Mormon Bloggers

photo credit: miqul

Last night, the Sutherland Institute held their quarterly blogger briefing. Guest panelists were representatives of the Republican and Democrat parties in Utah, and the audience was comprised of, well, bloggers. The topic, “Civility in Politics: Where Do We Draw the Line?”, keyed off of a recent survey showing that 71% of Utahns think that our political discourse has become less civil in the last five years.

I tend to agree with the commentary that Dave Hansen, Utah Republican Party Chairman, gave: it is likely technology that has created this observation of increased incivility. In reality, and especially compared with political intercourse from a couple decades or centuries ago, things are pretty calm; if an accusatory outburst during a presidential speech is to be considered the most outlandish of examples of incivility, then I’d say we’re doing fairly well. But in a world of social media and rapid-fire commentary, every foible is potentially on public display and able to be transmitted to the masses within seconds. Overall we are a civil people, even though in individual cases there are plenty of instances of one’s failure to show respect and decency.

As I’ve thought about this topic in the past few days, I think that a significant issue is being altogether ignored in this discussion. Yes, sometimes our conversations can become heated and direct—wholly uncivil, even. (Myself and commenters on this blog are no exception, especially with the issues I bring up for discussion!) But I believe that it’s also important to focus on the need to separate people from issues.

Example: Persons A and B are friends. A’s mother is on medicare and food stamps, and B opposes these and all other social welfare programs administered by the government. If B knows about A’s mother, it’s likely that he would not bring up these subjects in their conversation. After all, more often than not A will look favorably towards these programs, since his mother is benefiting from them.

Imagine, then, that A decides for whatever reason to discuss the subject of social welfare programs with B. Assuming B does not know about A’s mother, he is likely to offend his friend when discussing his desire to see such programs abolished outright. A is likely, then, to be defensive from the outset, feeling that B must be cruel and inhumane; after all, does he want A’s mother to be destitute and impoverished?

Other examples abound, all stemming from the inability we seem to have in separating an issue from a person. When people embrace an issue they hold dear, it seems that they will react poorly to any critique or objection to that issue—for them, it’s personal. Of course, some people capitalize on this emotional connection people are so prone to make, and thus further complicate the situation for those trying to articulate logical opposition to the underlying issue.

Still worse, some people become offended by any counterpoint offered to their opinion, whether or not they feel some affinity for the subject matter being discussed. Any response arguing against their ideas is considered a personal attack and unwelcome. These people might in some cases be classified as being in perpetual ignorance, the recipe for which Elbert Hubbart once wrote is to “be satisfied with your opinions and content with your knowledge.” Fewer things stifle a productive discussion more than somebody who wrongly takes offense.

Clearly, these qualifiers do not absolve us of the responsibility to convey our thoughts with respect for the other person. I believe that there are some times where circumstances might call for a prompt verbal protest (which is often interpreted as being uncivil), but this would be an exception, and not the rule. The affairs of our day certainly invite negativity, criticism, and contention; one need only read through the comments on any popular online forum where relative anonymity is allowed to see this on full and lurid display. Our obligation is to seek the higher road: to show respect, to affirm the worth of other’s opinions, to reason together, and to think of how what we will say might be received before hitting the submit button. I, as much as anybody, have room for improvement in this regard.

Like trust, respect is often and more easily received when it is first offered. Those who primarily and consistently leave negative or critical commentary are likely to be subject to the same tone they themselves are using. These individuals, of course, are the thorn in the side of all who wish to show civility. It’s easy to be nice to your friend, but few have the moral character to be nice to their enemies as well.

In a world of incivility facilitated by anonymity, our common challenge is to rise above the steady stream of squabbles and contribute to a well-meaning, productive, and civil discussion regarding the important issues of our day.

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• Inertia vs. Incentive—The Goverment Conundrum

A loved one of mine recently had to contact the family and let them know she is suffering from postpartum depression so she can get some support.  I am proud of her, but she feels like a failure that she couldn’t do it on her own and horrible for the thoughts that have crossed her mind, especially after everything they went through to have this baby.

I talked to a good friend of mine yesterday and she said after her seven years of infertility and finally being given the gift of a daughter, she felt like an evil person when she became resentful about the lack of sleep.  She is a really patient person, very nurturing, kind, loving, etc., and it really can happen to anyone.  She didn’t know what it was really like taking care of a newborn baby.  She thought they would mostly sleep and was not counting on sleep deprivation.

