Yeah Samake: The Mormon presidential candidate I believe in.

Why do I believe in him? Because I heard him speak at my school last night, in an overflowing auditorium. Chairs gathered in from every nearby classroom, and still people standing, eager in the hall, back, and sides. (I have never seen the room like that.) I believe in him because his words were powerful, hopeful, direct, honest, and sincere. He exuded sincerity.

He was introduced by Patrick Mason, the Howard W. Hunter Chair of Mormon Studies, and my Gendering Mormonism professor. They had crossed paths a few weeks back in DC, and now they were here, in California. When it was Yeah's turn to speak, he shared a video. He shared this video:

As I watched it I felt alive. And close to crying. And one million other things that I haven't felt in a long time. It was clear that he is someone who believes in good things, not because he wants to sound like he believes in good things, but because he really does. Among the good things that he (and I) believe in are honesty, education, and equality. (I will come back to the education part in half a moment.) He also believes that given tools to help themselves, people can rise out of poverty. He believes that corruption can be rooted out of even the most corrupt places. He believes these things because he has lived them. 

I so admired his father's commitment to learning, to education. I so admired that same father's sacrifice and insistence that all 18 of his children go to school. People asked him why he did it, and "Wouldn't they be hungry?" His father answered, every time, "My family will go hungry, but they will not know the darkness of illiteracy." (Which answer is without a doubt the most moving part of the video for me.) Then afterwards, Yeah told us that he did know hunger, and about the many nights as a child that he could not sleep, because his stomach was so empty. He would cry in the night, and when his mother woke from those little boy cries, she would simply wrap fabric around him tighter, to hold his stomach in. That was all she could do.

He continued to talk, and I continued to listen, wishing I could write every word down. I tried. And while I am a fast typer, I am not that fast, so my white and black page is full of fragments. Beautiful, hopeful fragments. I give some to you:

It's not like the people are dishonest. It's like they're deprived and will do anything to bring bread to their table. | When you care for people, you are cared for. | I'm here not because I am the best citizen of Mali. | It is not because I want to make money, but because I want to give back. | [Why people in a Muslim region would vote for him for mayor, 86%] It is not about your religion. It is not about where you live. It is about what you can do to help [them] go through life. | I know that I will not misuse a dollar of the tax money. | We cannot rely on the central government. We cannot rely on foreign aid….We must rely on our selves first. | We did not send the army as used to be done. | People believed in the message I shared with them. | No one has ever told them where the money went before. | [He took something from his religion:] The Elders Quorum of the city of Ouelessebougou. | Every city would send a trusted man or trusted woman. | It has to be done by us. | ...the nicest high school. Even better, we got running water,…, solar panel field. We suddenly have a quality of living superior to most of the people in my country. | Once your mind is stretched it never goes back. I have lived in America… I have seen free speech. | Never in the history of my country has a mayor run for president. More importantly, never in the history of my country has a Christian run for president. | Victory is not winning the election. I'm not in this for the power… I'm in it because I know that if we provide opportunities to people, they can rise themselves out of poverty. | Again, I tell you: Mali is not a poor country. Mali is a country with poor leadership. 

I believe in him because he answered difficult questions with grace. One woman feared for his physical safety, acknowledging that people who have power do not easily give it up. Another was not convinced that he would be able to wipe out corruption on a national scale, despite his great success as mayor. She was from Africa, like him, and made her way to America and BYU, like him. Yeah responded that it is easy when you look at it as as cities: "Mali is just 703 cities." My friend Chuck asked him about Mormonism and race issues. Someone else asked him a more general question about the role his religion plays in his campaign, if it is made an issue. He answered that, "it is dangerous in Mali to talk about religion in politics," but added that they "can teach America something." Not the danger part. The focusing on what unites, part: "We should not in any case let our religion divide us. Contrary to what you hear, 1% of Christians live in peace with 95% Muslims... Of course my faith has inspired me, [but] this is not a religious matter. This is not what we are thinking about in Mali. We are thinking, 'Who can bring three meals?' 'Who can bring us access to health care?' 'Who can bring us to education?'" I thought about our own GOP, and how different the debates would be, the conversations. 

