A Christmas Dress for Ellen

I needed a nice story to read at our Relief Society Christmas party and my sister in Canada immediately suggested this one. Having never heard of it before, I read its summary on Amazon.com and, from the convenience of my computer, ordered it.

It did not disappoint. Originally told by President Thomas S. Monson during the 1997 First Presidency Christmas Devotional, A Christmas Dress for Ellen retells of the Jeppson family's frozen and desperate 1927 Christmas. Living in Hillspring, Alberta Canada, the family had suffered two straight years of failed crops and was living in poverty. Without the means to provide any kind of Christmas for her five children, Mary Jeppson wrote to her sisters in Idaho and modestly asked for help. The subsequent response to her humble request is filled with love, service and sacrifice - the very gifts our Savior offers us.

I'll enjoy this addition to our Christmas library for a long time.

Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10

I'm not sure I can separate this book review from my politics. Although, after reading some of the other reviews of this book, I'm not sure anyone reviewing this book has yet, so I'll just add my own bias to the pile.

Marcus Luttrell, a Navy SEAL, writes a first person narrative of his four member covert SEAL team's failed Operation Redwing mission: to take out a high ranking leader of al Qaeda, protected by members of the Taliban, in the remote and forsaken mountains of Afghanistan. The mission, attempted during June of 2005 and risky to begin with if everything went perfectly, turned into a bloody retreat as their location was apparently leaked to the Taliban by some unarmed goat herders Luttrell and his team mistakenly, or rightfully...depending on your ideology, set free after the goat herders stumbled onto their hidden location.

Luttrell and his SEAL teammates faced 4 against 100+ odds against a heavily armed, better positioned Taliban army and the results are disastrous for the SEALs. Within 24 hours, Luttrell turns out to be the sole survivor and his injuries and position give him little chance for rescue. Days later, dying of thirst, his legs destroyed from a grenade explosion and from seven miles of crawling, he is found and protected by an independent and stalwart Pashtun tribe who refuse to hand over Luttrell into the hands of the Taliban. With their protection, Luttrell is eventually able to send out an emergency beacon picked up by the US military and is later rescued by an elite team of Army Rangers.

Brave and physically fit as Luttrell is, elite as the Navy SEALs are, courageous and patriotic and confident as his team was...Luttrell does not give this story, or his team, the justice they deserves because he fills his book with so much personal bias, so much political and military rhetoric, and much too much tangent-flowing-pat-on-the-back-extraneous-information that this story of survival and valor is weakened to the point of failure. He failed to share his story in a neutral, matter-of fact way that could appeal to the masses, instead choosing to propagandize it to those who already agree with his personal political philosophies. The entire book reads like a Toby Keith song.

Recently, I was watching What Not To Wear on The Learning Channel and after a woman's boss told the video camera that she didn't feel like she could send her employee to certain meetings because of how she dressed, Stacy and Clinton told their victim that her clothing should never have a negative impact on the workplace. Neutral or positive....yes...but if her choice of clothing was hurting her opportunities for progress and promotion, she needed to change how she dressed for work.

Both for its perspective and understanding about the sacrifice and heroism those asked to defend our country display - this is an important story to tell. Unfortunately, I feel like Luttrell's choice of voice is like this woman's personal choice in clothes: it may be exactly what he thinks but how he tells it is not very helpful and perhaps even harmful. The writing was poor to distraction. According to the cover, there was a co-author involved but the writing felt so juvenile - it read like a high school, or worse, junior high school essay. First hand accounts of history are, of course, invaluable, but a grown-up story should be given the benefit of grown-up writing.

Beyond that, I lost track of how many times Luttrell veered off track his story of survival. Whether it was the detailed account of exactly how extremely physically fit Navy SEALs are through rigorous training is (his Bud/SEAL training fills the first 2/3 of the book), how liberal, unfair and anti-military the mainstream media is, personal stories of his family members and childhood, or the unnecessary repetition of military procedures and his personal racism, (I found his stereotypes of the Arab people disconcerting, particularly after Afghan men risked their lives, and the lives of their entire tribe, to protect and help him) this book ended up having too many objectives than the one the title claimed: the story of Operation Redwing and the fate of the SEALs who gave their lives to the cause.

Not ever having served in the military, nor knowing many people who have, I can only imagine the indoctrination that must occur to train and prepare soldiers for battle. Luttrell clearly believes certain things to be so but that does not necessarily make them so. The laws protecting human rights given in the Geneva Convention, the criminalization of torture, humiliation and harassment of an enemy, rules of engagement - all, according to Luttrell, written by a bunch of liberals in suits - might seem misplaced and unnecessary in Luttrell's mind, who has a Machiavellian belief that in the military realm, the desired end should justify any means. However, history has shown that without checks of power, mankind is notorious for disregarding human life. I'm not saying those rules and regulations make his job easy or fair, because, just as he complains, too many of our enemies do not abide by these same rules. He contends that unless the members of the military are given free-rein to do "whatever needs to be done to win" we will lose not only this war, but any war.

Maybe he's right. I don't know. Maybe he should have killed those goat herders who he believed betrayed their location. Maybe the coalition guards in Abu Ghraib had every right to humiliate and treat their prisoners like animals and slaves for the sake of their own morale. Maybe the only real way to be patriotic is to believe your country is stronger and tougher than any other. But I hope not.

I hope there is room for a little humanity in the world. I hope, like that Pashtun tribe in Afghanistan, there is room to do the right thing regardless of the guns pointed at you. I hope there are people everywhere who do the right thing because it is right and not because there is a law against doing something else that is wrong. I did not get the sense from Luttrell that in his world of war games and war, he believes many human beings are capable of doing the right thing. Except, of course, Americans and only if those Americans happen to be from Texas, think Bush is the greatest commander-in-chief ever or members or relatives of members in the military. Otherwise, those actions are a surprise and perhaps even an anomaly.

Luttrell may be brave, tough and patriotic. He may be highly trained, confident and a finely tuned warrior.

But....I hope, for my own sons' future, that he is wrong.

