Don't Say Nuthin' at All

My dad used to always say:  "If you can't say something nice, don't say nuthin' at all."  It's a quote from the Disney movie "Bambi."  Thumper, the rabbit, repeats it as  one of the things his father always tells him.

I think I internalized this pretty well growing up. Staying in control was expected at my house, and it was a way modeled by my parents.  I don't remember them blowing off much steam.  They generally approached things calmly and spoke in measured tones, even when emotional.  When I have something that wants to come out that isn't nice and won't really help improve a given situation.  I will usually bite my tongue and withdraw whether than attack and let the critical thoughts fly.

It's kind of funny, cause Becci often tells me to stop yelling at her when I speak sternly to her.  I don't even raise my voice, and I'll tell her, I'm not yelling.  She doesn't like me speaking sternly to her.  I guess to her that is yelling for me.  I guess it's a good thing when people notice small changes, and you don't have to make a big scene to make a point, but it does make for pretty sensitive kids that are difficult to talk to without their feeling defensive.

Perhaps people have come to know that when I'm not so happy, it is a more pleasant thing for us all, for me to retreat.  Maybe they don't know that's what's going on in my head at all sometimes.  That's okay too.

It sometimes takes a little while for the annoyance to burn off and the mean thoughts to dissipate out of my head.  But they generally do after a bit.   Then, of course I am glad I kept my cool.  People think better of me this way I'm sure, and things stay more peaceful like.  Probably everybody feels that way sometimes.

I guess it's not a bad notion after all.

The Work Thou Gavest Me

I dropped Bethany off at the MTC today.  She was so ready to go!  I am confident that the MTC will be an amazing and wonderful experience for her.  Bethany has always been such a helpful and uplifting person, always so willing to work hard to set and achieve high goals.  I expect only the best for her.

It is my great honor to be the mother of 7 amazing people.  It is my greatest joy.

I am excited to see all of my children grow, and to watch them mature and overcome their own challenges and reach for their own stars.  A mission is something Bethany always wanted to do. . .Caryn also.  It is satisfying to see my kids make and achieve worthy goals.  Other examples of this include Michael and Shantel finding a way to nurture a child despite the obstacles that were placed in their way, Michelle finding a way to work in her chosen field, Caryn working her way to finish her education, and Sammy working his way to a good career opportunity.  I am pleased when I see Kyle becoming competent in various skills and growing in the gospel.  I am impressed by Meagan's creative genius, and Becci's determination to succeed and to make her way in the world.  I could go on and on. . .

I had a sort of affirming joyful experience the day Bethany gave her farewell talk in church.  For the sacrament hymn that day we sang the phrase:  "I've done the work thou gavest me, receive my spirit unto thee."  I looked up at Bethany at that moment and had the warmest feeling wash over me.  Sometimes we get a special job to do, and though our job might not be as huge as the Lord's was, it is still pretty great to have been given the opportunity to be a part of the Father's plan in some small way.  Bringing a soul into this world and watching them grow into someone amazing is definitely a work that is worth doing.  I felt God's appreciation for watching over his precious daughter that day.

It is indeed a sacrifice to offer a child to the Lord's service, and at the same time, I am only a steward, and the child was already his.

So Many Blessings

Kirby left this afternoon to go back to his job in Iraq.  We had a great 2 weeks together with our family at home.  It was bitter cold outside, but inside we were full of warmth and cheer.  Just a few of the highlights of the time we spent are: Christmas shopping and mission shopping, shooting guns, Christmas Eve with our nativity program and Secret Santa gifts and Christmas Day with pictures, Bethany's farewell speech and open house with so many family and friends, proxy temple sealings with our kids, freezing rain, more shooting, more shopping, and lots of good food.

I just look back on the last month or so and count all of the blessings in our lives, and I have to acknowledge and thank my Father in Heaven for his bounteous blessings to us.  Everyone is progressing in their lives with God's guidance so clearly in evidence as  jobs are acquired, lessons are learned, children and puppies are welcomed into the family,  missions are prepared for, faith is increased, and testimonies are forged.  I have to wonder and feel awe at the magnitude of the blessings we receive each and every day.

We have our challenges and our ups and downs like everyone does, but if you look at where we have been, and where we are now, and the direction everyone is headed towards, one must believe that God is in our lives taking an interest in us and clearing a way before us.

