Taking off my rose-colored glasses: my childhood in Baltimore and nearby Ferguson

My siblings and I at Shaw Park in St. Louis, donning our St. Louis Cardinals Christmas hats.

 
I may seem, in the words of some, "unmappable." That may be true: I have lived in Boston, Washington DC, Provo UT, Hong Kong, Glasgow, St. Louis, Baltimore, Los Angeles, Beijing, and New York City. And now that my family lives in the Middle East, I seem to have even less of a homebase.

While living in numerous areas has given me an affinity for different parts of the world, two cities on that list have deeply shaped me: Baltimore and St. Louis, the places of my childhood. When people asked how I could possibly love these cities, I staunchly defend them both. Were they not aware of Baltimore's beautiful Inner Harbor, Forest Park, Baltimore's memorable seafood, Ted Drewes, and everything else that had been integral parts of my idyllic childhood?

But I was not completely shielded from both cities' social problems. When I was growing up in Baltimore,  my sister and I once gleefully pranced down the stairs in our new Easter dresses, ready to go to church. My mother gently, but firmly, told us to go back upstairs and wear something else. We were disappointed, until we saw poverty's ugly face in our congregation: black children my age not wearing shoes. Women wearing faded pants and a t-shirt because they could not afford to wear a Sunday dress. A child with an eye-patch because his parents could not afford an eye operation. And then I understood why I never saw my dad wear a suit on Sunday, and why, in this case, it was not appropriate to wear my new Easter dress. We were far from rich, but even our tiny house in a modest neighborhood looked like a Taj Mahal in the eyes of many.

Then I went to church in St. Louis County for the first time and was shocked at what my nine-year-old eyes saw. "Mom," I said, "Where are the black people?" As a child used to worshipping and interacting with blacks, I could not understand why everyone in our congregation was white and largely affluent. It didn't seem right. But, unfortunately, it was a sad reflection of St. Louis's harsh truth: it is one of the most (if not the most) segregated cities in the nation. We learned early on which parts of St. Louis were safe, and which ones to avoid. Indeed, St. Louis has a checkered sort of character: areas are known as either largely "white" or largely "black."

My high school experience would have largely reflected my church-going experience, had it not been for the inter-city busing program that brought in kids from St. Louis City. When the program suddenly was deemed as "too expensive" by our superintendent, the majority of our high school body marched out to protest. "Homogenize milk, not students," said one sign. Indeed, the sign's witty statement described a sad reality. Without this program, our high school body would have indeed been quite homogenous: 95% white. In my high schooler's eyes, our protest seemed to represent progress and open-mindedness. Not to mention that our actions made a difference: our superintendent agreed to delay the decision for another eight years. 

Yet, the vestiges of segregation still shows its ugly past. I recall remarking to my dad while driving one day of how strange the interstate highways of St. Louis were mapped out. My dad then pointed out that the interstate highways were specifically planned to avoid St. Louis's poorer areas. And history tends to repeat itself: when the Metrolink public transportation system was going to create a stop close to my community of Clayton, dubbed as "the bubble," controversy brewed. In one of the richest areas of St. Louis County, residents protested that creating a stop would increase crime in our area, as now "anyone" could come to Clayton. Our comfortable, yet insular "bubble" now had the potential to be popped.

When the riots exploded in St. Louis and in Baltimore, I was heartbroken. Mike Brown does not look that different from the high school boys that I went to school with. Freddie Gray could have easily been someone I had gone to church with. But was I surprised? Hardly. While we may claim to be in a post-racist society, many of America's cities are designed from urban planning, government policies, and housing projects that stemmed from prejudicial views. And in areas that do not seem to bear any hope for the current generation, what else can they do? While I do not condone looting and violence, I cannot help but see how, in MLK's view, riots are often the voices of the unheard. And I am glad that many Americans are tuning in and listening to those who are stuck in a perpetual cycle of poverty.

I still love St. Louis and Baltimore. I still cheer for the Cardinals, crave Ted Drewes ice cream, and reminisce on my walks on Baltimore's Inner Harbor. But I also understand that I have to take off my rose-colored glasses when I think of these two cities and view them as they really are. I hope and pray that things will change--that we will actually become a "post-racist" society.

