No Coincidences

Tag: love

  • White Privilege

    White Privilege

    I’ve tried to think if there’s something I can write right now.  There’s nothing I can write that will change the world.  That’s desperately what I’d like to do.  Maybe I could write something that makes a tiny difference. A friend of mine who is in a better position to speak on the pain being experienced by so many said in a video that it helps when we speak up. So, I’m speaking up.

    I’ve tried to decide if there’s something I can write for my black brothers and sisters.

    Let me start there.  I’m not saying African American.  No one calls me Finnish-American.  I am American.  My brothers and sisters aren’t African American.  Few of my friends have ever been to Africa.  They’re as American as I am.

    I’m going to give a personal anecdote that taught me something. Before you read, know going in, this is not me giving a commentary about how discrimination happens to white people too or to share that we are all discriminated against. Please get to my point at the end of the story.

    One early evening a couple years ago Beth and I left my condo to go get food.  I took a right turn a bit hastily through a red light, I didn’t yield as I should have.  I saw the police officer behind me.  He followed me briefly and pulled me over.  He came to my window.  He was a young, white, male officer.  Couldn’t have been older than 30.  He approached my window and asked for license and registration.  I handed it to him.

    He took my information back to his vehicle.  He came back and discussed why he pulled me over.  I knew why. 

    He was not being pleasant.  He was not kind.  He seemed angry at the inconvenience of having to pull me over.  He proceeded to tell me that recently someone was killed at a crosswalk because someone like me didn’t yield.  I apologized and said I understood.  I made a mistake and shouldn’t drive like that through crosswalks.  To this day I think about it almost every time I approach a red light.  I should have been more cautious.

    The officer was very…unkind.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  His tone, his demeanor, his stance, everything was aggressive.  Then he looked in at Beth and told her to give him her license.  She told him she didn’t have her license since she wasn’t driving.  This is where the whole situation turned.  He got really angry.  He told her she was required to provide her identification, and not in a nice way.  Beth said that wasn’t true.  She didn’t say it in a nasty way, just stated that wasn’t true and anyways she didn’t have her license on her.

    He then continued by saying that he didn’t know if we had just stolen this car and he needed her license to verify that, and that she was required to provide it.  He had my license and registration for my car in his hands so he knew the car wasn’t stolen.  I politely stated I lived just down the street and we could get her license if it was necessary.  But now he was being nasty and Beth was upset.  He started aggressively telling her, basically, that she was dumb for thinking she didn’t need her license when she left the house. 

    He got out a pen and paper and took down her information and looked her up.  He then told us he had bigger criminals to catch and to get out of here.  He didn’t give me a ticket, just told us to leave.  He told us we wasted his time because he wanted to catch criminals.

    For those wondering – I’ve since checked the legality of leaving your home without identification.  “It is absolutely not illegal to walk around on the street without ID in the United States of America. Under the 4th Amendment of the Constitution you are secure from unreasonable searches and providing your identification is a form of search.”

    I left that interaction feeling uncomfortable. Beth was extremely upset. I felt uneasy. I felt a little abused. I felt like a man took an opportunity from a position of power to make me feel small, to insult my girlfriend, to show his power.

    I’ve told this story to lead to one big, important point:

    At no point in that interaction did I ever fear for my life or fear for the safety of my (then) girlfriend.  It was uncomfortable.  That was it.  I never felt truly threatened. I’ve since thought what it would be like to be in that situation, to feel everything I felt that day, with the added feeling that my life might be in danger. I’ll likely never know what that feels like.

    I know there are good cops everywhere.  I know only some are bad.  Let’s get that completely out of the way.  That is not what this is about.

    That’s not what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about fear and oppression.  I don’t fear like that.  Why?  Why do some of my brothers and sisters have to fear?

    The title of this post is White Privilege. I want to say something I think I’ve realized far too late. Saying white people have white privilege isn’t an insult to white people.  I am white.  There may have been a time when I heard “white privilege” and took offense to this phrase.  Not anymore.  It’s time we accept that we’ve been given a leg up compared to so many others.  White privilege isn’t a personal attack on me.  It’s a fact.  We have to stop taking these statements of fact as an insult.  They’re not.  They’re facts.

    I’m sorry.  I know these words don’t change anything.  I know things need to change. I’m sorry I don’t know how to help change it.  I’m sorry I don’t know how to bring more love into the hearts of every person here.  I’m sorry there are people that hate.  I’m sorry there are people who discriminate.  I’m sorry there are people that kill.  I’m sorry there are people without empathy when a man is begging for air.  I’m sorry.  I know it doesn’t change anything. 

    I love my black brothers and sisters.  I’m sorry you have to fear.  It’s not right.

    I’d like to share two things a friend of mine shared, two ways we can start to make a small difference.