84 Charing Cross Road

I was guided to this book by several people after I raved about my love for The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Now that I've read it, I can see how the two books are similar, although I did prefer the satisfying fiction in Guernsey.

84 Charing Cross Road is a sweet, short book containing the correspondence between Helene Hanff, a gregarious and irreverent writer living in New York, and the much more formal workers of the antique bookstore, Marks & Co. in Great Britain. The letters begin following World War II and Helene's warmth and generosity (she sends them things that are difficult to get over there with rations. Eggs. Nylons. Canned tongue Blech!) brings down their professional front until a clear friendship develops.

Obviously, each correspondence isn't included as the book progresses 20 years and there is sometimes nearly a year between letters. Still, I found Helene's humor and charm to be every bit as disarming as Frank Doel and the others at Marks & Co did. To be centered around their common love of books makes it only more lovable.

As it is non-fiction, the story ends realistically and not nearly as satisfying as a feel-good novel. Still, I love that Helene published these hard copies of proof about the power of correspondence and friendship.

The Mother In Me

Written by a group of smart, articulate and thoughtful women who write for Segullah Magazine and Blog Segullah, The Mother In Me compiles essays and poems whose topics cover pregnancy, miscarriage, infertility, adoption, birth, the loss of a stillborn (I wept), parenting special needs children, and several on the challenges of being a mother to small children.

I think this book is best read in small doses - first, because each essay has its own feeling and message to experience and second, because after reading multiple essays at a time, the book starts to feel redundant. Smart woman....smart woman sacrifices (time, energy, body, mind)....smart woman resents challenge...smart woman feels grateful for challenge...smart woman better because of challenge.

As someone who considers herself a smart woman (I hope we all do), I can certainly identify with the whole cycle. Motherhood is hard. Motherhood is sacrifice. And yet, motherhood is the absolute best teacher I could have ever hoped for in life. Every essay chronicles the development of a God-like trait: patience, hope, faith, forgiveness, compassion, and pure, pure love. After reading, I'd want to hug my children, read them a story, take them somewhere to teach them something, play hide and seek, cook together. It made every experience that every mother knows is difficult and frustrating to be looked upon as a cherished opportunity. I really enjoyed it.

It's only flaw, in my opinion, was that sometimes the essays felt overly essay-ish. It's not like I prefer authors to dumb their writing down, particularly in this book because their writing isn't difficult to read or hard to understand. But sometimes...only sometimes...I felt the superfluous descriptions of leaves, food, weather, etc, etc were added because the authors were English majors going for the "A" instead of mothers writing for mothers. That's all.

This would be a GREAT book for any young mother, any mother who ever was a young mother, any woman who one day hopes to be a young mother. In other words, this would be a great book to read for any woman. I'm sure some men would even like it too.

Highly recommended.

I Fell Bad About My Neck

I think Nora Roberts is an almost David Sedaris. Not quite as funny, probably because her topics are safer and less random. She writes about female things, with great wit and perspective, and I enjoyed each chapter. However, it's been several weeks and now I find the entire book a bit unmemorable. Regardless, it was a nice lighthearted, pick-up-when-I-only-have-a-few-minutes-to-read kind of boo

Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim

What if you could write about whatever you wanted? What if no topics were off limits, no person's feelings or privacy taken into consideration, no personal flaws purposely left unmentioned in order to be protected from ridicule?

You would probably write exactly like David Sedaris.

To actually write like David Sedaris, however, you'd also have to be intelligent, impeccably attentive to details and most importantly - uncommonly funny. With that winning combination, Sedaris's unencumbered writing creates a truly fascinating look into his life and way of thinking.

Take, for instance, a neighborhood family that supposedly doesn't watch any television. You've know them, or at least heard about them. But have you hidden yourself in bushes outside their house watching them at night? Sedaris spied on this family with fascination, watching them interact at the dinner table during the evenings and feeling sorry for the absence of television in their lives. After watching one of their children at school being left out of a joke that made reference to a TV show, Sedaris writes, "It occurred to me that they needed a guide, someone who could point out all the things they were unable to understand. I could have done it on weekends, but friendship would have taken away their mystery and interfered with the good feeling I got from pitying them. So I kept my distance."

Then, when this same family showed up for Trick-Or-Treating the day after Halloween, Sedaris expresses what must be universally believed: "Asking for candy on Halloween was called trick-or-treating, but asking for candy on November first was called begging, and it made people uncomfortable. This was one of the things you were supposed to learn simply by being alive, and it angered me that the Tomkeys did not understand it."

The subject matter varies wildly from chapter to chapter, but each contains Sedaris's hilarious spin on what would probably appear to most outsiders, nothing to write home about. Although there are several uncomfortable chapters that touch on situations involving his homosexuality, his willingness to expose himself, and, I suppose his willingness to expose his loved ones, give his writing an important and appreciated perspective. It's so enjoyably honest! I mean, he writes about going through the Anne Frank House while simultaneous apartment hunting and wanting to live there because it's "cute." Totally irreverent. But when he talks about ripping out the wood stove so that the fireplace would be the focal point and thinking the attic, with its charming dormer windows, could be his office...it ends up being really funny.

The best chapter for me was called Six To Eight Black Men when he describes in laugh-out-loud detail the Christmas traditions in the Netherlands. Of course he begins the chapter by pointing out some of the more unusual local gun laws in various states of the USA, mentioning as an interesting fact that in Michigan - blind people are allowed to hunt...alone. As the chapter nears its end, and you wonder what the two stories have to do with each other, he finishes by sharing his thoughts while sitting in a Dutch train station. "I couldn't help but feel second-rate. Yes, the Netherlands was a small country, but it had six to eight black men and a really good bedtime story. Being a fairly competitive person, I felt jealous, then bitter. I was edging toward hostile when I remembered the blind hunter tramping off alone into the Michigan forest. He may bag a deer, or he may happily shoot a camper in the stomach. He may find his way back to the car, or he may wander around for a week or two before stumbling through your back door. We don't know for sure, but in pinning that license to his chest, he inspires the sort of narrative that ultimately makes me proud to be an American."

Funny, funny stuff.