People often express their surprise, or sympathy, when they hear about the lifestyle Kirby and I have--living apart most of the time-- but I have to say that we have learned something about perspective over the time that we have been married. We have learned something about patience, and something about trust.  We have learned to be grateful for the things that are good in our lives, and to worry less about the things we go through that may be somewhat different from the things others may be going through.  We all have our stuff. . .some good stuff, some bad stuff.  We can learn from all of these experiences.  Then, it can all be good stuff.

Proverbs 3:
5 Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

Joshua 1

9 Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.

Bethany's Pre-mission talk

January 20, 2013
My Experience with the Book of Mormon
Well this is terrifying. Forgive me if my ears turn a little PINK—I’m pretty nervous. I guess it’s okay though, ‘cause even if I do a terrible job, most of you will still love me. I hope.
Brother Henne asked me to speak on the Book of Mormon and my experience with the Book of Mormon.
The first time I read the Book of Mormon I was eleven years old. I shared a room with my big sister Caryn, and everything that she did to get ready for bed, I did too. So we’d wash our faces and brush our teeth, read our scriptures and say our prayers each night. I made a lot of good habits doing that with her.
So I finished reading the Book of Mormon right when I turned twelve and entered Young Womens. This was really cool because in Personal Progress, one of the Faith Value projects is to read the Book of Mormon. So I just checked that off the list.
After I finished reading the Book of Mormon, I followed Moroni’s challenge to ask God if it was true. He says that if you “shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.” So when I knelt down to pray, I expected something great to happen, some big bold witness that it was true. And nothing happened. And I felt a little silly.
And then I realized that I didn’t feel anything new or different because I already knew it was true. I was asking a question that I already had an answer to. Sometimes testimonies are quiet like that. You don’t even realize that you have a testimony until you ask, “Do I know this?”
So how did I know? And how do I still know that the Book of Mormon is true? It’s the way I feel. When I read the Book of Mormon…
It feels good. It feels right. It feels true. I find that when I read it, my mind is clear. I feel like a part of my brain opens up, and I understand more. Not just the spiritual things, but everything. This is because reading the BOM brings the Spirit, and the Spirit teaches all truth. I actually do better in school when I’m reading my scriptures regularly. One semester I made sure to read every morning before I left for school. This was one of my hardest semesters, and I knew that the only way I could survive it was if I put God first. And you know what? It worked. That was my hardest semester work-wise, but it ended up being my best semester grade-wise. And it’s because I relied heavily on my Father in Heaven.
When I read the Book of Mormon, I feel most like myself—if that makes sense. There are some moments when I think, “This is right. This is me. This is who I am supposed to be.” It happens when I am at the temple, or when I am loving somebody, or when I am solving a really great math problem, or when I read my Patriarchal blessing. And it happens when I read the Book of Mormon. That’s when I know I’m doing the right thing. I am doing what my Father in Heaven wants me to do, so that I can become the Bethany he wants me to be. This is when I have the Spirit with me the strongest, and I feel full of light. They say that having the Spirit brightens your countenance, and your face lights up. I guess it’s some kind of BIOLUMINESCENCE.
On the other hand, when I’m being mean or cynical or selfish, I feel out of sync with myself. My mind gets all closed off, and I don’t want to read my scriptures. But that’s when it’s most important for me to read.
In 1 Nephi 15 verse 24 Nephi says that “whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction.” So reading the Book of Mormon gives you the power to withstand temptation. I know that is true. I’ve seen the difference between days when I read and days when I don’t, and trust me, it’s better to read.
And it’s not just good for your spiritual health, it’s fun to read. As part of my missionary preparation, I’m supposed to study the scriptures for 30 minutes every day. And that’s a lot. But I’ve found that when I get really into the stories, my little 30 minute timer goes off, and I don’t want to stop reading. It’s cool to read about Ammon smiting off Lamanite arms, and the armies of Moroni with their stratagem , where they trick the Lamanites into leaving their fortified cities to chase after the weak little Nephite army, just to find themselves trapped between two huge armies. Or when Captain Moroni is ticked off at the government for sitting back and doing nothing and he basically tells them—if you don’t help, I will march my army right up to you, and we will take you out. He says in Alma 60:28 “Yea, behold I do not fear your power nor your authority, but it is my God whom I fear” and later in verse 36, “I seek not for power, but to pull it down, I seek not for the honor of the world, but for the glory of my God, and the freedom and welfare of my country.” Of course, it wasn’t really Pahoran’s fault, but I just love reading that chapter. It gets me all fired up.