Another friend I talked to said she learned after going through it three times to lower her expectations by a lot and I think that’s where my loved one’s feelings stem from.  She wants to do every perfectly and will even apologize for how her hair looks when I go over there.  I have certainly seen her hair much worse than that and she just had a baby! 

I definitely had difficult times after my children were born, but I don’t know if I would call it postpartum depression.  It was certainly a time of deep reflection about how I would be the next generation to get old, that my parents would pass away before long, but my doctor said that was normal.  I wasn’t expecting it through.  I was expecting nothing but happiness about my bundle of joy.  And at times I did feel anger, but I wasn’t angry at my babies.  I was angry that I didn’t know how to help them when they were crying for hours on end.

I think it’s a lot more common than women think to have negative feelings towards their babies, which is a thing they feel ashamed about.  I’m glad to see that more people are being open about those feelings so new moms going through it won’t feel like horrible mothers.

Becoming a mom has to be the toughest transition there is.  It’s also the most rewarding, but it comes with many changes that are hard to handle.  I wish every woman had the support she needed to survive the first few months with greater ease.

From what I’ve been able to read in the news and hear from friends, the death toll in the Samoan islands has reached at least 100 with a high chance that it will continue to increase as rescuers pick through the wreckage left by the tsunami that hit yesterday morning.

Now that the tsunami has come and gone, we begin the massive relief and rebuilding efforts in Samoa and American Samoa. Islands in both polities have suffered devastating losses of life and property, but many people and organizations, both on and off the islands, have already mobilized to administer relief to the Samoans.

A friend of mine, Sam Denton, said he “called the [LDS Church] headquarters and they were able to tell me that all missionaries are accounted for and OK. I also spoke with the emergency response division of the church. They advised they of course are already working on the ground in Samoa to start relief efforts. Their advise at this time was to give to the humanitarian efforts fund or donate in kind donations to Deseret [Industries].”

An official report from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints confirms that the Mormon missionaries in Samoa have all been accounted for, but “two local sister missionaries from the Tonga Nuku’alofa Mission serving on the Tongan island of Niuatoputapu, which borders Samoa,” are currently missing.

Your prayers and money or in-kind donations are much appreciated. I know that this is a tough time economically for many of us. But think, if you have food and shelter, that is more than many Samoans have at this time.

One easy way to free up some funds is to fast, or abstain from food, for one or two meals and then donate at least the value of the food you would have eaten. The prophet Isaiah said that a true fast is not for the purpose of self-torment, but to administer to the relief of those who need it. He also promised that God would bless those who fasted in this manner. (See Isaiah 58:1-12)

Jesus Christ also taught, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (See Matthew 25:31-46) Another ancient prophet reminds us that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (See Mosiah 2:17)

For the Samoans, this tsunami is as 9/11 or Katrina were to Americans. Our hearts go out to them. Our prayers ascend to heaven for them. But as faith is an action more than it is a mere passive belief or profession, we will administer to the Samoan people of our substance.

(All photos were taken in American Samoa. Photo Credits: Phil Murphy)

“Get a job!”

Although he had heard the judgmental charge before, Mark winced as the shiny sports-car grumbled around the corner and sped down the street. The muggy afternoon pressed heavily on the hand-written cardboard sign—his strength waned, and he let his arm fall to his side, fingers still clutching the tattered brown square. Passing vehicles caused the flimsy sign to flap against his knee.

“I had a job,” he whispered.

The traffic light above him glowed yellow, then red. A wave of air pushed up by braking cars and trucks ruffled the hairs of Mark’s scruffy chin. Heat rising off the hood of the nearest car drifted over him, threatening to choke every ounce of energy from his body. The driver avoided making eye contact, pretending to look at something in the rear-view mirror.

Mark let his gaze drift across the sea of idling vehicles and found disinterested expressions behind every steering wheel. The familiarity of the sight made no impression on him. Stepping back to get some relief from the hot asphalt at the edge of the curb, he stood on a worn patch of grass bordering the sidewalk, his heels thanking him for softer ground.

When the light turned green and the cars went their various ways, exhaust fumes cleared from his sinuses only to be replaced by the scent of his own body. It had been several days since he had been able to use a truck stop shower. Hopefully tonight, he thought.