    1. Stop saying the N word. Don’t say it. Ever.
    2. Don’t let the little comments slide by. When you hear racist remarks or comments, speak up. Say something.

    All I can do is speak up, say my part. I know it’s not much. I love you. Many more people love you than you realize. There is more good in the world than we’re lead to believe.  I have to believe that.  I have to hold on to that.  I know that doesn’t change the world.  All I can do is hope.  Hope that love will eventually prevail.  Hope that discrimination and hate will end.  Maybe it won’t in this life. Or maybe we can still change. Maybe we can still make a difference.

    _________________________

    These are some links, videos, music that I’ve viewed recently that have impacted me. Please listen and read:

    President Nelson Calls for Repentance in Statement on Racism:

    https://www.ldsliving.com/President-Nelson-Calls-for-Repentance-in-Statement-on-Racism/s/92936

    Life of Privilege Explained:

    ****EXPLICIT CONTENT WARNING****:

  • An Angel

    An Angel

    Some of God’s children are special beyond measure.

    They never lose their innocence and childlike wonder.

    I have a cousin who is like that.

    She taught me a lot.

    She has taught me about true joy.  She has taught me about true happiness.

    The simple things in life would bring such a laugh.

    The kind of laugh you couldn’t avoid.

    The kind of laugh that made you laugh, I guess because her joy was so contagious, so infectious.

    Olivia and her bike

    I had to laugh with her.

    God’s plan is perfect. 

    Despite a loving family, loving parents and siblings, there was never a perfect place on this earth for her.

    I’m not sure she ever had a comfortable moment on this earth.

    Despite that, still the joy, the joy was ever present.

    A new dress.  A butterfly.  A rad motorcycle.

    She could teach us so much.

    There was never a perfect place for her on this earth.

    I know when I next see her, she will be clothed with such beauty and glory that I will be blinded by her.

    But God’s plan is perfect.

    I know there is a perfect place for her with Him.

    If you looked very closely you could see her glory here.

    I know there is a perfect place for her.

    I’ve never been around a soul who deserved a perfect place more.

    I’m thankful for what she has taught me.  I’m grateful for her strength.  I’m grateful for her fight to stay here and teach us.

    I know her family is grieving now.  We all are.  We grieve when someone so good is taken from us.

    Take comfort in where she’s gone.

    No place was good enough for her here.  She’s finally in a place deserving of her light.

    We will miss her.

    Enjoy paradise Olivia. You are a princess every day and I can’t wait to see you again.

  • You Sent a Dog to Save a Girl

    You Sent a Dog to Save a Girl

    *I wrote this to my wife when she lost her family dog and best friend of the previous 12 years.*

    You sent a dog to save a girl.  I have never gotten a full story.  I’ve never heard a full account.  I have seen the love in her eyes.  I’ve seen her hug and care for and love a creature with so much love.  It’s love I know she’ll one day pour out upon a child tenfold.  It’s maybe what drew me to her in the first place.  Her obvious ability to love and care for others.  She will be an amazing mother partly due to a dog.

    I’ve only known that dog to be old.  I’ve only known the whines and the cries.  The confusion.  From my eyes he has been ready for a long while.  But he wouldn’t let her go.  He knew she still needed him.  I saw a puppy in pictures.  I saw a puppy in her eyes every time she laid with him and pet his curly black fur.  I saw love for a dog that never left her.  I saw my wife, with so much capacity to love, unable to stop loving a dog that couldn’t stop loving her.

    I never heard of every night.  I know they existed.  The nights that she cried.  The nights she felt so alone.  The nights that she thought, “why did I upend my life, to what end?”  I know there were many tear-filled nights.  I had to go through the same.  I had a roommate and a best friend some of those nights, so I know.  I know what comfort is in those moments.  I know that on every tear-filled night there was a furry, black, kind creature that wouldn’t leave her side.  I know this because I’ve seen the love she holds for an animal that saved her life. 

    I will never understand the full extent of the bond between my wife and this dog.  I’ve only seen an animal that can hardly see or move, let alone play.  I see the love in her eyes, and I know he used to play.  He always comforted.  He was always there for her.

    Now his time has come.  I know this will be one of the hardest things my wife ever goes through.  Maybe the hardest thing since she changed her whole life to come back home.  He was there for her then.  He can’t be there for her anymore.  I know he’s been waiting.  He’s been waiting for me.  I now must replace the perfect, never ending, never ceasing, never decreasing love and devotion of your creature.  He wouldn’t leave her.  Now he must.  I’ll love her and care for her to the best of my ability.  I hope to come close to the love of a dog for his girl.