Praying with my fellow jurors: My jury duty experience

Last Thursday, I walked into the Suffolk Superior Courthouse in Boston, MA to answer (begrudgingly) my call for civic responsibility: jury duty. Knowing that this courthouse had far more cases than a lower county court and that I had no legitimate reason to be excused, I knew that I would get assigned to a case.

My hunch was correct. The judge, probably harried from the myriad excuses heard throughout the day, gave a sigh of relief when I admitted that other than missing work, it would not be an unreasonable burden for me to be put on the case. She had already placed three men on the case, and, needing a female, I suppose she thought I would be as good as any.

And so for three days, I became known to everyone as Juror #4.

Fortunately, the case seemed simple enough. Two policemen had witnessed two men perform what appeared to be a drug transaction 20 feet away from them in broad daylight. One of the men was arrested shortly after with possession of cocaine and heroin. They eventually found whom they believed to be the dealer--the one whose fate partially rested in my hands.

Two policemen gave their testimony of what they had seen, claiming that they recognized him immediately, and showed us pictures of the crime scene. I was fairly convinced, but was anxious to hear of any additional witnesses that could contest what the policemen had seen. The defendant's girlfriend offered her story that the defendant was actually with her during the time he was reputed to be selling drugs in the park. It was painfully obvious, however, just how fabricated her story was, which made the policeman's story more credible in my view.

As a jury group of twelve who had never met each other and had little common background, our discussion was unusually lively. But what had started as a roundtable discussion soon splintered into multiple conversations, with some jury members remaining silent and remaining apathetic. Other jury members would attempt to speak out, only to be drowned out by the more vocal members.  How in the world are we going to reach a unanimous decision, I thought?

After one jury member interrupted another who was speaking, I spoke up.

"If our decision is going to be unanimous, this needs to be a roundtable discussion," I said. "We cannot be interrupting each other. Raise your hand if you want to speak."

Being one of the youngest on the jury, I was shocked that people listened to me. But miraculously, they did. I then went into Sunday School teacher mode (yes, I teach Sunday School), and ended up calling on people to who rose their hands speak. And I had no compunction telling people to be quiet if they so much dared as interrupt a fellow juror.

After five hours of deliberation, we had almost reached a consensus: 11-1. One of our jurors could not commit either way, and burst into tears.

"I just don't know if we have enough evidence," she said. "This is two white policeman's testimonies against a black man. And in light of Ferguson and other instances of police corruption, are we okay with that? Sending a guy to prison is a big deal, and what if we are wrong? What if we are wrong? This is a decision that we will have to live with for the rest of our lives, and I want to walk out of here with a clear conscience."

Silence filled the room, and others gently affirmed that it was indeed a large decision that we were making. But I did not know on earth we were going to do. We had gone in circles talking about the same pieces of evidence we had. How were we going to reach a consensus? What else was there could we discuss that we had not already discussed? And what if he was indeed innocent? Was my conviction incorrect?

I then heard myself saying, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I am a religious person. Would any of you be offended if I offered a prayer out loud?" Everyone looked at me, but shook their heads and said I could go ahead.

I then bowed my head and offered a short prayer out loud, asking God to help us make the right decision and that we would have a good feeling leaving the courtroom. I don't know if everyone had bowed their heads with me, but a peaceful feeling filled the room. After some silence, some jurors reiterated why they went from having an undecided view to being confident of the defendant's guilt.

After 20 minutes, the undecided lady then announced that she was ready to call the defendant guilty. After six hours of deliberation, we had finally reached a consensus: 12-0. From the juror's countenances, I could tell that everyone in the room was confident in their decision.

I tried not to look at the family crying in the courtroom and the defendant's stoic gaze, as we told the judge our decision. But when we had left, the officer who had escorted us said that he believed that we had made the right choice. He told us that the defendant was actually a subsequent offender, but we were not allowed to know that information. The judge, perhaps in unprecedented fashion, came up to talk to us in the deliberation room, thanking us for our service  and validating our decision as well.

It was certainly an incredible experience to have twelve people from different age ranges, political views, and socio-economic backgrounds to come to a unanimous decision. But I am also grateful for a God who helped me leave that courthouse with a clear conscience and a feeling of peace.

Photo by cmh2315fl

How does God define "blessed"?

Of all the phrases in the Book of Mormon, I think that this phrase has to be the most reiterated: "If you keep the commandments, you will be blessed." As the Book of Mormon chronicles the need for repentance and obedience to God's law, using the examples of multiple individual lives, I would argue that one of the book's key messages is establishing the clear link between righteous living and enjoying a blessed life.