Mark’s stomach rumbled. Food first, shower second. He shoved his free hand into a pocket and fingered the two bills. A five and a one, he recalled. Sighing, he lifted his cardboard message higher.

A fresh batch of vehicles had filled the temporary parking lot—models, makes, sizes, and colors all different than before, but the general scene more of the same. Three cars back and next to the sidewalk, a middle-aged man with a bulging belly squeezed out of his seat, stepped onto the concrete, and glared over his shoulder at the woman riding with him. Bent down to peer out the windshield, she impatiently waved him forward. Approaching Mark, he snarled, “Best not buy any booze wit’ it.”

Without even looking at the money, Mark managed to say, “Thank you,” then stuffed the bills into his pocket. It felt like a couple of ones. The man lumbered back to his car and slammed the door just as the light turned.

Job? Booze? It’s because of booze that I don’t have a job! Angry, Mark barely turned his head as the sedan left. He closed his eyes, refusing to remember. But the memories wouldn’t leave. In his mind’s eye he could see his office and the massive cherry-wood desk where he would always sit. He remembered the stacks of folders, the brass lamp, and the expensive fountain pen he had gotten as a gift in celebration of his MBA.

He remembered sobbing at that desk. That is where he had gotten the news: The driver fled from the scene, and the car he was driving—stolen. Alcohol was found on the floorboard. Julie and his precious little Madison—gone. The responding firefighters did all they could.

Holding a picture of his family, Mark cried many times at that desk in following days. Prescribed medication didn’t help. Although he took time off, whenever he returned to the office he sat in a stupor for hours at a time. At first the company was sympathetic, but days dragged into weeks. They finally let him go. Five months later, he lost everything.

Anger burned hot in Mark’s chest as he thought about the alcohol which ruined his life. He had been a casual drinker himself before the accident. Never. Never again, he thought.

Fighting off images of his wife, he returned to his self-imposed task and tried to endure. Honking. Noxious fumes mixing in the humid September air. Uncounted vehicles carrying indifferent people. Although he didn’t have a watch, Mark guessed it must be nearing the end of rush hour. If he wanted to get dinner and make it down to the shelter before dark, he would have to leave soon. Uncharacteristically hot for the time of year, the day had been miserable. But clouds were gathering, and he could feel a front moving in which would cool things off. That would mean cold, wet nights. Sleeping on the ground would not be pleasant.

Debating if he should leave right then, he looked up to see another car door open. It was a small green compact, fairly new, but an inexpensive model. A woman in the passenger seat looked on with interest as the driver stepped out of the vehicle. He walked towards Mark, a kind expression on his face. The man made eye contact every step of the way. With only a smile, the man pressed a bill into Mark’s hand, squeezing it firmly. Then he turned away.

Startled by the compassionate gesture, Mark blurted out a phrase he had heard other homeless people say, “God bless you!” The words fell from his lips awkwardly, but as he heard them, he believed the message. Yes, God has blessed that man, Mark thought. As the car pulled away, Mark waved.

He looked down at the money. It was a ten. He looked up again, but the car was gone. Reflecting on the brief meeting, he marveled at the contrast between the last three encounters he had experienced. Then he realized—the money didn’t matter. The kindness of one person had made his day. But I am still grateful for the gift! he thought. Now he would get dinner and a shower.

Almost giddy at the prospect of it, he folded up his worn-out sign, shoved it into his dusty back pocket, and crossed the street. As he walked, thunder sounded in the distance. A breeze kicked up, and tiny droplets started to speckle the sidewalk. But Mark didn’t care. His goal now in sight, he hastened into the fast food restaurant, breathing in the inviting smells of a hot meal.

Thankfully, the restaurant had only one other patron ordering. And most of the seats were empty. He pulled all of his cash from his pocket, making sure the cashier saw he had the money to pay. To avoid offending the other patron, Mark kept his distance. When he ordered, he stood back against the rail. Once his tray had been filled, he found a table near the back and faced the window.

Every bite of his sandwich was heaven. Having a front-row seat to see the weather developing made it all the more enjoyable. Mark loved the rain. By the time his tray held nothing but wrappers, huge drops pelted the ground outside. He sipped on his drink, content to watch the storm. After a fifteen-minute downpour, the rain changed from a fierce deluge to a gentle soaking. It appeared by the looks of the sky that the rain would continue for a while. Knowing he would have to walk without an umbrella, Mark lingered at the table.

