Pillars of Salt

To walk away from something that you love is like leaving behind a piece of yourself on the road of life. But what if that piece, that something, is an addiction or bad habit weighing you down? And the road ends in your eternal happiness? Is it any easier to lay it down and just walk away? Lot's wife would venture to say no, it is not. What is it that caused Lot's wife to turn around? Mere disobedience? Silly womanhood, perhaps? I've heard many make such claims, but in my opinion these ridiculous notions are ludicrous and make me vomit. Perhaps by discovering her reasons we can learn what it is that makes the Lot's wife in all of us turn and look back on that which we have left behind.

In Dr. Phil's Seven Steps to Breaking Your Addiction, he says that you must first acknowledge the purpose of the addiction. Why do we do it? Do we drink alcohol because we're thirsty? or because we're unsatisfied with our situation? Once we've identified the cause of the fire, we can better set about putting it out.

Saint Matthew said that "if thy...hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee." It goes on to say that it'd be better to enter eternal life maimed than to have both hands and be cast into hell. In these terms it sounds so simple. Just take a lightsaber to the leper hand and you're good to go, right? Unfortunately we can't go all Jedi on our problems and skip off down happy trail. It's a process. We have to first decide to even dispose of the hand. Then we take the gnarly, jagged-toothed hand saw and prepare ourselves for the damage. This is the hardest part. The lot's wife in us makes a bit of a cut, then applies Neosporin and bandages and waits for a more opportune moment. Why can't we just go in for surgery and have the addiction or habit removed while we sleep?

We often think that this is what happened to Alma the Younger or the people of King Lamoni. However, in Alma 36 verse 12 we learn this is not true. Alma says that he was "racked with eternal torment, for [his] soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all [his] sins." The word harrow comes from the farming tool that consists of a heavy frame with sharp teeth or upright disks, used to break up and even off plowed ground. Remember Frank from Disney's movie Cars when Mater and Lightning are tractor tipping? Give him big discs or sharp teeth that look like giant ninja stars and you've got yourself a harrow. My point is this: not even Alma the Younger got a "surgical removal" of his bad habits.

So we've finally made it through the intense and excruciating pain of sawing our own limb off. Now what? You just leave it there on the side of the road to be feasted upon by birds of prey who, by the way, are circling above you this very moment? That's no way to treat an ex-body part of mine. Especially one so vital. In Chinese culture even the cat gets buried honorably. Heck, even the ancient Egyptians shoved their organs in super cute canopic jars. What do we do? Li'l old Lot's wife that I am, I shove it in my JanSport and lug it with me.

Every time I need to take a break from monotonous childcare and household chores, my new Jane Austen book's finished, and Hulu's run out of wholesome videos, I take a peak in my backpack, just to make sure everything's safe. Maybe, since I'm here, and all, I'll take out my severed leper hand "to throw it away," I tell myself. And, since I'm throwing it away, I might as well say goodbye for the very last time ever. So I toss it around in the air a bit and then I'm done; time to get rid of Mr. Habit forever. Right after I toss it around again. Then teach it to play fetch. Then sew it back onto my arm.

As one may guess, playing fetch with "broken" habits or addictions is not part of Dr. Phil's Seven Steps. So how can we leave behind something so indulging, so captivating as an addiction? How can we walk away from something that we love?

In this question we find the answer. How can we walk away from something that we love? Since when did indulgence and captivity qualify as love? Elder Jeffrey R. Holland says that true love must include the idea of permanence—that it endures. Suddenly, perhaps we no longer feel the same way for Mr. Habit. Perhaps we never really loved him at all, merely wanted to love him. And as he reflected that fake love we felt wanted, at least for the time being. Perhaps under this new light we see our leper hand for what it is: super gross. It's been sawed off multiple times, stored in a backpack without ice, tossed around and dropped in the dirt, and then crudely stitched back onto our arm. Mildly grotesque. Perhaps we can now leave the habit behind and walk away without a second glance, trudging painfully but willingly toward something better, something more deserving of our love.

Perhaps not. Sometimes we actually do love that which we must leave. If this is the case all the doctors and all the Phils in the world can't convince us to leave it behind. This must come from within. Here is the point where you must stand and say, "I love you. And I'm getting rid of you anyway."

Maybe this is where Lot's wife failed. Too often we think about something and remember too much. She probably remembered her neighbors helping her with the groceries. Where Lot and the others perhaps saw casinos and playboy mansions, she may have thought about the beautiful architecture of the grandiose archway at the Natural History Museum. Maybe she thought of the time when a random stranger stayed with her child at the bazaar until she found him. Whatever she thought about, Lot's wife had probably decided she loved her home, and wanted to see it one last time...