God Wants A Powerful People

I've always considered myself a Sheri Dew fan. Loved her biography of President Gordan B. Hinckley. Her book, No Doubt About It, is truly one of my favorites. I love her strength. I love her leadership. I love her honesty.

However, I did not love this book. It seems beyond sacrilege to not love a church book, especially one with such a message, although I do admit to loving many parts of it. Her masterful references to scriptures, appropriate analogies to really drive a point home and self-deprication are spot on, as usual.

But, there is a judgmental tone throughout the book that left a slight unpleasant feeling afterwards. For instance, there is a part of the book where she is talking about our power and being powerful (I know...shocker) and mentions a young adult (or young woman. I can't quite remember) coming up to her after her talk to thank her for her message and how touched and motivated she was. All Sheri Dew seemed to notice was how the girl was dressed. Apparently, her dress standards weren't as stringent as a 50 year old woman and I felt sad that she pointed it out in her book. It made her story...less. Yes, bring up modesty and all of its power, but don't do it that way. Judging someone without their knowledge is never fair. I just didn't like it.

There are a few more instances, one involving overhearing other women at her workplace (which, I assume, is Deseret Book) discussing an Oprah show and her interrupting the conversation by quizzing them on how it compared to a certain General Authority's talk on the subject matter. Of course, they didn't know, or couldn't remember and she admits feeling disgusted and disappointed with these women for not knowing. Perhaps it's the knowledge that I also could never live up to her personal standards that has me feeling judged and combative, but there is a slight tinge of rancor throughout the entire book. It isn't solely uplifting, or encouraging. At least, not without pulling some others down along the way.

Lastly, she refers many times to some extremely difficult circumstances in her personal life. It's always vague and always...unhelpful. I feel like, if you're going to use something as an example, explain it. Don't dance around it. And if you don't want to share, don't. Only sort of, kind of, hinting of your problems isn't really sharing them.

Obviously, there is much good stuff. I probably should have focused on that in my review, but sadly, the power of the book was weakened considerably by my inability to get past the negative and her inability to solely focus on the positive

Look Me In The Eye

In a day when a cure is expected for nearly every ailment, flaw or disorder, I was struck by John Elder Robinson's assertion that those with Asperger's Syndrome, a neurobiological disorder on the autism spectrum that the author lived with undiagnosed until he was forty, needs no cure - only understanding.

Robinson starts his story with his earliest memories -a failed attempt to make friends in a sandbox - and meanders through his shame at being called a deviant and a psychopath because he avoided eye contact (although his explanation about how he still doesn't understand most people's need to stare at somebody's eyeball while speaking to them is hilarious), leaving home in the middle of his teenage years, finding himself as part of the 70s rock scene and creating flaming guitars for KISS, faking his way through a job interview for a position as an engineer and getting it by reading and memorizing books about the subject, his parallel struggle to "be a team player" through out his career, until he finally arrives at understanding and acceptance for both his gifts and oddities.

Although this book contains many fascinating stories that stem from his dysfunctional childhood rather than his Asperger's Syndrome, Robinson's experiences and viewpoint sheds a great deal of light on an "Aspergian's" way of thinking. I have a nephew who has been diagnosed with Asperger's and a brother and sister-in-law who constantly seek balance between his way of seeing things and their own understanding. I found myself asking my sister-in-law the question, "Do you think he needs a cure?" Who is to say? Robinson made clear in his book that while he has learned a great deal about appropriate social responses through trial and error, he still finds them unnatural and really, more to the point, unnecessary. What is normal? How much of life's successes are social? What parts of our own personalities should be fixed? I mean, I can't imagine an enjoyable existence where we are all the same.

But, if Asperger's Syndrome falls on the Autism Spectrum, and we observe those with the kinds of autism that render them completely unable to connect to the outside world, certainly we feel they miss out on opportunities for relationships and meaningful experiences. Certainly we would choose a cure, if there was one to be found. So at what point of the spectrum do we intercede?

These are simply the questions that I had after reading this book. You may or may not have similar kinds. However, if you get a chance to read this illuminating book, you will definitely have a glimpse into a colorful and fascinating life.

If Life Is A Bowl Of Cherries, What Am I Doing In The Pits?

I think I want to be Erma Bombeck. I can't believe she didn't start writing until she was 37. I loved her opinions about motherhood and amusing antidotes about being a woman.

While some chapters of this book are outdated, like the chapter devoted to game shows (very 70s), some are timeless and supplied me with funny fuel for some of my longer days.

The Simeon Solution

This book had two strikes against it before I even started to read it. First, my husband brought it home from the library and told me, "You should read this." The author is a radiologist he works with whose name I have heard and seen on his many radiology textbooks. Unfortunately, we have rather different tastes when it comes to book choices and both of us have been burned by this seemingly harmless advice. When I read its description on the inside jacket, my inner ump cried, Strike Two! It's a non-fiction, inspirational church book.

Why that's a strike, I have no idea. I only know I have a hard time getting through books like this. They invariably seem redundant and turn into a really long relief society lesson in my mind. Always a good message, but rarely anything I haven't heard before, or even thought of before. Yes, it's always good to have reminders, but when it comes to reading, I'm usually in too much of a hurry to trudge through a message book. I know. I have a serious failing here.

This book was in no danger of striking out, however, after I read the first two pages of the introduction. Anne Osborn Poelman's voice is clear, intelligent, interesting, funny and honest. I was completely drawn into her story and finished this short book within a couple of hours. Very, very enjoyable. Oh...I'll just add one more very. Very!