    I don’t know where my wife would be without a fluffy, black dog.  I don’t know if I ever would have met her.  In a million ways we would have never crossed paths.  If not for a dog, she wouldn’t be in my life.  If not for the many nights of comfort when she didn’t know if she could do it.  If not for every time he nuzzled her tears and begged for a pat on the head.  If not for his love, who knows where my wife would be?

    You knew my wife needed a dog.  You sent the perfect one.

    Now it’s his time to move on.  I’m sure it means there’s a child or an individual who needs him more.  You sent an angel in a fluffy, black, four-legged body to bring light to a home and to a young girl.  Now he’s needed elsewhere.  I pray only that I can love her as he loved her.  Support her as he supported her.  Comfort her as he comforted her. 

    You are a Father who loves us so much.  You send creatures to save our lives.  You love us in many ways, including through the loving eyes of a puppy.

    You sent Parley to save my wife.
    Thank you.

  • Love is Powerful

    Love is Powerful

    I was once asked a question I surprisingly had never truly dived into.  What was different about the first time I met with the bishop when coming back to church?   Why did I come back?

    I’ve written about some of the coincidences leading to me getting to the Bishop’s office and ultimately coming back to church.  But how did I stay?  Coming back once, for a fleeting moment of revival, that’s easy.  What really brought me back?

    I wrote in The Inspiration about cancelling that first appointment with the bishop.  That appointment eventually got rescheduled. 

    I remember walking into Bishop Thurston’s office.  It was a small room, like most bishop’s offices.  I believe there was a picture of the First Presidency, and Christ.  At other points in my life both pictures might have made me feel uncomfortable, unworthy, judged.  Maybe not the picture of Christ.  His image has always brought me warmth, if not alongside guilt.

    First Presidency February 2008 – January  2018

    I remember being so nervous.  What were we going to talk about?  It had been almost 10 years since I sat in a bishop’s office.  Was he going to grill me?  Was I going to have to confess all my sins?  Was this going to be a moment I looked back on in disgust?  Was he going to judge me?  Was he going to wonder what brought this messed up individual into his office?

    And then he smiled.  He shook my hand.

    If you’ve seen the smile of Kody Thurston, you know it.  If you’ve seen the smile of a loving bishop anywhere in this world, you know this smile.  They’re the same anywhere.

    He asked me to sit and I believe he offered the prayer.  Then we started to talk.  I remember not knowing what to do with my hands, I was fiddling with them in my lap.  I remember looking down a lot.  Every time I looked up he would be looking right at me.

    We talked about where I’d been, where I was going, my family.  We got to know each other.  I don’t remember much about the exact conversation.  I do remember what I didn’t feel, judged.

    Then he asked the question, I think it was, “Do you have anything you need to talk about?”  It was a loaded question, but it didn’t feel like it.  I knew if I said no he would move on.

    I had come into that room with zero intention of confessing my sins and opening my heart to a stranger.  Then this strange thing happens in a room with a person who has been sent and commissioned by Jesus Christ for this very purpose.  There’s a feeling in a room when the spirit is there.  It’s overwhelming.  I didn’t say much.  I implied some things; I got some things off my chest.  He didn’t ask much.  He moved forward.  That’s what I remember.  Moving forward.

    I talk about no coincidences.  I know it wasn’t a coincidence that I came back at that time.  Maybe it’s an excuse for me taking so long, but I know that God knew who and what I needed when I came back.  I firmly believe that God waited until I was ready and put Bishop Thurston in a position to be there when I was ready.  I don’t think I would have made it without him.

    When I was getting ready to leave, he said he wanted to see me again soon, within the week.  He told me to reach out to his assistant and schedule it soon.  He told me to tell his assistant to make it happen in the next week no matter what, even if I had to come to his house.  That’s another thing I’ll never forget.  Come to his house?  Why did this stranger want to see me again so soon?

    I was once asked what made me come back?  Love.  Love made me come back.  I knew when I left that office, without a shadow of a doubt, that the stranger I just met cared about me so deeply.  Is that something I could know?  I guess not, I couldn’t know it.  He could have been faking it.  The reason it has stuck with me, and the reason I came back, is because it wasn’t something I knew, it was something I felt. Like testimony or faith, it was something I couldn’t deny and something I’ll never forget.  At the end of that meeting I felt like I’d just met somebody who would do anything in his power, anything he possibly could, to help me.  I felt the love of Jesus Christ for me, displayed through this stranger so potently, with such power. 

    I left that office feeling good.  I’ll admit something.  I tried to keep it together.  I really tried.  I drove away from the building.  I pulled over within a minute.  I cried and I cried.  It was like the love I wouldn’t allow myself to feel Christ giving me for so long poured over me with such intensity.  I cry today thinking about it.