It is not wrong to love. Christ's whole life was devoted to the topic, so He probably agrees. But there are times when we must prove our love by doing the hardest thing we humans can do: we must walk away from something else we love. It tears us apart, strips us of our prestige and valor; returns us to a state of vulnerability. In this state we yearn for something to fill the void which we have just created (which is step three according to Dr. Phil, by the way). This is when Christ comes in and overflows our empty cup. If we let him, Christ gives us the means to repair our arm with a new, stronger hand than before. He then steps back to watch us stumble on, ready to catch us when we fall, to encourage us to look forward when we think we want to turn around.

So the next time you lay down a lifelong friend on the road of life and feel like checking up on them ten yards and forty minutes later remember: we're all just glorified pillars of salt, and that's all you'll ever be if you go back.

Sup, Billy. Me again. Sorry.

I'm in like. Again. Maybe love. Sesame Street was probably brought to you today by the number 4. And definitely by the letter F.

Is that what it is? The way your stomach continuously ties and unties itself. The feeling you get in your throat when they move closer to you. The way your heart pounds and your breath catches at every touch, every graze, no matter how small and insignificant. The sweaty palms, the dry mouth--these are all signs, but of what?

And then, when you send a text and it seems the whole world stops until you get one back. This aching--it hurts. But I want it. I've only felt this once before, but I don't know if it's the same. I don't know if I should embrace the feelings or push them aside. I can't imagine feeling happy could possibly be bad. And yes, it all results in happiness. In comfort. In not-loneliness.

I don't understand.

So I know I just posted something, but I'm ready to talk, and you're a computer and you will listen to me and you will like it. So there.

The nature of humans can be summarized in one word: circles. Everything about us is a series of rounds, routines, and relapses. The Earth we live on, for one. Circle. We documented the transfers of water and nitrogen in what? Oh yeah! Cycles. Pride Cycle. Pie. Wheels,eyes, sun, moon, stomachs (mostly), balls, balloons, clown noses, plates, bowls, cups (basically), circles, circles, circles! Except for briefcases and TVs, everything important to us is a circle. And yes, especially clown noses. I know you looked back up at it like, "Important, wha-?"

Why don't we break out of cycles? Why do we fall prey over and over again? We see outside the gerbil ball, but do we stop and open the latch to the adventurous world? No. We keep running.

I personally think it's something to do with the pleasure center. We know what's in store for us at the end of our cycle. Or the beginning. Who even knows? But we know we like it, and, no matter how good the outside is, it's scary and uncomfortable. So we rule it out as unattainable and keep to our repetitive, circular existence. It takes a lot of strength and determination to break out of a cycle. The worst part is, our cycles aren't at all time-sensitive. We can think we've broken free, but later on down the road, we make another wrong turn and we're right back where we started. A seemingly endless labyrinth.

But I think I'm getting out. You can never know for sure until you look back at your life and say, "Hey! I'm free!" I've been introduced to a new line of thought, though, and need to glean what truth I can from it. We all have gifts, and mine didn't come with an instruction manual. I need to test it out a little. Not so much that I risk damaging it or hurting myself, but enough to understand what to ask the manufacturer when I call Him.

X-Men and Cheshire Cats

I just finished re-reading my friend's facebook note number three. It talked about X-men, and posed the question: Would you take the cure? Everything within me screamed, "yes." I want a quick fix. I want to be normal.

But then I thought about it in terms of the X-men. If I had super powers, there is nothing in the world that could make me give them up. And that's the solution. It's our perception. Viewing a trial as a super power or gift, you start digging deeper, searching for the good it can serve you, ways you can use it, instead of the other way around. My particular gift has taught me to love, and I could never, EVER give that gift up. If I were to take a cure, I'd lose the love I have now. And, as dirty or wrong as that is, I can't give it up. I won't give it up.

So where do I go from here? It reminds me of the singing tree from Alice and Wonderland: "Which way shall you go? Which way shall you take? If you don't choose any you'll make a mistake." Actually, I think I made those words up...

Do over.

It reminds me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice and Wonderland. Alice asks the Cheshire Cat which path she should take, to which he responds, "Where do you want to go?" She says she doesn't care. Cat then tells her that if she doesn't care where she goes, then it doesn't matter which path she takes.

So where do I want to go?