While this book was published 13 years ago, I wish it were more well known amid reading circles today. How applicable this book is to my generation! Or to any church member of any age. The thing I admired most about it was the fact that a highly intelligent professional woman didn't intellectualize her faith. In fact, she explains incredibly reasonably how she lives by an almost opposite principle, which she calls The Simeon Solution. Simeon was a High Priest briefly mentioned in the New Testament who had been promised by the Holy Ghost that he would meet the Messiah. Much later in life, he is prompted to go to the temple and sees Joseph and Mary there with the Christ child, knows that the promise was fulfilled. (Luke 2:29-32) By this time, he was very old, and must have lived an entire lifetime on that brief bit of knowledge or inspiration he had earlier in life. How easy it would have been to doubt his faith after years and years of waiting. Most of his peers did. Many ridiculed anyone who believed in something that they certainly did not know "for sure" would ever happen - the coming of a Messiah. But Simeon remembered the promise he had from the Lord, and recognized its fulfillment. Similarly, Anne Osborn Poelman realized her faith was much like Simeon's. During a lively discussion of faith at a dinner party, questions were directed to her wondering how she justified being a member of a sexist faith that "withholds" the priesthood from women. Her answer, with support from another guest at the party who helped explain how she felt into a concrete idea, is the basis of the book. So simple, yet so easy to dismiss. It's about having a testimony that the Lord fulfills his promises.

Osborn Poelman uses her own conversion, which happened DURING medical school, and her later trials that came with being a new member, a single sister, a world famous radiologist, and a married-later-in-life to a general authority woman. I don't think this book will disappoint anyone. It's perfect for those who are looking for more than a pat on the back but simple and clear enough for those who are looking for encouragement in an increasingly intellectual literary crowd.

A Long Way Gone: Memoirs Of A Boy Soldier

Heartbreaking. I can't believe people have life experiences like Ishmael Beah. Ishmael, a 27 year-old refugee from Sierra Leone now living in New York City, left his home with his brother and some friends to practice a new rap routine in a neighboring village. He was twelve years old. He never saw his home or his parents again. Rebel forces attacked his village, killing most, and causing the rest to flee.

Without a home to return to, he and his peers managed to spend several months wandering from village to village but eventually, as they were old enough to be mistaken as soldiers themselves, they became objects of fear. Left starving and hiding in the forests, Ishmael and his group were eventually captured and forced to become soldiers.

A boy whose favorite thing was to perform rap songs for people was suddenly cutting throats and shooting anyone that moved. He became a drug addict, as higher ups encouraged the boys to swallow white capsules and sniff cocaine to "give them more energy".

Years later, he was fortunate to be chosen by his lieutenant and UNICEF workers and was enrolled in a rehabilitation unit. It took him eight months to fight the drugs out of his system and to turn into a child again. His agony and nightmares about what he had done are intense. He was only fifteen years old.

When the fighting moved from the villages into the city, Ishamel knew that he could not become a soldier again. Earlier in the year, after he had completed his rehabilitation, he traveled to New York to represent UNICEF and the youth in Sierre Leone at the UN. From this experience, he contacted one of the women he had met in New York to ask if she would be willing to allow him to stay with her if he could get out of his country. Amazingly, he managed, got to New York and has since graduated from the UN's International School and graduated from a university.

What amazes me when I read books like this, because I don't really enjoy them, is how deplorable certain areas of our world really are. We are often told of the blessings we enjoy from living where we live: freedom, prosperity, security. We worry about losing zero percent interest for credit cards and avoiding trans fat, while other people in the world literally watch their best friends get blown up. Certainly our problems and worries are real, but when put into perspective, they are molehills compared to mountains.

I'm grateful this boy got another chance. I'm horrified that most do not.

The Life Of Our Lord

A very quick read (I read it in less than an hour last night), this contains a personal narrative of the life of Jesus Christ given by Charles Dickens to his children. The language is informal and written so that his children could follow and understand.

While there is nothing contained within the pages that those familiar with the Bible haven't already heard, to read it so condensed, so casually and with such love is refreshing. This isn't a history lesson, nor is it a sermon. It is simply the testimony of an important author about the man he knew was his Lord.

You'll hear no complaints from me.

The Parent's Guide to Speech and Language Problems

This is so not my style of book. That being said, it was important for me to read. I had eureka moments as I read about different diagnoses. Laugh out loud moments as I read about complementary therapies (fish oil and horseback riding) and inspiring moments as I got some really good advice for things I can be doing at home with Henry.

As I am just at the very start of this journey, and not entirely sure if it's going to be a 20 mile jaunt across town or an around-the-world odyssey, I didn't absorb this book with the desperation that perhaps a parent of an older, or more severely disable child might have. But, I believe it lays a good foundation for me as I meet with a therapist next week; knowing which questions to ask and understanding the jargon and code a little better.

And, for the record, I'm not anti complementary therapy. I just wasn't expecting the advice that, perhaps, Henry might improve upon riding a horse. That was, most definitely, new information.

My Thirteenth Winter

This book was a complete surprise for me. A few weeks ago, my mother sent me an email which included a beautiful quote from this book. It was about being a writer, and my mother was paying a compliment to me in regards to my dedication to blogging. Interested in reading the book where the quote came from, I found myself reading about a very bright girl whose world collapsed around her as she struggled through her elementary school years with an undiagnosed learning disability.

Samantha Abeel was a bright, precocious and highly confident young child. Her memories of Kindergarten and first grade are of being in the top of her class and proudly so. She knew she was known as one of the smart kids and did her best to live up to her reputation, even as she inwardly began to realize that sometimes, particularly during math time, she had to fake it.

As her school years progressed, and she couldn't keep up with her peers in math, and she couldn't admit that she had no idea how to tell time, she turned inward in humiliation and depression, while secretly praying that the difference was merely because she was special and wise, and not at all slow.

After many unfortunate delays and misdiagnoses, Abeel was finally diagnosed with a math and sequencing learning disability known as dyscalculia. Throughout her schooling, Abeel realized that although she couldn't understand the rules of grammar and had a hard time spelling, she had a gift for words and poetry and channeled her gift into a skill of writing. As a ninth grader, she, with help from several teachers and artists, published a book whose name was later changed to Reach For the Moon. While it gave her confidence and success, she still drifted into social isolation and depression throughout high school and later, college.

Reading about her change, her isolation and fear, made my heart pound as I thought about the possibility of any of my own children suffering in this way. Particularly Henry, as we continue to worry about whether or not his speech will come or if it will be a continual battle for him throughout his life.

