It's Not Me, It's Everyone Else

I spent most of yesterday in the emergency room. I was not sure I belonged there. As it turned out, I didn't. It seemed that other people had the same angst.

Within the ER, the rooms were all full. I was told I would "start" out in the hall. (Seven hours later, I was still in the hall.) I was okay with that as long as they didn't make me strip and put on the gown lying there on the stretcher.

I busied myself with my newspaper and Sudoku puzzles.

From time to time, a woman came out of a room next to me and slid a curtain between me and her door out of the way to stare at me, then snapped it back in place. She was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, pretty, and sad. Hospital personnel could be heard telling her to go back into her room. Apparently, she wanted the hall. I would have gladly traded her. But then they might have stopped referring to me as "the dissection" and put me in the psych ward.

One time when she was wandering and someone told her to go back to her room, she asked, "So, am I just supposed to f-ing sit there and f-ing worry?"

"Yes."

After a while, the woman started lobbying on her excursions out to use the phone. "I should get to make at least one phone call," she asserted. "It's inhumane what you're doing to me."

"This is the ER," she was told.

When that didn't work, she tried, "I really have to find out what happened to my son."

"I have to ask your nurse," one guy told her, three times. The last time, he added, "If he says it's okay, then I'm all for it. I'm looking for your nurse right now."

"Do I have one?"

"Yes. His name's Russell." He walked off again.

Another man walked down the hall past her door. "Are you Russell?" she asked.

"No, I'm not."

After a few not-Russells came by, she got to make her phone call.

Unfortunately, the phone was right behind my head.

First, she called her mother. I wasn't trying to listen, but she was standing right over me. "I hate my sister," she announced, first off. "Do you know what she DID to me?" Then, "Fine, don't *#$@! believe me." A torrent of thirty more of these bad words followed, then she was on to the next call.

"Hi, Christina, I want to thank you for what you did to me," she said in a soft voice. Then, slightly more insistently, "I want to thank you for what you *#$@! did to me. I *#$@! appreciate it! You're out of my *#$@! life. Don't *#$@! call me again. *#$@! ever!"

I had to wonder what it would be like to receive that phone call.

Third call: "Jordan? When I get *#$@! home, you'd better be *#$@! out of my house! You *#$@! went too *#$@! far this time."

(Not one word about any son.)

Having triumphantly rid herself of everyone closest to her, she not only went into her room, but slammed her door. That showed all of them and us, too, I guess.

I only hoped she wouldn't make any more phone calls. I started asking every male who passed by if he were Russell so I could place that request. Just kidding.

It was clear to me and the hospital staff--and her family and boyfriend--that this woman was not in her right mind, either from something she took or just because. But I think she thought she was doing fine.

It made me reflect on how little we can see ourselves as others see us. God made us so that we cannot see our own faces without outside assistance. We can see our hands and most other body parts, but we cannot see our own faces. I remember being quite struck by this fact as a small child. Then, relying on mirrors, I forgot about how weird I thought that was. Maybe it's to help keep us humble. Maybe it's so we'll have to learn to rely on others to help us get an accurate picture of ourselves.

I'm sure her family and friends were trying to help this woman. I hope when she comes down (or up), she will be able to see that, and get a glimpse of her true self.

I hope I can, too.

Suicide by Gym-Goer

At my gym, there is a mallard duck that sits in the parking lot. He doesn't move when a car drives toward him. He just sits there. You get closer, closer, closer. He doesn't even look at you. And, of course, all the cars carefully edging closer to him WITHOUT hitting him have taught him he's in no danger. I can't tell what about the parking lot is attractive to him. It's. . .a parking lot. There's a pond right across the street. But, no. Yesterday, I didn't see him as I pulled into the lot in the dark, until I got out of the car. He had taken up residence in the parking slot next to me. With a little less luck, I would have had duck a la king on my tires. He didn't care. He's either too dumb to realize that a car can hurt him, or he doesn't care. The day before, he'd parked his heiny behind my car, so I'd backed up v-e-r-y slowly until I was sure I could go no further without flattening him--which was not very far, then went forward through the other parking slots (good thing no one was parked there). I'd like to teach him a lesson, but, unfortunately, that's a lesson a duck can only learn once. And, while I'm not an animal lover, I don't want to hurt any. I can only hope he never parks himself RIGHT behind my tire. I now understand the term "dumb duck." Also "dead duck." What is it about the parking lot, I wonder? Is he excited by the cars? Is he hoping to meet the right car sometime and hop into it and take off? Maybe he hates the cars and is waiting for an opportunity to leave a bomb on them. Is concrete nicer to sit on than grass? Maybe he was hatched in a parking lot and a car imprinted on his brain as his mother. Maybe he's trying to find her. Is he trying to be a hot-shot? Maybe he wants to work out? Last year, he usually had a girlfriend or two with him, but I can see they've given up on him now. So my guess is he's either psychotic or depressed. Maybe he was at the bottom of the pecking order at the pond and has nothing to lose. Maybe he really hopes someone will end it all for him. Unless his luck holds out, it could happen any time. I just hope I'm not the one who has to do it.