A young mother nearly stumbled through the entrance as she shepherded her boy out of the rain. She tapped her hair with an open hand to dislodge the droplets clinging to the top of her corn-rows, while keeping her other hand on the boy’s shoulder. Before they could even approach the counter, a cashier called to her. Mark watched them, grateful he had missed the drenching.

“May I help you?”

“Mommy, can I get fries?” the boy said, his voice plaintive.

The woman ignored the boy and started to fumble through her purse. Mark took another sip of his drink. The boy wandered over to the counter, just shorter than he, and gripped the edge with both hands, his chin resting on the surface.

“Mommy, can I get fries?” he said, eyes still glued to the colorful placards above him.

The straw in Mark’s cup rattled with a slurping noise. He stood and stepped across the aisle over to the soda machine, filling his cup partway with ice. Positioned on a service island, the machine allowed him to easily observe the boy and his mother without bringing attention to himself.

“Aiden,” the woman said firmly. “Come back here an’ let go of that counter.”

Reluctantly, Aiden shuffled back to his mother.

For the first time, Mark noticed what the woman was wearing. She had a silky mauve blouse, a black leather purse, and a wide copper bracelet. Earrings and makeup testified that she had either just come from work, or she had dressed up for this occasion. Her son now tugged at a corner of her blouse, just below a small stain. Mark could hear the coins jingling in her purse as she dug with one hand and transferred her findings to the other.

Single mom. May not even have a job. Mark caught himself. Suddenly embarrassed that he had passed the instant judgment, he looked down. His thumb was dirty. So were his fingers. Pressing the dispenser, he filled his cup to the top. The jangle of money still reached his ears. He popped the lid back into place on his drink, and stepped back to his seat.

Mark didn’t mean to stare. But he couldn’t help it. The woman was now counting coins which easily fit into her small hand. Her lips pressed together, she breathed in. She smiled down at the boy.
  
“Just a hamburger this time,” she said, her back straight and head high.

“Mommy,” Aiden said softly. “It’s my birt’day.”

A gut wrenching spasm went through Mark. He thought of Madison. There would be no more birthdays. His eyes misted.

Without a second thought, Mark stood, leaving his tray and garbage on the table. He shoved his hand into his pocket and found coins. There were bills too. Folding it all together, he tromped over to the woman.

Startled, she took a step back, a hand on her boy.

Mark held her eyes for only a moment, then looked down at his dirty hand. He held the money forward. “For some fries.”

She looked at the money, then at him. A tear trickled down her cheek.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

He gave a nod. The boy’s eyes were wide, fearful.

Mark stepped around them and hurried for the door, not looking back. Once outside, he lifted his eyes towards heaven, rain spilling down his face.

“Thank you for the shower.”

30 September 2009

Patricia Graham
Editor, Vancouver Sun

Dear Ms. Graham,

Re: “Blue Men, Dalai Lama, Mormons and red noses,” Douglas Todd describes Mormon theology as “conservative”. Relatively speaking, Mormon theology is far less conservative than the theology of other Christian denominations. It’s progressivism lies in the foundational belief of continuing revelation from God, as manifest in the visions and revelations to Joseph Smith and other modern-day prophets, the publication of the Book of Mormon, and the restoration of ancient Christianity. For a further look on the progressive nature of Mormon theology, see “Mormonism and the Idea of Progress” by David H. Bailey here: http://www.dhbailey.com/papers/dhb-progress.pdf

Regards,
Skyler Collins

Saturday was our 2nd annual National Alpaca Farm Day!  What a great day it was!  Julia and the girls had done a lot of work during the week to get the farm ready for the day.  During the evenings we worked on paper work, getting everything set-up, learning how to do needlefelting, etc.  This was going to be a great family event!  We all had a job to do, and we were ready to go.

We had well over 100 people arrive this year.  I would say about 50% more than last year.  There were people almost all day from 9:00 am – 4:00 pm.  We met some of our neighbors, and that was great.  Found out that there is a small farm up the road that has dairy goats.  She is going to bring by some goat cheese in exchange for some alpaca manure for her garden.  We also met a couple that has a small greenhouse business growing vegetable starts.  They are also going to come by and get some manure.  There was a couple from Charleston from out at the coast.  People from Eugene and some even farther North.  Some of our friends from church came by, and some of the girls friends from school came over.  My brother and his kids came down and Julia’s sister and her family were here and all of them helped our during the day, and we couldn’t have done it without them!