I try to think of all these cool scripture heroes as real people--real men who are good and strong, and not unlike some of the men in my life. Captain Moroni, of course, reminds me of my Dad. They both are two of the coolest strongest men, who love their wives and children, and would do anything to protect them. I’ve known an Alma the Younger or two also. Young men that repent and return to God with a zeal and a valiance that I can’t help but look up to. They’re my heroes, even if they don’t know it.
In the Book of Mormon you have father’s like Lehi, whose greatest desire is for his children to partake of the fruit of the Tree of Life, so that they can taste its sweetness. And then there is Alma the elder, who prays for his rebellious son with such faith that an angel comes down to visit Alma the Younger. That is some serious fatherly love. I love the Stripling Warriors, whose mothers taught them to have faith in God, and they did not doubt their mothers knew it. And their captain Helaman loves them as his own sons. When Amulek gives up all his possessions, and is “rejected by those who were once his friends and also by his father and his kindred,” Alma took Amulek back to his own house to administer to him and strengthen him in the Lord. And when Alma reunites with the sons of Mosiah after many years, they rejoice that they are still brethren in the Lord. I love these mission companions and friends and brothers who care so much about each other.
I love Ammon and the sons of Mosiah, who, after being converted themselves, they told their dad that they didn’t want to be king, they wanted to be missionaries and teach the Lamanites. Everybody thought they were crazy for wanting to teach the Lamanites. The Lamanites hated them!  But as it says in Mosiah 28:3, “they were desirous that salvation should be declared to every creature, for they could not bear that any human soul should perish; yea, even the very thoughts that any soul should endure endless torment did cause them to quake and tremble.” And look at the success they had. They converted thousands of their brethren.
As a future missionary, of course I love reading about Ammon. Ammon was a great missionary, and not because he was great with a sling and a sword. He was a great missionary because he loved the people, and he wanted to serve them—he literally wanted to be a servant. King Lamoni is so impressed with Ammon’s faithfulness. He says, “surely there has not been any servant among all my servants that has been so faithful as this man (Alma 18:10).” I love when he’s teaching King Lamoni. He does just what they teach us in mission prep. He asks Lamoni questions, and gives very simple and straightforward answers. He uses the scriptures to teach, and he bears testimony. He’s definitely a great example to me right now.
Now where was I? Oh I know, I found this scripture by chance—I had a little SWIRLY drawn next to it. Anyways, in Alma 31, the Nephites were worried that the apostate Zoramites would join forces with the Lamanites and try to destroy them. And so Alma goes to preach to the Zoramites, because he knew that “the preaching of the word had a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else.” So at my house we go on and on about politics and how crazy the world is getting, and you wonder what we can do to change things, to make things better. Then I think, the best thing we can do is work on the hearts of the people. That’s the most effective way to change their behavior. So the best thing that I can do right now is go on a mission and teach the people of the Philippines.
 And then there is the Book of Ether, which is like the condensed version of the Nephite history, with the Jaredite people cycling through the pride cycle in just a few chapters. But the Jaredites were cool—not only did they have cows and sheep and horses, they had cureloms and cumoms and ELEPHANTS. Fact.
Anyways, one of my favorite scriptures in Ether—actually it was really my mom’s favorite first—is Ether 12:4. That’s the scripture I chose for my missionary plaque. It says, “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.”
I'm the kind of person that worries a lot--about school, my family, my future career, etc. The world is a pretty crazy place, but because I have a knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I know that things will work out. I know that God is my Father in Heaven, and He loves me very much. He wants me to be happy. Whether I am excited or stressed, happy or heartbroken, I can talk to Him through prayer, and He hears me. He wants the very best for me, and so if I stay close to Him and keep His commandments, He will bless me. He knows that I am not perfect, and so He has provided a Savior and Redeemer, even His son Jesus Christ. Because Jesus Christ suffered and died for my sins, I can repent and be forgiven, and I can return to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ again. I love this gospel. I love learning from the scriptures. I love that my family can be together forever, even after this life. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is Christ's church restored on the earth, and it is the only place wherein we find true happiness.

