I don't write to tell people I've been through the ringer. As a matter of fact, none of my own personal hell is contained in this blog. I'm saving that for the novel. That's what publishers really like. I write to tell my story. I write so that others understand the human experience is no respecter of persons. I write so that some person in some place will eventually understand that there is beauty in struggle, joy in pain, and that dawn always comes.
My younger sister and her two little boys have been in town for two weeks. The boys attended swim lessons, and because I was still recuperating from surgery, I got to do my favorite job - be an auntie. We colored, did modeling clay, made playdough, frosted sugar cookies, made home made ice cream, watched movies and ate popcorn, and made cute little wooden boats. Emily and I chatted during swim lessons, she helped me do things I couldn't do around my house and bought take out for dinner. I can't remember the last time I had takeout before then. It was marvelous.
One morning before swimming lessons, I had to run an errand. I haven't had an appetite since surgery, so I have a policy to eat something if it sounds good, even if I have to buy it. I was driving down the street, and a lettuce wrapped sandwich sounded delightful, so I pulled into the parking lot, jumped out of my car, and headed towards the sandwich shop. As I walked toward the door, I noticed two young girls, both decked out in Fresno State gear, enjoying their lunch. I thought to myself, they must be students. Maybe they're grabbing lunch in between classes or summer jobs.
Just as I noticed them, the girl sitting closest to me scanned me head to toe with a look of total disgust. She didn't glance and look away, which I can handle pretty well. I disgusted her. Granted, my body is still pretty swollen from surgery, so wearing real clothes is hard, but I had on a dress, sandals, my hair was done, my body clean, and a kind smile plastered on my face. I gathered more intestinal fortitude than I should have and just walked in the store.
I am not a skinny girl. I never have been, and I never will be. My father is 6'2", his mother is about 5'8", and I'm Swedish and German. We are just big people. I also have been extremely ill for 10 months, so excuse me if I'm not beach ready. I also think that ruining my long term health to fit into a a swimsuit that makes me look naked is counterproductive to my self worth, so I refuse to do that.
Did this young girl know that? No. Would she have cared had I told her? Probably not.
Should I have stopped and asked her what it was about me that caused her to gawk like some crazed teenager? Some say yes, and some say no.
The debate about privilege, body shaming, equality, body love, mental health awareness, and bullying in our country is at an apex. Each lobbying group thinks their constituency needs more - more legislation, more awareness, more special treatment, more money to get what they "need" to help others realize what's good and right and true.
I disagree. What we need are parents. Real parents. Parents who teach their children that people come in all sizes, shapes, colors, and that they are all just people. People are not inherently bad. They may make bad choices, and then we can decide whether or not it is wise to continue to associate with those people, but all people inherently want to please others. They want love, acceptance, kindness, charity, and belonging.
As a child, I lived in a very small town in northern Utah. In my congregation at church there was one African American family. As a matter of fact, they were an interracial family - The Coltranes. My father's assignment at church was to visit them on a monthly basis, share a gospel-centered message, and help them with any problems they may have had. Their daughter, Lacey, was my age, and we soon became fast friends. She was smart, funny, and she loved Jonathan Taylor Thomas, New Kids on the Block, and Boyz II Men. She didn't have to share a room, which was awesome, so we would get together and hang out, talk about the boys at school, and laugh at how they had no clue we liked them.
But when we got to school, things were different. Lacey didn't want me to hang out with here, and I didn't know why. She was so cool. Little did I know, she was protecting me. She had it really rough. I was on student council, and she was the only black girl at a small town school in Utah. Do the math.
It never occurred to me until we moved to Fresno that Lacey must have been hazed relentlessly. The idea of civil rights was still new in the 1980's and early 1990's, and many kids' parents taught them to be very conscious of color.
I grew up in a family where people were people, and they came in all colors, shapes, sizes and backgrounds. My dad served a mission in Washington DC, Maryland, and Virginia, so he had seen it all, met people of every ethnicity and race, and my mom's dad was a very successfully cattle rancher, so all his workers were either Basque or Latino, and they were family. My grandmother started cooking for them as soon as the kids left for school and delivered their meals to the ranch every day. To me, color and background made us unique, but they enriched our lives, opened new doors, and expanded our possibilities.
When I get disparaging looks, when someone invites me to their latest and greatest weight loss MLM program, or when a doctor tells me that the only reason I'm sick is because I need to lose sixty pounds, I have no problem telling that person that I don't stand for stereotypes. I have no need for judgmental thinking in my life.
This means that I'm not always in with the in crowd. My worldview doesn't always jive with mainstream Mormon CULTURE (not the doctrine of the DDS Church), and I'm just fine living that way. The only person I need to please is my Savior Jesus Christ, and my Father in Heaven. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf gave wise counsel in April 2014.
"We simply have to stop judging others and replace judgmental thoughts and feelings with a heart full of love for God and His children. God is our Father. We are His children. We area all brothers and sisters. I don't know exactly how to articulate this point of not judging others with sufficient eloquence, passion,and persuasion to make it stick."Replace the unkind feelings with love. Service is the perfect way to deepen love for another person. If it is hard to get along with a neighbor, family, or friend, find a way to brighten their day, make it easier for them to complete their tasks, and do it regularly. It rids the soul of hate and instantly increases charity.
Just do it!
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