Onward Christian Soldiers... The War is Here

The world is a more dark, hostile, and nasty place. "That old serpent, which is the Devil" reigns in the hearts of many. People use the power that they have and abuse it, not just in this country, but all over.

Yesterday, I was looking for articles about 76 people who were held by a group of murderous people called Boko Harem (the same people who kidnapped 276 school girls to become brides or kill them) in central parts of Africa. Four of these hostages, their Christian leaders, were killed because they won't deny Christ or their Christian faith. Before anyone else died, people said they saw Christ who told them "all would be well." The assailants suddenly started screaming "Snakes! Snakes!" and one of them dropped down dead. One of the hostages grabbed the dead soldiers fallen gun to shoot the fleeing Boko Harem soldiers when a child stopped him and said, "You don't need to do that. Can't you see the men in white fighting for us?" (ANGELS!! Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love and appreciate angels.) 72 of them, many being women and children, were able to make it out alive.

Sadly, this hasn't been the case for many others. Just from Boko Harem, hundreds of thousands have been terrorized, kidnapped, murdered, and horribly tortured. Many have left their home countries as refugees, seeking safety, and sanctuary.

My heart aches for all of them. I wish I could save them and stop the brutality that Satan has happily influenced.

I know that these aren't the only bad things that are going on in the world. Mass shootings in churches and schools, shopping malls and concerts. Abductions and child marriages/prostitution and abuses of every kind. Things range from national news level to family hostilities and neighbor conflicts. The world is so full of hate and anger and animosity that it makes me sick.

Many many ask, "How can God let this happen?" "How can He stand by and let His children be massacred?" "They believe in Him, why isn't He saving them?" "How can a 'loving' God do this?"

I turn to Alma and Amulek and the destruction that happened to the Christians at Ammonihah:

"9 And it came to pass that they took Alma and Amulek, and carried them forth to the place of martyrdom, that they might witness the destruction of those who were consumed by fire.

   10 And when Amulek saw the pains of the women and children who were consuming in the fire, he also was pained; and he said unto Alma: How can we witness this awful scene? Therefore let us stretch forth our hands, and exercise the power of God which is in us, and save them from the flames.

   11 But Alma said unto him: The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand; for behold the Lord receiveth them up unto himself, in glory; and he doth suffer that they may do this thing, or that the people may do this thing unto them, according to the hardness of their hearts, that the judgments which he shall exercise upon them in his wrath may be just; and the blood of the innocent shall stand as a witness against them, yea, and cry mightily against them at the last day." (Alma 14: 9-11)

Alma and Amulek saw the martyrdom of Amulek's family and the other women and children who wouldn't say that they didn't believe in Christ. It is a good chance that Amulek's wife and children were there being thrown into the fire. Oh, how similar it is to the 76 and other martyrs throughout the ages. Some times we are enable to do anything to help those who are suffering, especially when they are across the world and dying for Christ. It is so then they can be witnesses against them to the horrific things that others are doing so then God can judge them accordingly and they will be cast into the place that is prepared for them. It isn't God hates the people who die. Not at all. He's simply calling them home and their test in mortality has ended. It's okay (Sad?Yes, but okay), because this isn't the end of everything.

I remember these thoughts when there was a shooting in Las Vegas in 2017. How 58 people died and over 400 were injured. I remember people asking "How can God let that happen?" Christ isn't going to stop people from making their choices. He's not going to stop them from pulling the trigger, but they will have to stand before their God (whether they acknowledged Him on earth as such or not) with witnesses beyond belief. At which point, I wouldn't want to be them.

But for those "which had not worshiped the beast" but follow Christ and are martyred for Him they will "live and reign with Christ for a thousand years" (Rev 20:4). Those who do, will be well. Those who pass on who may not have known Christ will have the opportunity to learn of Him and draw to Him. There is hope. Eternal hope.

There are those, however, who's test is not done who are still needed for something else. Those 76 people are valiant soldiers in God's Army. A pastor who talked with those 72 surviving saints, "credits Jesus' appearance to the group to the fact that these people knew no other Biblical text to visit. They are all illiterate and thus no access to scripture so Jesus proved it himself." How marvelous and miraculous would that be? Miracles happen all the time if we are willing to open our eyes to see it.

"Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war with the cross of Jesus going on before." It is war and it's right smack dab in front of our faces. Satan is around because he is a nuisance and he hates us with a passion that rivals the heat of brimstone. Satan doesn't give up on you, so we need to double down our efforts to be better and draw closer to God who also doesn't give up on you.

Remember that God loves us. He loves you. He loves me. He even loves those who are choosing poorly, though their choices sadden Him greatly.