Hidden Fires

Introduction:

Living with bipolar disorder is kind of like holding egg whites in your fingers. It's hard to get a secure hold on the problem. It's slippery, and it's messy, and despite your best efforts to control it, it seems to keep oozing out between your fingers. Even so, realizing the illusive, somewhat formless nature of the subject I am addressing here, I do so at the urging of my husband of 30 years who has suffered from bipolar disorder for most of his life. My husband, Kirby, feels strongly that our story might offer hope and light to others who may be experiencing similar trials. He feels that we may be able to offer encouragement to others who are currently searching for a way through this maze, others who may be grasping for a reason to hope, or for the courage to simply face one more day.

Our story will illustrate stages that I went through as a spouse of a bipolar man and the suffering that occurred in Kirby's mind as he struggled with actions and emotions that left him devastated and self loathing. Our story includes a magical love at first sight beginning and a hopeful and optimistic first few years. It includes the surprise and shock of my first encounter with a bipolar manic episode; the extremes of suicidal depression; the acting out and rages of mania; and the crippling recurring cycle of the extreme moods of bipolar disorder relentlessly returning over many years and eventually threatening to tear our love, our family, and our inner selves apart. Even now, after several years of relative stability and internal healing behind me, I am reluctant to reopen those chapters of my life that I have left behind, or to examine too closely the wounds that are now healed over. These are the stories that we have never told. These are the secrets that we have never revealed, because to live with bipolar is to have a hidden life. To live with bipolar is to have experiences that don't fit into the woven fibers of your expectations and dreams. To live with bipolar is to have living nightmares, a series of surreal, irrational events so foreign to your expectations that you strive to deny them as though ignoring their existence would invalidate their reality.

Our journey through bipolar has taught us that to survive this disease, you must acquire coping tools. First, you must recognize and acknowledge that the behaviors you are seeing are manifestations of a disease. You must understand that these behaviors are revealing this disease to you. You have to see it. Knowledge liberates and understanding is critical.

Second, I have learned that forgiveness is essential to walking this road. You must not internally blame or further victimize yourself. Whether you are a victim of this disease, or a victim of a victim, bipolar is enough of a perpetrator. You must not compound the burden of having this disorder by beating up on yourself or your loved one. The symptoms you suffer will reek enough havoc on the foundations of your emotional and rational essence. Do not add to them your self derision. All of your focus has to be on controlling and mastering the disease. Victims of this disease have to learn to reject the instinctual and logical reaction of blaming or condemning the person afflicted with bipolar for it's manifestation. In dealing with the behaviors manifested in a bipolar personality one must learn to separate the disease from the person with the disease, and to treat them as two different subjects.

Finally, I have learned that the most essential tool in overcoming the effects of bipolar disorder, for both the sufferer of the disease, and for those who experience the fallout from it, is love. Love, in this arena, must never be withheld due to behavior. Love must remain an absolute which will never be removed from the bargaining table. Love must be the one unconditionally given and acknowledged constant in order for any nurturing secure relationship to survive the ravages of this disorder. The expression of and fidelity to love, and the solid devotion and unwavering belief in the absolute value of each person must be held inviolate. This is the final security that will ultimately hold your relationship in place and bring you out of darkness into light and love and security.

Kirby and I have not overcome bipolar disorder. He is not cured, nor has he ever been correctly diagnosed or medicated.  To this day, he still suffers from it's symptoms.  How he manages treatment is his decision to make.  He has learned to a large extent to manage his mood swings.  I believe that medication is also a viable option, and it is the one that I have chosen for our teenage daughter, who started manifesting bipolar symptoms at age 14. She has improved control of her symptoms with medication.  Kirby maintains and chooses to continue to manage his bipolar with recognition and management strategies that he has developed over the last decade or so.  Kirby and I, with the grace of God, have found our way through the ravages of this disorder with our marriage, our love, and our family intact. This is not a common accomplishment. Broken relationships are a regular symptom of bipolar disorder. We would offer hope to others, that they can do what we have done and create a love that lasts. That is why I am writing this story down.

I hope it helps someone,
Sherri Crowley

Work in Progress Ahead: Rough going. . . .(In other words, you should probably stop here, and come back later when I get this put together better.)