The faults I have with this book lies in its slow, repetitive pace. As the story begins with her memories as a kindergartener and ends with her graduating from college, it's got more than enough "space" for her memoir, the sort of book usually reserved for a later time in life. Additionally, Abeel frequently transitions the style of writing from autobiography to memoir, which sometimes works but often times feels incredibly jarring. It's like she's a narrator to her own memories, but without first giving a warning to the reader to "fade to screen".

Aside from that, I think this would be a valuable and worthwhile book to discuss. From our current education model to the causes of depression and its treatment, I think many women, mothers and friends could relate to its material. I also think it would be a good book to recommend for older children with learning disabilities or their peers.

And, now, for the quote that started it all, which is actually quite relevant to her own story, but also a beautiful passage for anyone who enjoys writing.

For an admissions essay to Mount Holyoke College, she writes:

Sometimes on winter mornings, I try to see myself in gathered wrinkles, my dark hair forsaking me to silver. I try to see my hands traced by blue veins and my eyes in vintage brown. I try to see myself a little bent, a little withered. I close my eyes and see me all in white, all in gray, draped in the webs of age.

Oh, I will ache a little and have one of those chronic coughs. I will sit in my chair and pull at curtains that reveal a window etched with white doves of frost. Then, maybe just then, I will know what I was and who I am. I will know all that I took and all that I gave.

It is here that I want to be a messenger, a courier of everything I've gathered. I want to tell my grandchildren of the games my friends and I would play. I want to pass on the legends that creep around us. I want to tell them of the sand dunes and of the lakes. I want to tell them of the many ghosts that look fondly upon them. I want to say that I have made a difference. I want to give them the world through my eyes.

However, for now, my center, my sense of self, my purpose is yet unclear to me. I see it like one sees a fish in a river, only silvery flashes of fin and tail. Never seeing all of it at once. The journey to discover these things lies ahead. When I am in the November of my life maybe then I will understand my June. I do know that I want desperately to understand what I don't, and give the understanding of what I do to others.

Perhaps one day, after I have sunken into the shadows, my granddaughter will read one of my poems to her daughter, or show her a book that I collected, maybe even pass on one of the stories that I told. Then, there in that moment, is all that we can ever hope to be. That one little niche in time, when what we gave, or passed on, is given again.

I could never say it quite so well, but this is what I hope too.

The Book Of Mormon

My mother has told me for years that I should try reading the Book of Mormon like I do novels - straight through and quickly. I always thought, "Yes, yes...that would be great." but never really thought much more about it. After all, I'm not involved with a Young Men/Young Women super overnighter group read, or a convert from the 1800s reading by candlelight in a haybarn.

When Calamity Jane posted her goal and experience, I was reminded again of this idea - to consume the Book of Mormon like a book. I never, ever, ever take a year to read a book. Ever. I don't even take a month. I read it in a timely manner or I don't read it at all. Which is why I've never looked at scriptures as "books". I wish I could say I was a regular reader of them, but the truth is, I'm not. I go in spurts and have never really developed a daily habit of reading.

I began reading at around 11:00 am on Monday morning. I had just come back from the gym and was feeling very goal-oriented. I posted a blog post and, afterwards, sat in my blue, leather Lazy-Boy recliner in the living room, opened a replica copy of the first edition Book of Mormon (which makes for much, much easier speed reading as it is in the traditional block paragraph format) and read "I, Nephi". Familiarity hit me and my body physically resisted. Almost immediately, I was tired. I read maybe twenty pages and fell asleep. Asleep asleep, not just shutting my eyes.

First of all, I don't nap. I'm not a good napper (I wake up more grouchy than ever) and I need dark and quiet, two things I'm not prone to find in the middle of the day. Moreover, reading doesn't make me sleepy. Usually. Unless, of course, the paragraph begins with, "I, Nephi."

After my first pathetic attempt failed miserably, I decided to pull out the guns. I filled the bathtub with hot water and got a Diet Dr. Pepper from the fridge to keep me company. I really do some of my best reading in the bathtub. While this format is usually reserved for my evening solitude when no food demands or poopy diaper can disturb my soak, I recognized the need for an earlier intervention.

"What are your kids doing?" you might be asking. Coming in and out of my bedroom, but playing together handsomely and, overall, doing quite well. My parenting style of benign neglect came in quite handy for this current project.

The bathtub proved worse than the comfy reclining chair and I found myself dozing again! I was only forty pages into the book and my goal of a hundred pages per day seemed insurmountable. I felt like I'd already been reading, or trying to read, for the better part of the day and I hadn't made the kind of progress I anticipated making. I got out, got dressed and changed gears by talking to a few people on the phone. Later, I tried again and forcibly made myself read one-hundred pages. It wasn't enjoyable, or uplifting, and I found myself annoyed with Nephi and his goody-goodness. I get Laman and Lemuel's grievance. He sort of bugs.

I went about the rest of my day, picking Seth up from school, tidying up the more noticeable disasters in the house, and making dinner. After dinner, I noticed my sad little pedometer on my hip and it displayed a measly 2,500 steps for the day. A lofty reading goal doesn't jive well with being more active. With a sigh, I asked Jay if he minded if I went to the gym to walk on the treadmill for a while to get my steps in. He turned into Jillian- the-trainer and sent me off, telling me "No excuses." and I found myself in the very rare situation of being at a gym in the evening hours.

Thinking if I got ahead, maybe I would have a better experience the next day, I started walking at 3.8 mph and turned to page 101. I don't know what made the difference, but my entire experience changed from this point on. The book energized my walking or the walking energized my reading because sixty minutes and three and a half miles later, I was sixty more pages into the book and wishing I didn't have to stop. I went home, crawled into bed and read sixty more. I got my first glimpse of what would become obvious two days later, that like like any good book, this book was centered on conflict. I don't think I'd really known that before. Or at least I thought there was more of a balance between the good times and the bad. But there really isn't. It's mostly about the bad times.

The next two days were spent reading whenever possible. I made good use of my new gym membership and spent over an hour each day walking briskly while reading. I found my best reading to be done while walking. It was the only time I averaged a page a minute. If the day care would have allowed it, I might have spent all day there - walking and reading. I read in the car while I was waiting for Seth. I read while I ate. I read in bed before falling asleep. I just keep reading. I knew I could finish in three days and changed my goal to just that. I finished last night at 11:43 pm.