We can do this. We can face the fight and with God on our side we will win.

Pioneer Day

Happy Pioneer Day everyone!

For those of you not from Utah let me explain.

Pioneer Day, July 24th, is the day we celebrate the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (AKA "Mormon Pioneers") entering into the Salt Lake Valley and finally finding refuge from the mobbing and harassment they received from every place they gathered. They had the opportunity to go to California, Oregon, parts of Canada instead of Utah. Places that were green and lush and easy for farming, but instead chose Utah because it was a place no one else would want. Dusty, hot, rocky and sandy, covered in brush...

I'm sure many of the hard working men and women who walked into the valley looked at the barren land and asked themselves, "We're stopping here?" I'm sure many of them wanted to go back to Ohio or farther East instead of stopping here in the desert and somehow making it habitable.

Many--many, many--though took up the challenge and relying on the Lord when further hardships came and made this grizzly land flourish. If you go hike up the mountains now and look down at either Salt Lake or Utah Valleys, you will see so much green. So much tilled and usable soil and tall, leafy trees. The Saints who came and their children for generations who worked after them would probably be surprised at how large we have gotten.

So Happy Pioneer Day!

A few years ago, I was in a Non-Fiction Creative Writing class in college. I wrote about my grandpa in WWII and "the Bus Crash," others wrote about accidentally setting fires to a field, motor cycle gangs, family vacations, and other things that happened in their lives. There was one young lady who wrote about how it was hard being in Utah. There are many reasons why people find it hard living here. I know that the culture and "the Mormons" are a big reason people do struggle, though there are many others. This story in particular described how she struggled with everyone's "Pioneer Heritage" and how it made her feel like an outsider. She was a member of the Church, but because she didn't have people from the Willy and Martin handcart companies or come across the plains at all she felt like she couldn't be apart of things. As if she wasn't "Old Money" in the Utah culture.

It was such an interesting take on things. My mind was revealing a little. "It shouldn't make a difference if they had Utah Pioneer blood or not. She is here. Shouldn't that be what counts?" Yes, it should be what counts.

I do have pioneer ancestry, people from the Willie and Martin Handcart companies, wagon company captains, town/city founders, people who had plural wives, and regular farmers. On the other hand, I also have horse thieves and probably some other kind of liars, thieves, and abusers. Just like everyone else. My family tree is just as colorful as everyone else's with good people, great people, normal people, and bad people. People who did hard things, people who gave in to temptation, people who spoke up, people who were silent, people who didn't know better, and many other kinds of people.

Who they were can't honestly change who I am, that is unless I let them.

I am proud that some of my ancestors chose to do hard things and came out stronger for them. Just because I'm proud of them, doesn't mean I flaunt them though. (I think my husband references them more often than I do.) But just because mine are officially in pioneer companies, doesn't mean that someone else's ancestors didn't do hard things. So many hard things happen in everyone's life! Everyone can be a pioneer doing amazing things.

For that one girl in my class who wrote her story, she became a friend of mine on Facebook and I followed her and she did some family history work. And found that her ancestors were from Eastern Europe and found living family because it was only a generation or two back that they came over (possibly during WWI or II) to the USA. She ended up going over to Eastern Europe and meeting those distant relations, gained so many stories from her family, and (I'm sure) found her own versions of pioneer stories.

No pioneer story was ever the same and that's what makes each one special. It's what makes everyone special is their story, official "pioneer" or not.

So, again, Happy Pioneer Day to all the different types of pioneers out there and all the amazingly good things that have happened!

"That's Your Job"

I blame Father of the Bride.

That is as far back as I can pinpoint it to. 1991's Father of the Bride with Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, Martin Short, and Kimberly Williams-Paisley. That particular point in the movie where Annie is about to cancel the wedding and everything because her fiance Bryan got her a blender for a gift instead of something artsy. She didn't want to be seen as a 1950's housewife who did nothing but cook and clean. She was an architect, an artist, a basketball player, a builder, and someone who didn't want to be known solely as "the wife," "the woman," or "the old lady of the house." Annie got upset enough that she was willing to not marry him--part of it was probably do to the stress of doing a super expensive wedding, but that fear and frustration didn't come from nothing. As a character or person, it would have been something she was very much opposed to and scared of as she grew up.

A line like that doesn't come out of nowhere.

And it struck me.

I subconsciously agreed with her although I didn't know what that meant. Annie is amazing. She is an energetic woman, who wasn't afraid to go abroad, who loved her family, loved sports, found a career that she enjoyed where she had the opportunity to create something artistically. These were all things that I eventually aspired to do.