    Those first few weeks coming back were really hard.  Really, really hard.  When it got to feel like too much to continue on that path, like I couldn’t do it, I thought about the love I felt that day. I thought about that little bishop’s office where I felt something, and my heart changed.  I thought about the moment in my car after.  I realized I never wanted to be without that love, ever again.  That’s what brought me back and kept me coming back.

    Love is powerful.

  • Depression

    ** The following is a guest post written by my wife**

    It’s such a part of who I am and the course of my life, yet I’ve struggled to ever really discuss it with anybody aside from my therapists and maybe a few of my family members. Even then, I’m not sure I’ve ever really, openly discussed all the intricacies of my depression. It is difficult for me to completely explain the seemingly unexplainable. I’ve been plagued with a feeling of toxic perfectionism that doesn’t allow me to be vulnerable in letting others know that I may not lead a near-perfect life. Yet, as I’ve had loved ones seek to understand my condition, and others that suffer through depression around me seek someone to empathize with them, I’ve tried to bring myself to do it. Bit by bit, I’ve opened up. Sometimes in frustration, I just want to sum it up as “if you know, you know” and call it good. But that is not enough. Individuals, family members, institutions, others with depression need to know.

    So what does it really feel like? There’s no good, singular answer. I’ve labored over the answer to this question many times. For me, it is not a weight laying heavily on me. I don’t feel like the people in the commercials that have a dark rain cloud following over their head wherever they go. If I do feel glimpses of emotion, they are always lined with sadness and exhaustion. Most of the time though, it’s a feeling of nothing. Absolutely nothing. Emptiness. Darkness. Sometimes I cope by being super goofy so that I don’t have to feel nothingness for just a moment. It can be napping literally all day because, even with the guilt and self-loathing that comes with wasting an entire day, it’s better than facing that feeling of not feeling. And when I can get up, any attempt I make at getting anything done is overwhelmed by an extreme inability to focus on anything.

    My dad could always see when I was going through really bad depression. He said I never actually looked sad. In fact, I just looked dead behind the eyes. He said that out of sadness for me and with love. It came somewhat close to describing how I felt, or rather didn’t feel, in those times. Eventually, when you’re in the midst of a depressive episode, you begin to convince yourself that this is the new you. You will never be successful again. You will be a burden and failure for the rest of your life. I was very lucky to never feel like I wanted to end my life but, with feelings like that, it isn’t difficult for me to see how people get there.

    So why don’t you just get up? Go on a hike, play a game, talk to someone, you’ll feel better.

    While all of those suggestions can help, they often served as a constant reminder that I couldn’t even manage the most basic methods of self-care. It made me feel that people would never really understand. I continue to wonder why people really need to understand how it feels. I ask, can you still support me and sympathize with me even if you can’t understand? While that seems like a fair compromise, I still think I can try to help others get a glimpse of my perspective. We can meet in the middle.

    My message to loved ones wondering what they did wrong: You’ve done nothing to cause this. Even I’ve done nothing to cause this. Do not burden yourself with the feeling that you could have done something to stop me from having depression. What you can do is love. Sometimes that means lowering expectations for a while. Sometimes that means just learning to listen instead of feeling like you must come up with the solution. Sometimes that means you’re only able to say, “I love you and I want you here.”

    There is such a lack of support for mental health institutionally that I wouldn’t even attempt to address it in depth. But as each of us listen more and learn more we can be a solution. I remember in the worst of my depression I had to withdraw from an entire semester at Arizona State University. It was such a difficult process to navigate even if I had been fully healthy. You had to jump through numerous hoops, get that documentation, speak to this person, go here and there. I’m not sure I would have been able to do it without my parents there and some semblance of functionality. Even though I was privileged enough to get treated by a medical professional and continue to graduation, I’ll always have a “withdrawal” on my transcript. I felt pain and guilt about that for a long time. We need to understand better.

    While my depression has been well controlled for years now, it’s never truly gone. It can sneak in when I least expect it. I make sure to take my medication daily and be mindful of triggers and warning signs. I try to be vocal with my husband when I feel it creeping in. It causes me sometimes paralyzing fear. I’m sometimes afraid to do things I would like to do because I’m not sure when is the next time it will hit hard. I’m hesitant to take steps in my career, steps in building a family, and to make big commitments. I’ve had to learn how to continue with life without limiting myself. But I also must know when it’s time to take a step back and to accept that it’s okay that I don’t feel okay.

    A bout with depression is something that comes and goes. Sometimes it’s here for a few weeks, sometimes for years at a time. Maybe it will come back tomorrow or in 5 years. I don’t know. The only thing I know is that the pain we feel with depression is temporary. When I think of eternity, I know I’m capable of living past this painful moment. I’ve done it before and I will continue to do so. I can consider it a blessing that through my Savior, Jesus Christ, and my understanding of the Plan of Salvation, my depression has taught me how to truly persevere.