While certainly not comprehensive, here are some of my observations:

• Nephi is hard for the proud to like. If this sounds sacrilege, and you've never had this thought before, congratulations...you're probably not proud. But, pride is something I struggle with so his, "Why can't you all just be more like me?" attitude can be a stumbling block. But the thing to remember is, he was called of God, and although his personality might make me less wont to invite him to a party, his righteousness is absolute. And, ultimately, those who are called to be our leaders are meant to be followed. This means that the relief society president, who drives me batty (not my current one), still has the mantle of leadership, and it is my responsibility to adjust my pride so that I can learn the gospel. Laman and Lemuel, while probably slightly justified in finding their younger brother too much to take, allowed their pride to turn to sin, which resulted in the loss of the spirit. And thus, the second promise of the Lord is fulfilled, that "inasmuch as ye will not keep my commandments ye shall be cut off from my presence. They didn't and they were.
  
• the word "durst" is used quite frequently.
• The lineage of authorship foreshadows the later-day church established by Joseph Smith. Nephi gives the small plates to his brother, Jacob, not to any of his own children. Sort of similar to how Hyrum's children were later leaders for the LDS church but not Joseph's own. I found that interesting. I wonder if there was an ancient RLDS church out there.
• The allegory of the Lord in the Vineyard found in Jacob is profound and deeply relevant to our day.
• There were some slackers that were handed the plates.
  
• Race does not matter. The line between Nephite and Lamanite was so blurred throughout their history that it wasn't a matter of race. The distinction was between those who were lived the commandments of God and those who ignored them. The Nephites who turned "bad" were the worst of all. Those were some scary dudes.
  
• I've often wondered why there are so many details of the wars. I'm sure there are multiple and deeper reasons, but I'm leaning towards Mormon just being really interested in it. After all, he was in charge of the entire Nephite army when he was only 16. I can imagine him looking through all the old plates and scrolls and loving all the details Captain Moroni, Teancum, Helaman and Moronihah left. It's a manly book. If only their wives could have been bloggers.
• Sadly, the history is dictated by which war was in what year. I don't think their history differed from that of any other civilization. We mark time by our skirmishes and conquests. The peace and love that existed while Christ visited, and the effect his visit had for generations to come, stands in stark contrast.
• The sacrament is sacred. Jay and I had a discussion a couple of weeks ago where he pointed out that taking the sacrament is symbolic of partaking of the tree of life. After reading Christ's words to his disciples, I absolutely agree. I think we endanger our spirits when we partake unworthily or even absentmindedly.
  
• It truly matters who our leaders are. I found this discovery extremely apropos with the current change in leadership of this church, as well as the leadership of our country. It takes a wise, humble, and righteous person to effectively lead his people in peace and prosperity whereas a corrupt leader inevitably leads those who follow to destruction. Every time.
  
• Being rich isn't the point of being prosperous. I think a great stewardship comes with becoming rich. It's almost a test to see how you handle it. I've been feeling covetous lately for a large home. You see these monster homes being built everywhere around here and it's gotten into my head that I must have one. Nothing less than 5,000 square feet will do! It's pretty clear throughout the book that those the Lord blesses with prosperity doesn't entitle them to get caught up with their money and belongings. The outcome is never good when this happens. So, I'm going to nip this feeling in the bud and hopefully do it before the riches come. (by the way, I don't think having a 5,000 square foot house is bad. But coveting one before you need it or can afford it certainly is).
  
• Moroni was totally improvising at the end. He didn't know when he'd die so he just kept adding stuff at the end. And there is some really good stuff at the end!
• The moral of the story seems to be repentance. The theme throughout is "keep my commandments and you will prosper in the land." but as no one does that perfectly, except my good friend Nephi (who, really I'm just envious of because he never seems to stumble...and who doesn't stumble???) the only way to do it is to repent...continually.
  

The best part of this experience has been today. There is a certain famous verse, although when I read it, it wasn't a verse but merely part of the second to last page, where Moroni challenges the reader to pray with a sincere heart to discover the truth of the book. My greatest fear while reading was that I would feel exactly the same afterwards. I wanted to feel more, and an inner voice sounded off a worry about what I'd think if I didn't.

There were times I felt more. When Enos prayed, I felt power and love for that man.

I was again moved when Alma and the sons of Mosiah meet up again after more than a decade of missionary work and when Captain Moroni rides around with his Title of Liberty (although I really had to work hard to shake off a Mel Gibson with facepaint image I had in my head).

There was definitely a feeling of more when Christ blessed the little children. It is such a tender moment in time.

I didn't know if I'd get the burning bosom. I wanted it, but knew I couldn't force it so I decided to fast the entire day and made arrangements with my sister, Maureen, to have her watch Sam and Henry while I went to the temple. It was while I was driving to her high school to drop them off, and after I switched the CD playing from a So You Think You Can Dance mix to a Mormon Tabernacle Choir recording (I knew no burning would come from listening to Timbaland) that it came. Peace like a River started to play while I was going through the drive through at Carl's Jr. to get lunch for my boys and the melody and words "peace like a river", " faith like a river" "hope like a river", "love like a river" and I felt overwhelmed with such a spirit of joy and love for my Savior.

That's it! That's it. There are wars, and rumors of wars, and corruption and sin and secret combinations and even total destruction. But with Christ, there is peace. And hope. And charity. The Book of Mormon boldly teaches us the commandments of God, and of His plan so that the faith, hope and peace can be felt.

This book is true. It is not written by a genius of manipulation. By their fruits ye shall know them, and this is good fruit. It testifies of Christ and because it does, it uplifts the soul.

I found this quote on my friend, Alisa's, blog. How appropriate that it comes from President Hinckley. He says, "Love is the only force that can erase the differences between people..." The Book of Mormon proves this is true. Not through regime change. Not through indoctrination. I feel like shouting out to the world, and particularly to the candidates for president who keep promising unity. It's not about the economy, stupid,...it's about love!