While Annie Banks MacKenzie isn't the only woman to do those things nor my only influence in trying to be strong, my mother loved the movie. As most every little girl, what my mom loved I loved.

For my job, I work at a library, as occasion will promit. I enjoy being surrounded by stories all the time. The people I work with are amazing and sweet and the patrons are over all pleasant. Being a clerk at the library is my job. I get paid to do it and once the hours are done I get to go home and be me. I get to be "Caitlyn" with a side of "Mom" and "Wife" and an ugly veggie called "housekeeper."

With the influence of Annie Banks MacKenzie and the fact that I'm not OCD like people around me, I had no interest in being simply a housewife who cooks and cleans all day every day with vacuum lines on her carpets and mops drying every single day. I hate cleaning, though I like things tidy and being able to walk on the carpet without stepping on a million crumbs of Cheerio's. I dislike cooking. I only do really cook because my husband does work more than me and supposedly people need to eat to survive, or something like that. I do it because it needs to be done and there is not many options for others to do it. It is the obligation, the moral duty, to make sure everyone has something in their belly, I suppose. Again, I don't like cooking. If I can find a way around it with frozen pizza's or very simple "three step recipes" I jump on that band wagon so fast. Are my family foods the healthiest, not at all, but they are fed and they get a side of fruits/veggies enough.

But then things happen.

This year has been the definition of crazy! And it's only April.

I'm only 26... 27... (right?) and my husband's 13 year old nephew came to live with us. (He is twice the age of my own son, whom I know how to deal with.) New chance for a new life. Help my sister in law get back on her feet. Hopefully everyone can take good steps forward. It's good. (Right?) It's what we're supposed to do. (Right?) I can get through this (RIGHT?!)

*sigh*

I have never been more exhausted.

When people ask, "how are you doing?" I can only honestly answer, "I'm okay." The word "Fine" is a four letter 9-1-1 call to me, and "okay" is a few steps above that. For a time I was able to say, "I'm doing better" which was the honest truth. I was doing better than before, though "good" or "great" hasn't been in my honest vocabulary since before Christmas.

I've found white hairs--though only one or two. I've gone to dark chocolate for comfort. I've cried in the shower--and what a weird feeling it is to have the tears run down your face so quickly that they're suddenly gone. I've also had to seriously restrain myself from slapping him across the face do to the sheer amount of disrespect I've thrown in my face. I've even yelled--for those who know me, know I'm a quiet person and it ends up taking a lot for me to become violent or yell. Broken hearts, I got that--though I did really want to take a baseball bat to my best friend's ex-boyfriend when they broke up, but I didn't so I controlled myself. Screaming 6 year olds, handled. Financial stress, we've paid my tithing so we'll be okay. Job loss, annoying but manageable for the most part. But the disrespect and being sworn at to my face because you know I don't like it, tips my scales. I yelled and shaking with adrenaline coursing through me wanted to backhand the kid.

The situation was dealt with for the most part and I cried. I ate chocolate with a side of eggs and toast and I cried. The only was I was able to keep composed enough until my husband got home was by talking with my friend who lives with us.

I don't like being violent. To protect myself in elementary school from the boys, I bullied them until I realized what I was doing then did a 180 to where I'm more passive and let things slide more than I probably should.

 I hate crying. I won't watch some movies or read some books because "I don't cry pretty" and it is exhausting.

Those are the big things, but then there are moments where the disrespect is subtle. Eye rolls. Word jabs. "Whatever." Blatant disregard for the rules. The list goes on.

The one that has irritated me the most, though it was such a "little thing" and the situation didn't escalate to a huge blow up, was on a Sunday. Sunday's are bad anyway because it's church, ties, white shirts, slacks, no phones in the chapel, no hats in the chapel, people who are staring and judging (though they only look at him because he sticks out like a sore thumb by wearing all black, hoodies, and steps out into the lobby for most of the talks given), and the number of people in general. I get comfort zones. I get anxieties (believe me the white hears I have isn't from walking through a field of tulips). I get not like talking to people and that feeling judged is a thing (I feel it too dude). But, to sound a little southern here, "He needs Jesus."

Anyway, this particular Sunday we got back from church and I made food for my son--it was Fast Sunday, so I didn't eat. My nephew asked if I could make him a sandwich too because I was making one for my son. Sure, it's just another slice of bread and the knives are already dirty. He later comes in, after finishing his sandwich and gets a bowl of cereal. Okay, it's 4:00--an hour and a half after he ate last--sure, I guess. I end up getting other foodstuff for my son who can't prepare it himself. 5:00 when I start making my own food to break my fast. The conversation went something like this:

Nephew: "Caitlyn, would you make me a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"

Me = exhausted (Sunday's just make me tired, but then dealing with kids all day already is more exhausting) and slightly hangry. Making anything is more than I want to do. "No, I'm not doing grilled anything. It's too much work right now."

