Rough Stone Rolling

Well, this was one of the best Halloweens our nuclear family has had. Our ward held its Trunk or Treat & Chili Cookoff Monday night as an FHE activity, and the masses flooded the parking lot. Our ward, known for its activities, attracted the usual gaggle of former members who moved away and non-Mormon neighbors who love us as long as we leave that Joe Smith at home.  My 11-year old daughter won Best Costume as a dead Marie Antoinette, and a punk deacon won Best Chili for the third year in a row (I suspect Jack Daniels, but no one’s willing to investigate). My wife came as a riotous wench, carrying a basket of heads (Barbie & Bratz styling heads), and I was an executioner (Thank you, bishop, for letting me wear the mask).

The festivities carried over to Halloween night when we were invited to roam a local neighborhood we’d never been to before. It was incredibly cool– A long, long, affluent street closed off with barricades, all the homes decorated to the nines, some even providing spook alleys. I’ve never seen so many kids, and even the parents dressed up. Heck, there were adults with no kids begging for candy, the dweebs! The best part though, was we discovered this quiet, upper-class neighborhood was full of celebrities. Before the night was out, my daughter got candy from Eric McCormack (Will & Grace), Rick Dees (LA DJ), Billy Ray Cyrus (Hannah Montana– bet he loves THAT reference), Steve Carrell (40-Year Old Virgin, Dan in Real Life, Evan Almighty) and the coup de grace… my little girl in her dead Marie Antoinette costume, met Kirsten Dunst (Spider-Man, Marie Antoinette). I mean, how classic is that? By the time we walked for 3 hours, we had it. We didn’t even bother going to Hillary Duff or Jennie Garth’s house. After seeing her on the cover of Maxim recently, I would have opted for Hillary but, you know, it wasn’t about me.

I’ve been coming across a lot of ex-Mormons lately– on blogs, in articles, in person. Their numbers seem to be growing as fast as the membership. It’s easy enough to discount apostates by saying they just didn’t get it, their testimonies were planted on rocky soil and they couldn’t last, or some such nonsense. I don’t think we’re equipped to package their leaving with such neat labels (while offhandedly complimenting ourselves) and I feel repelled by members who do that. Not to dwell on it, but we’re not all such swell people just because we maintain our memberships. Actually, if I were to choose between a person who left the Church because they were never able to receive a personal witness, were genuinely disillusioned about a doctrinal tenet or practice, and felt strongly enough to excuse themself so they could try again to find Truth, with someone who perpetually attended because that’s where their social world existed (where everyone knows your name), but couldn’t get passionate about– or even discuss– doctrine beyond the bumper sticker quotes, couldn’t bear a testimony beyond that which reeked of tired coined phrases, didn’t even try to attempt doctrinal introspection… well, I’ll take the apostate. Yes, I admit there are those who chose the coward’s way out: The ones bitter from a slight, unable to overcome a conflicting habit, stuck on a rule or historical account they don’t like, looking for an excuse not to commit. I’ll even throw in that some intellectuals chose the coward’s path because they’d rather rely on the wisdom and praise of litterateurs than consider being associated with a doctrine and people so conducive to criticism…and Amway. Enough said.

When I was a kid I loved Mad Libs. They’re still around– book pads full of silly stories with blanks that you fill in to make the stories even sillier. I’d insert friends in the stories, put them in outrageous situations, and call them my own creations.  Sometimes my prayers become mad libs, only because I’m running behind, my head is already out the door and I internally scold myself as I whip one up– voila!– before I start my day. Usually my old Catholic conscience wins out and I urge myself to stay a while longer on my knees, think about what’s going on with me & my family, and really talk to Father. But then there are those times– like yesterday, for example– where it was especially hard to get up, I putzed around too long in the bathroom and getting dressed, and seeing that I was late, I knelt, pulled out my trusty “mad lib” prayer book and filled in the blanks. Is it just me, or do a lot of people have ready-made prayers in their pockets for emergencies such at this? And honestly, coming up with original blessings on the food? Please tell me your secret. It’s not like I haven’t felt the effects of prayer before, I personally know its potential.   Anyway… now I’m working on consistently thoughtful prayers. On top of everything else.