But what does being "blessed" mean? As a teenager reading the Book of Mormon, I assumed that if I lived the way I was supposed to, I would be "blessed." In my mind, that included multiple things: enjoying college success, physical health, academic opportunities abroad, a mission in Asia, a career of some kind, and a life on the East Coast. The most important blessing to me, however, was an eternal marriage and family.

A decade later, many of the blessings I wanted came true. I did three semester abroads, a mission in Hong Kong, and created a life for myself in DC and Boston. I have a promising career at Harvard Business School, enjoyed multiple trips abroad, no health complications to speak of, and myriad blessings that are too numerous to name here. Yet, marriage and family have yet to be fulfilled. It never crossed my mind as a teenager that I would celebrate my 28th birthday as an unmarried woman.

With this gap between my expectations and reality, I have contemplated what God means when he says "blessed." While I have been extremely fortunate to receive much of what I expected from God for some reason, I am beginning to realize that life has few guarantees. Marriage, whether it happens sooner to me than later, is not a guarantee of righteous living. The only blessing that I can really expect from God as a result of my obedience is the companionship of the Spirit. That is the only defined blessing that is mentioned in our baptismal covenants and the Sacrament prayer each week. It is a momentous blessing, but too often. we subconsciously attach multiple other blessings that we expect to receive as a result of our righteous behavior.  

That's when the problem arises. We live our lives in such a way to receive those required "blessings", only to become frustrated and confused when our expectations remain unmet. I am increasingly convinced that "blessed" means that God will give us things that we stand in need of, though we do not know what exactly those blessings may turn out to be.

It is also interesting to me how the Savior uses the word "blessed" when introducing the Beatitudes to his disciples. When teaching Gospel Doctrine several weeks ago, I was struck by how many of the blessings that Christ pronounces as a result of righteous behavior can only be enjoyed in the next life, namely, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Indeed, God's definition of "blessed" seems to span the eternities, not this mortal life only.

Nowadays, when I read the Book of Mormon and see the oft-reiterated phrase, "if ye keep the commandments, ye shall be blessed," I simply replace "blessed" with "seeing God again one day." That's all I really know, after all.

Photo by Kevin Dooley

Can we make discussions about female weakness more empowering?

Since being in Relief Society, I have been continually amazed by the amount of lessons devoted to addressing women's perceived foibles and shortcomings. These lessons usually include a lengthy discussion on why women are so hard on themselves, a reminder of our outer and inner beauty, followed by accolades for how much good we do.

I understand that some women are unfairly hard on themselves and sometimes need this gentle reminder. And while I have written before about the dangers of putting women on pedestals, I recognize that women deserve recognition for what they do.

However, I believe that if we continually couch our discussion about female weaknesses in this fashion, we are missing an opportunity to strengthen our relationship with God and better utilize the Atonement in the quotidian areas of our lives.

Let's look at the Book of Mormon's Ether 12:27, the classic scripture for addressing human weakness. Pay attention to the first clause.

 27 And if men come unto me, I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

My interpretation of this scripture is that the more spiritually mature we are becoming (coming unto God), the more aware we become of our weaknesses. It's simply part of the process. As a neophyte missionary, I remember being continually dissatisfied of my perceived sense of self, until my teacher reminded me that I had probably never been in an environment where I had experienced spiritual growth more rapidly. Of course, I was going to have some frustration with my shortcomings. But it doesn't have to end at this step.

We need to acknowledge that perceiving our own weaknesses, rather than being readily dismissed, is crucial to obtaining spiritual growth. They serve as a gentle reminder that we can exercise a greater dependence with God the Father and His Son. Perhaps we are more judgmental of others or more brash in our language than we should be. Whatever our weaknesses are, God's hand is "stretched out still," ready to help us.

Acknowledging and working to overcome our weaknesses is part of utilizing the Atonement on a daily basis. We can pray for the capacity to forgive a family member, to be more friendly, to better understand the scriptures, etc. etc. The list is infinite. It is little wonder that God was known as the great alchemist in early Western literature: he is anxious to help us transform the unrefined metals of our shortcomings to a golden substance that is beautiful and useful.

Yes, Relief Society women are beautiful and amazing. But relying on these platitudes when discussing our weaknesses will undermine our remarkable capacity for spiritual progress. In the words of Lucy Mack Smith, we are capable of doing "something extraordinary."