N: "Come on. It's just a sandwich."

Me: "Then you make it because all I've done is made food today. I'm done. If you want it, you make it."

N: "But it's your job." He starts walking away, looking at his phone as if I'm going to do it anyway.

Me with a raised finger and my voice got deep: "It is not my job. You have your own hands, do it yourself."

N: *nothing because he's not listening at all and is now in the other room*

My friend, who lives with us, and I stare at each other. Did he really just say that?

The conversation died as they do in real life. This part isn't part of a book where the dialogs go on forever and things get resolved within 300 pages equating three days. I had no words to come back and stand my ground with. Vocal words often don't work for me--it's why I write, to get my words out in the way I need them to without the interruptions that conversation gives.

But no, that is not my job. Being a cook and clean is not just the "woman's place." Losing myself to the 1950's title of "wife and mother" with its complimentary pearl necklace was never something I wanted, first given predominantly by Annie Banks MacKenzie. I want and am my own person who's job is to work at a library and help patrons get their books. I don't get paid for cooking and cleaning, for making sure all of the stupid math homework and literature assignments that didn't get done in class are done. I don't have to do all those things. I could stop and see how well my household, mainly my nephew, floats on their own. It is not my job where I will get fired if something fails. If it was a thing to get fired when I failed at "wifery" I'm sure my cooking skills, banking skills, and not-wanting-to-talk-to-people skills would have gotten me fired a long time ago. It's not going to happen.

***

To my nephew: it is not my job to remind you to eat lunch, so then you won't be "starving" by the time 5:00 hits and there is still another hour til dinner. It is not my job to put your clothes away. It isn't my job to remind you to make your bed. It isn't my job write 15 emails a week to your teachers asking what homework is today because you "forgot" to write it down for the third month in a row or because you were goofing off in class and didn't do the assignment or didn't turn it in.

My back hurts from bending over backward for things that you should be able to do on your own. You want to not be treated like a six year old, than act like you should. You don't want to lose your phone again because of bad grades, then turn in your completed assignments. You want me to stop hovering over you telling you that you have four other assignments that were do last week that you didn't do because you were talking, you want me to stop making you do more homework on stuff you've already completed, then do your work at school like your teachers are asking you to.

Call me harsh, but the world is not an easy place. If you acted this way in a job in forgetting paperwork constantly or disregarding the rules, you would be fired so fast.

I don't deserve to be disrespected, mistreated, sworn at, and emotionally abused while I'm still bending myself in knots trying to help you stay a float and not drown. No one deserves that kind of treatment. And if you don't stand on your own two feet in this four foot deep pool, I'm not going to take another knock to the head because you're thrashing and drowning us both. My husband and I will wait until you've practically drowned yourself in water that you could stand in before we step in and if need do CPR if need be. But, dude, I'm not taking elbow to the face anymore. All you have to do is to listen to us while we're telling you to stand up.

***

In reality, I highly doubt he'd read this. I doubt many people will ever read this because my following is so few, which is actually okay. I've written this down in my journal, but somehow it feels like the possibility of more people reading it gives it more strength, relieves me a little of all the frustration and tension, and in the end will give me more words to say when the stress inducing conversations happen.

Please, dear few readers, try to not see me as an abuser in that we'd let him "drowned." Repeating the 7th grade or losing his phone or XBox for the summer or whatever other natural consequences happen because of his actions are more natural than harsh. He's been told and has been given a plethora of opportunities to excel with many people bending over backwards for him--his math teacher took time out of her Spring Break to meet us at the library to help him with a test he bombed. She didn't have to, but she was willing to in order to help him succeed. She is an amazing teacher. Most, if not all, of his teachers are. He's been given chance after chance after chance only he refuses to open his ears and take off his rose colored lenses and realize just how much leniency we've all given him.

***

It's exhausting and so often anxiety filled, but one or two good things have happened because of all this.

My husband and I have drawn closer and closer together and my testimony of prayer has abounded. Johnathan has been there for me and has come to my defence so often when my nephew is being verbally hostile. When I'm crying I've been comforted by him so much as well as the Spirit. God and my husband have been my constant companions. Without them I wouldn't be able to get through this at all. I'd be broken on the floor, curled in a ball, and unable to do anything.

I'm so grateful for my husband and for God and for my son who, when he sees me upset, runs up and gives me hugs and kisses and is so willing to cuddle. All of them. I'm grateful for all of them.

But, man, this year has sucked and so often I just want to sleep.