I've been writing for a while now, and feeling a little bit like Moroni in that I don't know how to end this. I'm really hungry, but happy that I've made it until 5:50 without succumbing to my natural man, who most definitely likes to feel full.

I've been asked if certain books I review would be appropriate for church or enrichment style book groups. This would be a good one! I actually think it'd be fun to discuss in a book group setting. Of course, there's Sunday School, which is already set up for that, but I'm not usually a participant in that arena. Either way, I give it a thumbs up....five stars....highly recommended.

Thank you, President Hinckley, for inspiring this event in my life. It changed my week from mediocre to meaningful.

Me Talk Pretty One Day

Marjorie, a girl in our Blogger Bookclub, has become known as the Devid Sedaris girl. She's an intelligent, stylish girl, so I thought I'd give him a try.

He is totally my kind of author. Not only that, I want to write like him. Funny, self-depreciating, honest and perceptive, I enjoyed (almost) this entire book.

He can be crass. There is an entire chapter I skipped because almost every other word on the page was horribly vulgar, but he was writing about his horribly vulgar brother and using a lot of quotation marks. I skipped it, and all the other chapters were delightful.

I was able to do that because this is not a novel or a biography. It's mostly essays written autobiographically. The kind of book where each chapter can have its own discussion.

Some were better than others. They can't all be home runs. But, as a whole, the book shines due to the writing. It's a pleasure to read.

Thanks Marjorie!

Under The Banner Of Heaven

Hold on to your hats, (and maybe get a seat cushion) because I've got some opinions about this one.

First of all, I'm not a frequent reader (or anytime reader) of the warped mental state of a murderer or of anti-mormon literature. I made an exception for this book. You'll see why.

While not exclusively about the murder of Brenda Lafferty and her baby daughter, Erica, the jacket's description about her murder and her murderers snagged my interest. Brenda was my first cousin and even though her murder took place when I was not quite nine years old, I remember it and was traumatized by it.

I remember driving with her and her husband, Alan, back to my Aunt's house after a family reunion activity at a park. She was gorgeous and on the way home, she told me she'd pierce my ears (a highly desired goal of mine). After she was murdered, we went to the funeral and I remember all of the police cars surrounding the stake center. Her murder was, as yet, unsolved, and the Laffertys were still on the loose. It was scary and sad and I had nightmares afterwards. Were they coming after all her relations? Even the cousins two states away?

The book is kind to Brenda. She was a young mother to 15 month old Erica, and realized fairly early on that the family she married into was not what she originally thought. I think the most tragic thing revealed is the posthumous knowledge about how unhappy she was. She left journals describing the mess around her and her desire to leave. But, she thought she could still save her marriage, and her husband from the influences of his brothers.

Her older brothers-in-law became convinced that they didn't have to pay taxes, didn't have to have driver's licenses, didn't have to work and that the LDS church had gone astray when it did away with polygamy. They started having meetings, organizing a School of Prophets and limiting the freedom of their wives, who they now believed were to be subject and subservient to them. No more access to money or driving, the wives listened to Brenda, who of all the wives of the six Lafferty brothers, was the most educated and, probably more importantly, the least exposed to their perversions. She convinced the wife of the eldest brother, Ron, to leave her husband and protect their six children as he talked about arranging for his eldest daughter, only twelve, into a polygamous marriage.

Ron's wife left, and Ron fell further into a delusional state. While doped out on marijuana and alcohol, he'd have "revelations" that he'd type into a computer and discuss with the other members of the group - mostly his brothers, but a few others as well. Eventually, he received what he called, the "removal revelation" that commanded that Brenda, Erica, the RS president who helped his wife through their divorced and the stake president that presided over his ex-communication should be killed.

While most of the group told Ron that this was a bad thing, and they would not support it, his brother Dan believed that his brother had honestly received the revelation and worked with him to accomplish it. They consecrated a knife to use. They picked the date - pioneer day, and in one of the controversies that is still not understood, discussed it in front of their mother and Brenda's husband, Alan.

Dan Lafferty, Ron's younger brother, is the worst kind of scary. Polite and nice and completely deceived, he still believes that he was commanded to kill an innocent woman and her baby and feels no remorse. He believes that he is Elijah and will be the one to foretell the second coming of Christ. He thinks he is good. He thinks he's just trying harder to be good than the rest of us.

Somehow, in his and every other story of fundamentalism that Krakauer exposed, their justification for doing evil and ignoring good is all founded on extreme and polarizing doctrines. Polygamy. Visions. Revelation. Line of succession. All legitimate things to think and worry about, but they seem to completely ignore the important things that Christ taught while on earth. Say...something like....blessed are the peacemakers. And loving our neighbors. And repentance, hope, forgiveness, charity and love. I think until we master these, the mysteries of promise of further knowledge is a long ways away.

Kraukauer argues that religion, particularly the history of the LDS religion is prone to produce extremists who do more harm than good. Much like that of Islamic fundamentalists, the religion's history is one of violence and secrecy.

I can't say he is entirely wrong. I do think there is a propensity for believers to fall into extreme behavior. However, while Krakauer believes it has something to do with the doctrine or leaders, I believe it is entirely due to opposition.

Good things - the best things - are perverted the most.

The family, a loving shelter for children to grow up protected and loved, is crumbling in every society in the world. Parent's don't have to be committed to each other, or their children, any longer and children are left exposed and expected to understand adult things way too early. Like why mommy has sleepovers. Or why I have two daddies. Adults may be free to do adult things, but adults don't live in bubbles. Our children see it. And they use our example for the basis of their own family. These are not good things. Abuse, neglect, control...all contrary to what loving mothers and fathers are expected to do.

Sex, a necessary and beautiful part of The Plan of Happiness, a way to express love, joy and commitment to a husband or wife and bring children into the world is viewed either as a dirty and ugly thing to stay away from or view with distaste, even within a loving marriage, or as a pornographic and debasing way to treat another human being. Pedophiles, fetishes, adultery...all selfish and about the individual's own pleasure. If it feels good, do it regardless of who you hurt. A complete perversion.