Photo by More Good Foundation.

Holy Spaces, Prayer Rolls, and Being Remembered in Mecca

As many of you know, I was able to visit my parents in Doha, Qatar over break. It's a country that is largely bereft of grass, has more construction cranes than I could count, and has unrestrained pride in hosting the 2022 World Cup.  Somehow, though, my parents and brothers have learned to call it home, and seeing them so happily situated was one of the best parts about living there.

Upon arrival, my mother was anxious to introduce me to A-Beer, her neighbor next door, and one of my mother's close friends. She is a beautiful young Muslim mother from Jordan who had declined a lucrative engineering career to raise five children. Somehow, however, she had found time to give my mother rides and prepare her to pass Qatar's stringent driving test (no small task). My mother's highly coveted driver's license and acclimation to Qatar can be partly attributed to A-Beer and her kindness.

I finally had a chance to meet A-Beer after she and her family had returned from Mecca. For those who are unaware, a Muslim's trip to Mecca is a powerfully spiritual pilgrimage, as they have the chance to walk and pray around the Ka'aba seven times. The Ka'aba  is Islam's holiest site, as its foundations were built by Abraham and Ishmael. Muslims all over the world turn their bodies towards this site every day of their life, so the experience of seeing the Ka-aba first hand can only be described as a most sacred experience.

Upon our arrival to their house, A-Beer's small children told us about their visit to the Ka'aba and were anxious for us to try the zamzam water. This water is called miraculous, as it is thought to be from the same location where the Hagar quenched her thirst in the wilderness after her expulsion. As this water is highly prized and considered to have special healing properties, I was touched that they would want to share their zamzam water with me.

But the most poignant moment occurred when A-Beer told me that she had prayed for our whole family as she walked around the Ka'aba. She had even prayed for me to get married! I was astonished that she would even bother to to pray for our family, let alone for someone like me whom she had never met, when making the most spiritual trip of her life. But somehow, I had been remembered and prayed for in a part of the world that I have never been, have no connection to, and never will be allowed to enter.

Yet in A-Beer's mind, she probably prayed for me and my family because she knew that as a non-Muslim, I would never be able to enter and pray toward the Ka-aba. So, she had taken upon herself to give a prayer for me in a literal space that I was not allowed to occupy, in hopes that I could receive the same blessing from the Ka'aba that she enjoyed.

After meeting A-Beer, I have not only reflected  on the oft inherent selfishness of my own prayers, but also my gratitude of being a member of the church that is concerned with the same problem that A-Beer recognized in her own religion. I am grateful that when I enter a Mormon temple, I can go to our prayer roll and write down the name of someone who is in need of a blessing. While our temples, like Mecca, also restrict non-believers from entering, no one is excluded from our prayer rolls. Rather, their names are placed on our temple altar, one of our temple's holiest sites, and prayed for in a fervent and heartfelt manner. I have also reflected on my need to be a more active participant in temple work, where I do have the chance to give my deceased ancestors blessings in a space that they cannot physically occupy either.

I am grateful for a religion like Islam, which may restrict its holy city to believers, but will not forbid believers from sharing holy zamzam water and praying for non-Muslims like me. And I am grateful for Mormon temples that may limit its entrants to those who are sufficiently prepared, but where potentially anyone can be a recipient of its blessings.

Photo Credit to Kashif Aziz

My unexpected path to Harvard Business School

If you will indulge me, this post will be more autobiographical than my previous posts. Life is full of interesting twists and unexpected turns, but I am starting to believe that nothing in life is coincidence. I have better understood this principle recently, as I started my job at Harvard Business School this past week. While I am still trying to figure out my purpose of staying in Boston, this week has made me understand two things: God is very interested in my life, and my previous experiences have truly prepared me for this new career.

I'll start with my job in DC. About a week after I graduated from BYU, I accepted a job as an editorial assistant with the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. While it was interesting to be on the front end of important scientific scholarship, my job was very routine, and I often yearned for something more. Graduate school in English had always been one of my goals, and I felt strongly to leave DC to pursue graduate work Boston College (hence my blog name "From DC to BC").

Fast forward two years: I graduated from my program and soon realized that in my job search, I could, quite literally, go anywhere. While it was somewhat thrilling to consider my vast options, I also felt more overwhelmed than I had ever been in a long time. I prayed intensely, asking God where he wanted me to be and to please make the right job become obvious to me.