What we had for people to do:

• Learn about alpacas
• Needlefelting
• Watch the alpacas
• Watch the turkeys
• Learn about Picking Fiber
• Learn about Carding Fiber
• Learn about Spinning Fiber
• Art projects for the kids
• Quiz for the kids to take about alpacas and then they won some candy when they turned it in
• Fundraising for Cottage Grove Theater Department (we sold needlefelting kits, brownies and took donations)

There was a lot for everybody to do, and it seemed like everybody had a great time.

I had sent out press releases to all the newspapers and tv stations in the South Willamette valley.  I was told that we had an article in the Register-Guard on Friday talking about our farm.  I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m looking for it (if you have a copy, let me know )  I didn’t know if anybody would show up, or call us about NAFD but I thought I had to try and get some publicity.

At about 10:00, Jared Meyer from KMTR here in Eugene walked in to our back yard!  How exciting!  KMTR is the station we watch the most (when we stay up late enough to watch), and Jared is one of the anchors we enjoy the most (he went to BYU).  He talked to Julia for a long time, and then shot a lot of video from around the farm.

We were expecting that this would the be the last story of the night where they talk a few seconds about the animal and then show 20 seconds of video.  Well we were wrong, this was one of the top 3 lead in stories of the night!!!  They showed some video during the opening of the newscast, and then during the first segment, we were the final story.  It was a great story, and we are very happy with it.  Here is a copy of the story (thanks to Jared Meyer for sending me a copy of the video):

In the video you see Kim Sheehan (owner of Brownie and Atom) spinning.  She was spinning some of the fiber we had carded on our Big Tom carder.  Kim said that it was wonderful to spin.  It was spinning up great.  The best part is this was Alsea’s 2nds, and not even her blanket.  It was so soft, and looked great when Kim spun it!

Thanks for coming Kim! We always enjoy when you and Tim come out to the farm!!

Here are a couple of picture of the kids doing the needlefelting.  They had a great time doing this.

It was just a beautiful day for Farm Day!  It was in the 70’s and just a little bit of wind.  The alpacas enjoyed the sun, and we enjoyed all of the people that came out!  Thank you to everybody who came by.  If you couldn’t make it, let us know, and we’ll have you out for a private tour!!

It was a great day!  Looking forward to next year!

by Sue Monk KiddRated PG-13The year is 1964 and the Civil Rights Act has just been signed, but not everyone agrees that’s a good thing. Lily is a lonely teenager with a past that is a lot for a girl to carry around. Her mother died by Lily’s hand when she was 4 and her father mistreats her. The only person who seems to care about Lily is the black housekeeper, Rosaleen, who helped raise Lily

I started writing this last week, but with National Alpaca Farm Day preparations, I never got back to finish it.  So here’s the finished product!!

Our new BIG TOM carder arrived!  It is SOOOOO cool!!

We got home and this big box was on the front porch, and we knew what it was right away.  We knew it was going to arrive today.  On the box once again was a very nice thank you note from Ron at Fancy-Kitty.

We started opening the box outside to see what it was like, we couldn’t even wait to see what it was like to get it inside!!  Once again it was packaged WONDERFULLY!!

It came right out of the box all wrapped up.

Once out in the open it was beautiful.

There had been a little movement in the motors in the shipping.  One of the transformers had slipped off the other.  It was easy to slip back under the zip tie.  Other than that it was perfect.

Here are the controls.  Very easy to read and know how to use.  On/Off.  Forward/Reverse.  Slow/Fast.  That’s it.  The controls on the left control the licker-in and the controls on the right control the large drum.

Here are some final pictures of the Big Tom.  It runs like a charm!

Looking forward to using it!! (we have now!)

This post is a special gift to my bachelor readers, who might not realize that marriage–and especially marriage to Mormon maidens–is now within their financial grasp.

Like any other man, I had to show the future Mrs. Monk a glistening chunk of carbon before she would consent to marry me. For the last 150 years or so, Mormon bachelors have spent many an hour toiling away to buy the rock that would convince their girlfriends to marry them; toil no more, my brothers! Turns out that engagement rings are meant to purchase something that you don’t want to buy–and that any morally upright Mormon maid doesn’t want to sell.