Chapter One
Love at First Sight

Men's voices upstairs, I heard them through my dream fog and woke to find I had fallen asleep over my books. Great, I'm a mess, I thought. Hair mussed, wearing gray sweats and sporting old glasses instead of contact lenses, all I could think was, how was I going to avoid being seen. I was in my room and no one knew I was home, but that wouldn't last. I was going to have to get up, and the floor plan of my college apartment was not going to work to my advantage.

I recognized Marty's voice, and the voice of Ann, my roommate, but there was a new male voice that I didn't know. It sounded like Ann was going to make good on her promise to cut Marty's hair. Well, I was just going to have to move as quietly as possible. The vanity and sink were just outside my bedroom door, the bathroom was on the left. Stairs just to the right of the vanity led up half a flight of stairs to our front room and adjoining kitchen, that's where the three of them were talking. Hopeless, I thought, they're going to see me.

I sneaked out of my room and glanced at the mirror above the sink. Brown eyes behind plastic frames, dark shoulder length hair gone limp, and baggie sweats, not my best look. Just then I heard Marty's voice from above. “Hey, is that Sherri? Come meet my brother, Kirby.”

Great, I thought. I ascended the stairs reluctantly. There they were. Marty, tall, with straight, light brown hair, blue eyes and a square chin. He wore a collared shirt with wrangler jeans. He was the kind of guy who looked nice in a cowboy hat, and often wore one. My roommate Ann was short and petite with cropped brown hair, a cute pixie face and a bright smile, and then there was Kirby, tall and broad shouldered. He wore a yellow ski jacket, over a navy turtle necked shirt. His jeans were baggie, his hair, black, grown slightly over his collar, his eyes a piercing blue.  I'm not sure how long it took for me to realize that I was looking at my perfect man, but it wasn't long. After the introductions, and feeling I couldn't make a neat escape, I slumped into an over stuffed chair with my feet curled up, and as invisibly as possible, began to make my assessment of the situation.

Marty and Ann had taken their position inside of the kitchen. He on a chair with her standing behind him trimming his hair. They were talking. Kirby was on the couch He could both see and be seen by Marty and Ann. I chose a chair that was out of sight from the kitchen. Since Kirby was listening to Marty and Ann's conversation, and I was successfully being ignored. I was watching Kirby.

I had dated Marty a few times over the past month. He was nice looking, outgoing, ambitious, and smart. We had had some fun, but things had kind of stalled between us, and the last time we had gone out, I'd told him about Rick, my returned missionary friend from Maryland, who I'd been writing to for three years, and who was due back at school in January. I had meant to discourage Marty, and it had worked. I hadn't heard from him for a week or two.

It was December 1982. I was a Senior at BYU finishing my bachelor's degree in Elementary Education with a minor in English. This was my first semester back in school since my own 18 month mission to Hokkaido, Japan, which had ended in July. Next on my to do list were two things: graduate, and get married--not necessarily in that order. I had found myself recently praying nightly for Got to help me to find the perfect man before I left this prime male hunting ground and ended up an old maid school marm in some po-dunk little Utah town. Still, as much as I had been longing to meet my Mr. Right, I had hardly expected him to come waltzing into my apartment and take a seat on my couch, but here he was. Now what was I going to do about it?  Well, I wasn't going to make a very good impression in the state I was in. Best stay as innocuous as possible and regroup.

For the next few days I went about my life as usual. I went to class, studied, did my homework; but on my way to and from classes, I kept my eyes open for Kirby. I saw him around a few times. He seemed to be spending his time hustling girls and skiing. He didn't seem to remember me, so I figured I'd start fresh on Sunday.

Of course, living at BYU, the primary social unit was the local church group--the student ward. That is where I figured I would see Kirby next. I dressed carefully that day for church. I chose a dark purple dress and high heels. I took extra time with my hair and make up. This time, I wanted to be noticed. Our ward meetings were held at the school. I walked down the hall, head held high, with a big smile on my face. Marty and Kirby were just ahead in the hallway, so I approached Marty and said, “Hi.” Kirby came over then too, and wanted to be introduced. We started a conversation, and this time I had lots of attention. When it was time to move to Sunday School class I fell in step with Kirby; Marty was a few steps behind. “Hey,” he said, “she came over to talk to me.” Kirby and I didn't slow down, we just kept walking and talking together. I wasn't interested in spending any more time with Marty.