I ended up being a finalist for a position that I was really excited about in DC. It happened to be at the think tank where I had interned several years ago, and I was thrilled about the prospect of going back there. My interviews seemed promising, and I couldn't help but believe that I would get the job--only to feel crestfallen when they picked someone else.

My inspired bishop called me a day or two after to ask me how my job search was going. I told him about my recent disappointment, and he invited me to come to his office to discuss my career goals. We met on Sunday, and he asked me if I had considered a Research Associate role at Harvard Business School. I was surprised at his suggestion, seeing that I have little understanding of business to begin with. I followed his advice, however, and found a position of interest. My bishop soon connected me with his colleague (who happened to be head of Human Resources at Harvard Business School!) and I was invited for an interview several days later.

When I arrived, my interviewer made it clear that while they did not believe I had the right background for the position I had applied for, a better fit for me could open up. She asked me if I wanted to proceed with an hour-long interview and another hour-long writing test. I swallowed some disappointment, but agreed to do so.

Imagine my surprise the following week when I got a voicemail and email from my interviewer. She explained that a job had just opened up, she believed that I was a good fit for the job, and asked if she could tell me more about it! I was shocked and surprised: for the first time, a job had found me, and not the other way around!

Long story short: I met with the HBS professor, liked him immediately, and soon realized that I was largely being courted for the position because of my graduate work and my previous job at the National Academy of Sciences. I soon realized there was no possible way that I would have been considered for this job were it not for the experiences that God had placed in my path.

So, that's my drawn-out tale of my unexpected road to Harvard. And while I am still in shock and humbled to work where I do, I am grateful for an inspired bishop, the support I experienced during my job search, and most of all, for a God who is mindful of giving me opportunities to help me progress in my career and other facets of my life.

I love my job so far at Harvard; there is no way that I could have found a better opportunity, benefits, commute (15-minute bike ride!), and people to work with. I know there was some divine intervention here; I literally could not have landed the opportunity on my own. I am so blessed!

Photo by nsub1

The Blessings of Uncertainty

So far, 2014 has been the year of unprecedented uncertainty and significant life changes. As I deeply crave the satisfaction of having full confidence of what my next step should be, this year has been one of the most difficult, yet strangely enlightening periods of my life thus far. While I have not yet acquired a full vision of where my life is supposed to go, I would like to take the time to share some of the lessons I am learning from dealing with a deeply volatile period.

1. Allow times of uncertainty to provide instruction of how God speaks to you.
For me, it has been the times of spiritual thirst and nourishment, not the times of plenty, that I have come to better terms with how revelation works. When we do not know what job we should accept, what city to move to, whether a romantic relationship is right, or anything else that weighs heavily on our mind, our prayers will likely have more supplication. Our scripture study will be more meaningful. We will be much more attuned to obtaining the whisperings of the Holy Ghost. And in those times, we can acquire a much deeper understanding of how divine revelation works for us.
 
2. Uncertainty provides a way to be a more powerful agent of our choices
God is molding us to be active agents, not passive people. He has equipped us with the divine gift of reasoning and the Holy Ghost to make decisions for ourselves. We may not have all of the knowledge we need to make a significant choice. But more often than not, we will have enough. It is the uncertain, not the obvious decisions, that we will truly be molded into becoming beings of a more mature, spiritual understanding.

3. Answers to the life decisions we seek will eventually come.
While I do not have the complete answers to all of the life decisions I am seeking, I have a clearer picture of where I am going than I did several months ago. The plan is unfolding--at a more glacial pace than I would like it to be--but it is moving. If the answers I am seeking are of urgent importance, then they will come to me.

4. If we are living our lives the way we should, we won't go down the incorrect path.
Going to church, reading scriptures, and praying daily are more than simply good patterns of living: they are paramount for ensuring the Holy Ghost's active role in our lives. With the Holy Ghost's presence, we can have faith that we will enjoy the blessings of guidance and protection.

5.  Times of precarious uncertainty may be the necessary catalyst for revelation.
Maybe we should rethink adversity as a period where God is preparing us for a significant, revelatory experience. Could Joseph Smith, Moses, Abraham, and many other prophets have been prepared for their divine experiences, without the trials they encountered first?

Photo by Jan Sefti.