LOL Haters

Last week or so ago, there was an article in the newspaper about LOL haters, thus introducing me to a segment of the population of whom I had never before been aware.

I mean, I know different people have from time to time a word or a phrase that just doesn't sit well with them. There used to be a guy who regularly addressed his opinion that we should not say we're "grateful" in prayers because we should just directly thank the person to whom we are grateful, since we're already talking to Him. He had a point, actually.

Twenty years or so ago, my husband says he used the then-popular term "No doubt!" so much that his school-teacher sister put the kabosh on it. I am taking his word on this as I have not heard it much from him. No doubt!

So, I was not surprised to read that there are people who hate "LOL," but I was surprised to read about the venom with which some hate it. And, more so, the seriousness with which people take it.

"I make it a point to never type 'LOL' unless I am actually laughing out loud," one person was quoted as saying. Really? Does s/he never say, "Sure" in response to someone unless they know what they said was true for absolute fact? Do they never say "Okay" to acknowledge they heard someone unless they absolutely agree with what was said? It's hard to understand such angst about a tiny little one-syllable blip.

I would not call myself a "LOL lover," but, as a term, it has its place.

It can mean anything from a slight smile to "Yes, I heard you," "That was funny," "I see your point," "I like that," to "Hilarious!" It's a quick way to acknowledge, approve of, respond, reply. It's useful. And, like it or hate it, as other terminology before it, it seems to be here to stay.

Time's Up!

Last time I was asked to serve in the church in a new calling I wasn't especially thrilled to have, the sacrament song that day was, "Thy Will Be Done."

"Okay," I thought. "I probably had that coming." I mean, if the Savior could step down from being the Creator to take on a humble earth life for a while--a life that would include outright torture by the end of it--I guess I could give up the calling where I feel I'm doing something important in order to play the piano again.

But it smarts. It seems to me that anyone can play the piano in meetings. All the children in the ward have been growing up with piano lessons for decades. Why can't someone younger do it? Someone for whom it would be a challenge? Maybe even exciting?

We usually get attached to our church callings. When I was the chorister, I didn't want to stop to be a Primary teacher. When I was a Primary teacher, I didn't want to stop to do something else.

Sometimes, we wonder if our efforts have been recognized and appreciated. Sometimes, the less faithful among us wonder if the calling was really as inspired as it was supposed to be. A bishop actually said to me once when calling me to head up an organization that he had not prayed about it--I was just the obvious person.

That's really hard to take when you don't know if you can do the job. At least, you want to feel like it's part of some grand design and all the "guarantees" will apply to you. You know what guarantees I'm talking about--that God won't give you more than you can handle, that there is a reason for you to be in that particular position at that particular time so that something wonderful can occur that you and your grandchildren can talk about in testimony meeting for years to come.

At the very least, you hope something good will come of what you are being asked to do. You hope all the work you did in your last calling won't be destroyed by your successor. You hope you can find something meaningful in the next task, even a completely mindless one like banging out "As Sisters in Zion" every single week for the rest of your life.

It's also hard to take when you don't want the job. I mean, if the calling isn't inspired, isn't meant to be, doesn't place you where God wants you--then doesn't that kind of mean that your bishop is just a neighbor asking you to do something? Shouldn't that give you the option to accept or decline as suits you? You say yes because you put your trust in the mechanism that says that you're a cog in the machine that is the body of Christ, and, no matter how lowly your position, it is an honor just to be there, serving in "some lowly place in earth's harvest field," as the hymn says.

You don't want to start hoping you'll get called to some stake calling just to get out of the current one.

So we need to believe that saying yes is right, because of course the people with the idea to fit you there in the structure had some kind of spiritual manifestation.

I've also heard that a lot of people say no, just because they don't want to or don't feel equal to it. That makes me wonder--what are they saying? Do they then feel that the calling must not be inspired? That the bishop is just a neighbor? Or do they just not care whether they foil the "grand design"? Do they not believe the scripture that it's an honor to serve anywhere in the church?

I guess my take on this is that, in the right spirit, we can seek our own confirmation that the calling is appropriate. Maybe we're not being asked to grow ourselves this time around, but to foster the growth of someone else. Maybe we'll grow or be helped or be needed in ways we cannot anticipate.

Maybe there's not any big, grand SUPPOSED TO out there, other than just following through with what we're asked to do. Maybe we can find it in ourselves to follow through and just wait and see what happens next. And then we'll get it.

Having your calling interrupted abruptly also brings to mind these truths: that we are not in charge of everything in our own lives, and that we do not always get to say when enough is enough. I know stories of people who found out quite suddenly that the were simply out of time in their whole life--not just their favorite calling. "Really? It's just over--like that?" can apply to anything from losing a job to your house burning down to your parent/child/spouse/sibling dying to hearing "You're not my mom anymore" to finding yourself on the other side of the veil with no power any longer to change anything left unfinished to our satisfaction.

Are we going to be ready for that?