already sent over.  I created a post and attached it on February 26, 2012.  I was surprised to see that Corey posted the entire thing instead of just “some of it” as I thought.  He called it “My Sister’s words and an Endorsement” I had called it “We all Feel Excluded atTimes”

          At the End of Corey’s post, he refers to my Blog as a point of Interest.  That was nice of him.  So it’s provided a little bit of exposure – though it may have without his mentioning it in his post – because the name of my Blog appears in his side bar as one that he follows.

          I have followed a couple of blogs that have stopped.  Life got in the way for one – and pressing issues for another who has to sort out a mess that was created and somehow relates to her blog and so she is waiting for the right time to change everything to something better and hopefully more secure.

Both have had guest bloggers.  The latter said she was searching for humorous stories and has always given me credit for the ones she has used. It’s an honor having been mentioned on a few blogs themselves and not just in the comments.

I would also like to thank those who have commented thus far.  When my window says, “You’ve Got Mail!”  it’s nice to see it is a comment from an actual person and not just another advertisement.  Thank you Corey, Heather and Kris.

Posts that Inspire

          Recently I was googling Individual Worth in search for a proper definition to use in one of my posts.  As I went searching I pulled up a few blog sites with inspiring stories which I would like to share and reference.

          I came across an object lesson given by Stephanie Waite in which she laid out various belongings on a table and asked her class what each object was worth and what made them valuable.  Some of the objects were perhaps expensive things and some objects may have been more valuable to one than to another.  But the particular object that may have seemed worthless to most individuals was probably the most valuable thing on the table in the eyes of its initial owner.

          It actually reminded me of an object that is close to Jenna – a stuffed dog she’s had since she was 6 months old – though the toy itself looks like he’s been around much longer than she has. It’s been restuffed twice and has had matted hair cut off – never to grow back again.  But Jenna loves it.  It’s her baby.  It’s her lifelong friend.

          Recently she allowed her cousin to “borrow” it – a huge sacrifice on her part.  But Kayla (my sister) was not all that thrilled about inviting Jenna’s beat up toy (which really is clean – but appears to be unkempt) into her house and chose to leave it in the trunk of her car.

          What makes something or someone valuable?  Love?  The kind of love that makes you valuable no matter what.  No matter how beaten or ratty (inside or out)  I loved her post.  I loved her explanation.  And you can read the full post here. 

          Stephanie’s last post referred me to another blog.  I read a post that could fall into the category of Choice and Accountability.  What a tough decision to be made – and yet what remarkable faith and strength that would help so many others.

          Collin Presley had health problems from the time he was born.  He outlived his disease by twelve years (from my understanding) but died shortly after a new medication was given. 

          Their first thought was to sue the doctor.  Collin still had life with the old medication.  Surely someone had to blamed for Collin’s death – but an autopsy would have to be preformed to provide proof.  Doing an autopsy would upset the organs which the family wanted to donate to those who were still fighting the fight.  A battle with attorneys would have been so costly.  It wouldn’t bring Collin back.  On the flip side his organs could be donated and bring life to others.  That was the choice they faced.  You can read more of their story in this post though I recommend venturing even further with prior posts

          Katy Pluim amazes me with her short sweet posts as she deals with having only one arm.  I am so impressed with the things that she has taught herself that I struggle with having two arms.  She is a beautiful person with a husband and a three year old (almost three) daughter.  Here is one of her earlier posts on dealing.

Unfortunately I did not copy the reference for this next story.  I tried going back to my initial research and to Google–ing with the given subject, but more sites were brought up than I cared to wade through.  My apologies to the blogger (though there are many more resources for this particular story:

“More than one hour after the gold-medal athlete had crossed the finish line during the marathon in the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City, John Stephen Akhwari of Tanzamia entered the stadium.  Only a few spectators remained as the lone runner appeared.  The athlete’s leg was injured and bleeding.  He was dehydrated and confuse.  As he crossed the finish line, the small crowd cheered in appreciation for what would become one of the most famous last-place finishes in history. But it wasn’t the runner’s performance that caught their attention – and the attention of thousands more during the almost five decades since.  It was his desire to finish the race, to endure to the end.  After the event in 1968, a reporter asked the runner why he had not quit the race since he had no chance of winning. The Tanzanian athlete was confused.  “My country did not send me to Mexico City to start the race,” he replied.  “They sent me to finish”

I actually shared this next story in Relief Society when the instructor asked the class for comments about Integrity.  What goes around comes around.  I think this is a really great example.

And finally one idea to teach in classrooms – though children are more accepting and perhaps this ought to be applied to all adults as well  Stop the bullying already. We are all different.  Embrace the differences.   

          How great it is to have so many great insights and so many who support one another through their blogs and create ideas and share.  Thank you!