During Sunday School, Kirby and I sat near each other in classroom desks and chairs, and when we broke up for Sacrament Meeting, Kirby asked me If I'd like to sit by him for that meeting as well. I agreed. Afterward, as we were walking out of the meeting, surrounded by other people, one of Kirby's friends started talking to him about their plans to go skiing on Tuesday of that week. "You know, I just love skiing," I said. Kirby didn't miss a beat, well, if I was free, would I like to go along? . .”Of course, I would love to,” I said. We walked home together and Kirby went back to Marty's apartment where he was staying. Before he left me at my apartment, we made plans to get together later that evening.

During the intervening hours, I found out later, Kirby took a drive up Y mountain and spent some time sitting on a rock, looking over the valley below. His mind was whirling, trying to figure out what to do about this girl he had just met, who had taken a fast hold of his heart, this girl named, Sherri.

Chapter 2
First Date

The snow was falling, big, white, clumpy flakes. Suspended in a cloud above snow laden pine trees we rode together, nestled in our own world of wonder. It had been a day of fun and sport. We had spent it playing the rhythm of a fall line on a crisp December, Alta, Utah, afternoon. As the ski lift silently climbed, we nestled in a white frosty world. Kirby drew me close, his arm around my shoulders.

“Are you cold? He asked.

“A little.” I replied.

He reached out to shield my face from the falling snow with his hands, and as he did so, drew his face closer to mine. The kiss was sweet, soft, and wistful. Everything blurred and contracted around me. Afterward, we snuggled. I nestled in his arm, perfectly fitted, awestruck and silent.

The lift came to the top of the run and we skied down again, but our hearts were shaken. The lodge seemed to beckon. Over food and cocoa, we curiously explored the magic of more shared kisses, at once so simple, and so sweet, as to make us oblivious to all else but the dawning of love.

Sherri and Kirby 1983

When the morning stars sang together

Job 38:7

When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? I'm in a happy mood. It feels good that the Trunk or Treat turned out fun for everybody and that lots of people came and supported us. Today on the way home from shopping I was thinking about a comment I heard on the news last night about women in the church. The news guy asked a girl if she thought the new mission age for girls was going to give women a stronger presence in the church, and she said yes, because so many sisters would go on missions and be more spiritually strong. I was thinking about the scripture that says: When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy and I thought about the influence for good of all of these wonderful strong spirits who are now in the world and a strong confirming spirit came over me that just was so strong assuring me that we are the ones that were shouting for joy, and that we are making a difference and that we should be joyful.

Thoughts on the political debate

I have a really hard time listening to Obama now. I tune out every time he talks. I just figure everything he says is a lie anyway, so why listen to him. On the other hand, I find myself focusing very hard on what Romney says. In him I find decency and hope. I find it ironic that Obama works so hard to discredit Romney and to try to convince people that he is an evil heartless liar, when it's not true, and he works so hard on hiding his own lying and incompetence. It would be incredible, if it wasn't so predictable. I mean, just look at the scriptures. This is how anti-Christs always talk and behave. Look at the pharisees and scribes in Jesus' time, or the mobs in Carthage, or the priests in King Noah's court, or Korihor, etc. . .in each case the anti-Christ points fingers of outrage and scorn at those trying to do good things for good reasons, while hiding their own corrupt and evil motives and agendas through lies and half truths. They are always motivated by power over men, never by altruistic motives. . .but they always claim that the good person wants to enslave and exploit, and they want to free and be merciful to others. The evidence is always against their claim, but so many people listen with their ears and close up their minds. Meagan is so frustrated with her friends on facebook. All they care about with politics today is gay rights and abortion. I wonder what happened to the generations who thought both ideas were revolting.

Thus the poem by Alexander Pope:.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

How subtle he is, that master of deception! He knows our weakness and our desire to be trusting. He plays on both. He feeds on our need for security and gives us false leaders who make empty promises of fairness and who take away the sting of any remorse of conscience or assignment of responsibility from us while promising everything for nothing and ringing up debts that can't be paid and won't be acknowledged, like dirty little secrets, whose telling seems worse than the doing of them.