Religion, a means to learn about worship God. And yet, so much evil, so much harm throughout history to His children has been brought about by its name. I don't believe any evil has been done by those truly devoted to God. I really don't. It has all been done by those influenced, knowingly or not, by the great deceiver, Satan. I think those who don't believe, like Krakauer himself, find it awfully easy to find fault with faith, with religion, because they focus and magnify the imperfections of man. He translates it into an imperfect or non-existent God, which is easy for him to do. He has the proof. Look! This man murdered his sister-in-law! That is no God I believe in. Well, Jon, neither do I.

There were parts of this book I read like a Jon Stossel book. You know the guy who does those myths and consumer reports? Like Stossel, Krakauer sounds so informed, so fair and accurate that his expose seems complete and thoroughly researched until you read about something that you actual know about...perhaps even more than he and his "year" of studying. I know very little about the fundamentalist LDS offshoots who thrive in southern Utah, Colorado, Canada and Mexico. I've never been all that curious. But I know a bit about the LDS church. And in my lifetime of study, there is so much to learn about the good things, the important things, that there isn't much interest or energy for me to worry about people who think that the church went off course when it banned polygamy or allowed all worthy males to hold the priesthood.

So, like most readers I imagine, I found myself thinking, "cuckcoo!" when he described the living situation of polygamist families. But, his bias was loud and clear, and when he wrote about the history that we share....about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young and John Taylor, I knew the spirit of the book. Every single one of his sources was a dissenter or apostate...as if they had the inside track to truth. Shading, innuendo, rumors and hearsay are all given as proof and fact of corruption and deception.

While I'm not naive enough to think that the church has no black eyes in its history, I can't admire a critic who presents only one side of a story. Krakauer commits a real blunder by limiting the story of faith to people with none or an extremely warped sense of it. And he certainly didn't provide justice to my cousin's story.

Brenda Lafferty's story was a story about the LDS faith. Of goodness. Of kindness and strength in helping her neighbor. Of a willingness to stand up to evil and unholiness. Brenda Lafferty's story is the real story of a believer.

I Didn't Plan To Be A Witch

Ever since I attended the Eyre's fireside months and months ago, I've had this book on hold due to its fabulous title. Hello! This could be my life's theme!

My life really doesn't resemble the chaotic and dramatic life that parents of nine children and authors of a national best selling parenting book series have. But, that doesn't mean that I didn't take anything away from it.

Not really an advice book, per se, it's more of a "take heart - and don't sweat the small stuff" book. Which, I suppose, is good advice. I loved some of their funny stories and appreciate her willingness to keep it real. I LOVE real...especially when it comes to families. What good is there in the facade? Only discouragement and competition. None of us are perfect. But we can all be better.

At the end, she writes what I was thinking. She says, "Many of you are probably thinking, "I could have written this book." and she responds by saying, "Do it!"

And bloggers, I think we are.

The Hemingway Bookclub Of Kosovo

I didn't decide that I liked this book until the very last few pages. I thought the title was misleading as most of the book had very little to do with the author, Paula Huntley, teaching Hemingway and a lot to do with her own personal thoughts about the pollution, Kosovar's view of Americans, whether or not they had electricity that day etc.

The title comes from a name she gives a group of students she is teaching English to. She only has one Hemingway book, The Old Man and the Sea, which she copies for her entire class. Huntley mentions teaching the book briefly, but it isn't until the very end of this book, that she ties in the great Hemingway story and returns to Kosovo with t-shirts emblazoned with this logo, that I felt like this little book club really existed. It's not obvious and her writing is much more broad in scope than this one classroom experience.

In her defense, Huntley describes this book as accidental. It really is made up of her journal entries that she wrote without any intention of publishing. It wasn't until those receiving her emails initiated the book idea, and she was made an offer from a publisher, that she considered sharing her thoughts with the world. The result is a mixture of mundane, uncensored thought with truthful, personal insight.

I am ashamed to admit that I had to research online about the Kosovo/Serb/Albanian conflict. Of course, I had heard about Milosivec and his war crimes, but I didn't know how the Kosovo conflict related to Bosnia and Sarajevo and that entire region that I was more familiar with. Truthfully, it's complicated and I still don't understand the entire Balkan War. It is about ethnic cleansing and old grudges. It is hard for me to imagine, as a multi-generational American, how such intolerance and ignorance can exist in this day and age when the world is so much smaller and we have access to so much information. How can people still believe that races, or ethnicities, or religions as a whole, actually produce an inferior and worthless human being? This happened seven years ago, and they are still talking with so much generalizations! ALL Serbs, ALL Albanians, ALL Americans etc. Anytime a sentence begins with or contains an "ALL" I bristle. This kind of tragedy is what happens when we fail to see the individual spirit.

Essentially, that is what Huntley much teach these young Kosovar Albanians. That while they have been oppressed and persecuted, they must adjust their thinking. And to accomplish that change, they must have the VOCABULARY to communicate with the world without violence.

The book didn't have much to do with a Hemingway bookclub and I would have loved a more in-depth look at their discussion of the book and the parallels that Huntley ultimately draws from it, but I did end up rooting for Leonard and the Professor and her other students, which is why Huntley decided to go ahead and publish. She wanted us to know these individuals and understand the beauty of the Kosovar soul. I'm glad I got a glimpse

The Making Of Pride And Prejudice

Andrea got me this book for my birthday last year, knowing how I feel about this gem of a movie/mini-series. I've skimmed through it before, but actually sat down and read most of it last week.

I would never want to be involved in the making of movies. What a headache. I'm so glad that I was able to simply enjoy the magic they created in their adaptation of Jane Austen's beloved novel.

I enjoyed the interviews with the screen writers and actors, although, really, they are kind of full of themselves. And Jennifer Ehle...Elizabeth...is actually a blond! It's all wigs!

I still like to think of Longborn, Netherfield, Pemberly and Rosings as the homes of these great characters instead of homes all across England that fit the mold.

Read this if you like to know how period pieces are made. If not, enjoy the magic anyway!