Apparently engagement rings are a fairly recent invention, an insurance policy meant to decrease the likelihood that a jilted maiden would file a breach of promise lawsuit. We all know that young men are willing to lie in order to get young women to agree to have sex with them, and one of the lies that young men used (and probably still use) quite frequently involves a promise of marriage–”Of course, we’re going to get married, so it’s okay if sleep together tonight…” After convincing the object of their affections (read: lusts) to sleep with them, many of these young men reneged on their promise.

The engagement ring was intended to act as proof that a man had promised to marry a woman before deflowering her. If he canceled the engagement, he also forfeited the wedding ring, meaning that the young woman was not left empty-handed (although this legal jargon seems to indicate that men–at least in Connecticut–are now likely to recover the wedding ring if an engagement is canceled). So here’s my question: If the engagement ring was basically conceived of as an insurance policy for young women who engaged in pre-marital sex under the belief that the young men who stole their virtue would marry them, why on earth would a Mormon bachelor give–or a Mormon woman expect to receive–such a thing? If the goal is a temple wedding, then he doesn’t want to have pre-marital sex, and she doesn’t need to worry about him leaving her in the lurch.

Seems to me that Mormon bachelors need to stand up for morality and boldly explain to their girlfriends that engagement rings represent a tradition of lust and concupiscence that a temple-going people should shun. Of course, it also seems to me that any Mormon bachelor who takes my advice should have a shiny carbon backup plan in his pocket, just in case his beloved doesn’t take the news as well as one might hope. After all, as anyone who’s ever seen a DeBeers commercial knows, diamonds–like the temple–are forever (even if the engagement isn’t!).

A large earthquake hit today off the coast of American Samoa, generating a number of tsunamis which struck both American Samoan and Samoa. Deaths have been reported from both polities, as well as significant damages to villages.

In addition to praying for the people down there, we might consider making donations to organizations that are likely to get involved in the disaster relief. Here are two likely candidates:

I am amazed and humbled by a friend of mine.  A year or two ago, she was diagnosed with cancer and from the beginning, she has been such an optimist.

First of all, she acknowledged her part in it.  She developed lung cancer because of the years she spent smoking.  Her doctor said, “No, don’t do that.  Don’t blame yourself.”  She said, “It’s my responsibility.  It was the choice I made to smoke and I’m paying for it.”  Unfortunately, she is paying for the choice she made even though she decided to quit.

Second, she has had tremendous faith.  She has the faith that she will get better and she reaches out to others.  She continues to uplift those around her and doesn’t feel sorry for herself.  I’ve had an ear infection this week and I spent most of the time complaining and being angry about everything I couldn’t do because of it.  That’s just a week out of my life.  We’re talking years for her.

I have also been amazed by her self-reliance.  I know people who will use every ache and pain to suck people dry, but not her.  She actually tried to take the bus to a chemotherapy appointment instead of asking for a ride.  She doesn’t want to be a burden on anyone.  Of course, her friends love her so much and wouldn’t allow her to do that.  It is a pleasure to serve someone filled with so much gratitude.

This week I was saddened to hear that her doctors want her to go to a care facility.  Because she lives alone, it’s not safe for her to stay where she is because she is weak, can’t cook for herself anymore, and has had multiple falls.  Our ward (congregation) helped her move her stuff out this weekend and donate almost everything she couldn’t sell.  She called me because she wanted me to have all of her food.  It was such a blessing to be thought of and to have my sweet friend call me.  I brought her one small meal and she was incredibly grateful for it. 

She doesn’t see this as the end.  She sincerely believes that she will get better during her stay there and will have to find a new home.  I hope that is the case.  Of course, she is human, and she cried as she saw her things leaving the home she has loved for so many years.  I cry when I see the things she so thoughtfully gave me.

I couldn’t collect the food without looking for my good friend.  When I found out she was still there, I ran over to give her a hug and she said she would miss me.  Well, she’s not going to miss me because I’m going to visit her as much as possible!  Tears filled her eyes and she was grateful for the support from everyone. 

No matter what is happening to my friend, she is a joy to be around.  That is a trait I would like to have for myself.  Bad times can be lengthy and I don’t want to be in a bad mood for months on end.  I want to be a light to others.