Chopped, Snipped, Spliced and Discarded – I could SO use that Money

          Before Roland and I moved from our first house, he introduced me to the reality show “Chopped” a one hour show that gives four chefs the opportunity to create appetizers, entrees, and desserts using four specific ingredients – most I haven’t been familiar with or think of as too bizarre to belong with  either the rest of the ingredients or in the particular round.

          I would think that there is more than eight hours of footage for each episode of “Chopped” – thus it is not just the chefs competing who get “chopped” but the editing as well.  It sickens me to know that all this wasted footage exists – that so much tape ends up on the floor.  The expense that goes into these reality series (Wife Swap is another example) and all the waste.  I could really use the money that is spent on wasted film.  So many Americans could – especially in this economy that seemingly continues to spiral downhill.  Where are the priorities of this nation?

          Recently there was a documentary on NBC called: “Mormons in America: NBC's Rock Center with Brian Williams" and actually I feel a certain amount of emotion which I stated in my last post.

I think Rock Center handled “Mormons in America” well.  Some accused of focusing too much on the small percentage that “don’t really represent the entire church” well guess what?  It’s that small percentage that the world will be looking at. And I think it’s wonderful that it has been presented to the world (or nation anyway) that there might be a better understanding.

          Abby Huntsman does not represent the entire Church.  Who does?  Some criticized that the creators of the program should have gone to the authorities or at least devout members to for a more accurate understanding.  But we are a very diverse people – even among ourselves.  The gospel values are true regardless of its members.  But the members are not perfect.  We are not all cut out of the same mold – and the world needs to know that there are struggles that many members face that don’t always correspond with what the gospel principles teach.

I think the documentary was handled very nicely.  And I think Abby did a great job letting people understand her position but still being respectful of the Church. She probably has a better hold on what a non member might feel.  There are many who have left the church who experience that “ah-hah” moment after they’ve been away for it – not that they disagree or become uncomfortable – but all the sudden understand the meaning of “a peculiar people” and understand the non-members view – whereas those who are so close to the surface don’t have that same understanding.  They don’t see the forest for the trees.  Corey explained it a little bit in this post  

          There are many members (or former members) who have had their feelings hurt for whatever reason.  Treated like outcasts.  Overaggressive concern isn’t handled correctly either on the part of the leaders or the interpretation of the member (I think more of the first; as an example Abby’s bishop told her that she wouldn’t receive the same blessings – and although it may have been said out of concern – it hadn’t been communicated in a proper manner)  I like the way Clive Durham said it in this post 

          Bishop, stake president, and other leadership positions are held by people.  Imperfect people. Some, who unfortunately abuse their power, some, who should have never been put in that position to begin with.  Some who would rather not be there and wonder why the position was accepted in the first place. 

          Julienne (sp?) and Al Jackson do NOT represent all members.  A large majority, perhaps.  But certainly NOT all members.  Mitch Mayne is told he can keep his position in the Church so long as he remains celibate.  Celibate?  Really?  In a Church that pushes marriage and family? (And there are many who actually do push)

          That was Corey’s plan - to remain celibate – though he wasn’t fulfilled.  He would have been able to keep his membership – but still not feel whole – not complete.  He did NOT go in search for a partner.  Truth is, when they initially met, he tried to avoid it. 

          Their first encounter together was working on the same production in Las Vegas.  The two of them started out with a casual dinner, but after a while Corey's feelings deepened towards his partner.  He started to have feelings that he had been  told all of his life were wrong to have.

Corey returned home from Las Vegas the first Christmas after they had met.  Relieved in some ways not to be tempted by something he had been trying to avoid all of his life.  Yet torn because he really did have emotions for this guy.  And what a wonderful guy he is.  I really really do like Corey’s partner.

          Eventually it turned into something very beautiful.  Both celibate.  Both wanting to wait.  Both yearning for God to be a part of their “marriage” and I have no doubts that He is.  Corey had to give up his membership.  But he did not give up on the gospel.  He still attends Sunday meetings (minus the priesthood which he was never comfortable with in the first place) and though it’s often hard for him not to be able to participate to the fullest – Corey is happier than he has ever been in his entire life. 

          Corey is very knowledgeable in the gospel.  He is very well rounded individual.  He doesn’t represent the entire Church – even when he was a member.  But he does make an impact.  A GREAT impact.  He has a very strong and beautiful testimony.  He is one of many pioneers on a path that is slowly being smoothed over and more widely traveled – and yet too many who are on that path feel alone and unwanted and aren’t always handled with care.  Corey, fortunately, has had amazing support. Yet it seems to be a rarity with far too many.

We have a friend who is strongly opinionated and probably more of a feminist than Joanna Brookes.  She is married to one who has been on the high council as well as other prominent positions.  Both strong in the gospel.  Each representing what sometimes appear as conflicting ideas.  And I love them both.  And I respect them both.  And I am personally grateful for the diverseness.