I believe in Yeah Samake because of his commitment to education and to miracles: "My life is a miracle. I really believe that many miracles have happened into my life. One of two kids will die [in Mali]  before the age of five. 450 deaths out of 1000 births. It is really a miracle to survive. I was sent to school where the literacy rate was below 11%. My father made a drastic decision to send all [18] of his children..." His father was poor, and his father, making education another miracle. One that opened all of the windows and all of the doors. One that reminded me that the doors and windows are not always open.

I believe in him because I heard his conversion story. Perhaps rather simply, it involved him feeling the spirit for the first time. Not at Mormon church, which he went to, but at a football game. The U vs. BYU. I have to assume that it was at the latter, because it opened with a prayer. He found that fact strange. (It is strange.) Yet, something remarkable happened. As he listened to the prayer, he began to cry. And cry. And cry. It no longer mattered that men from his country do not cry: he was so profoundly stirred, having "felt for the first time the spirit."

This prayer opened a floodgate—not only of tears, but of questions. He asked so many questions. Ultimately he asked to join the church. They had him take 6 discussions. As he was ready, they told him he was not able to join the church. "They didn't tell me why. I was quite hurt. I went to Colorado. I thought if the people in Utah won't do it, the people in Colorado will. I took 6 more discussions. They wouldn't do it. They told me it was because they would kill me," meaning the people back home. The Muslims. He said, "They won't kill me. They are my family. My people. My village. They know me." Still, they would not baptize him. 

Sometime later he was in New York. A bishop there had met his family. Yeah told him he wanted to take the discussions. The man was excited. He took 6 more discussions. And then the same problem, but with one difference: the bishop fought for him and called the Mission President. Yeah was baptized sometime in 2000, exactly one day before he flew home. He thought, "They're all going to join. We're all going to be happy Mormons in Mali. Mali Mormons." Great laughter from the audience, and then a pause, "It didn't quite work out this way."

He continued with his testimony. "It has brought the light out of me.. I did not know Jesus before…It has changed the way I see myself. It has changed the way I look at others. Service has been something I then try to do….Love is service and time. Jesus has served you and myself…That knowledge is phenomenal. It guides my life. I love to serve, because I know when you serve, you will be served."

I also believe in Yeah because he believes in himself, not in a pompous way, but in a positive way, a way recognizing that there is a difference to be made and that he can make it. Near the very end of the evening, he pronounced, "I strongly believe that you are staring at the next president of Mali." His confidence waxes strong because he has "a story to tell the people." A true story. "I have a story of a child growing up in poverty and making something out of his life. I have a story of someone who has turned a city from bottom… I have a story of what education can do… I have a message for the Mali people. I have a message of hope….The media is interested in my message. I don't pay the media. They are interested because it is new…[because] that candidate has a compelling story for Mali." The majority of his "contenders have already served and failed. They have failed Mali."

At the very end of the evening, he said, "Power corrupts. I pray every day that I will be protected, that I will stay away from corruption. That is exactly why I want to serve one term…Really I want to do five years of presidency, stretch the mind of the people because I know they won't go back. They will demand good leadership once they have tasted it. I'm serious that I want to do five years…I'm doing this…for the rest of Africa. Good principled leadership. It works. Not only for the people, but for the leader themselves. People are scared that it may not work for them, because they don't know any other way. Show them that you can let go of power and live a happy life, an even happier life. No one has taken power and just let go of it." His brother-in-law told him that they will make him serve two terms. He still said no. Only one.

It was interesting to hear Yeah speak the very day that my facebook newsfeed was bombarded with pleas to, "Stop Kony," an apparently evil man from, in, or around Uganda. While I think that social justice (and regular justice) is important, I don't know if pouring money into the Invisible Children (or other such organizations) is the best way to stop bad things. My husband lived in Uganda. He saw aid wasted and donated clothes/supplies sold at markets, rather than making their way into the hands of those who needed them most. Because of corruption it became wealthy Ugandans purchasing items bestowed by even wealthier Americans. Many people he met expected him to give them money or fix things for them, simply because he was American. He didn't give money, but he did plant a garden, build several buildings, and install a simple water/pipe system in the small place where he was staying. 

I have not lived in Africa like my husband. I have not even been there. But, I agree with my husband and with Yeah Samake that "if we provide opportunities to people, they can rise themselves out of poverty." I see this as somewhat similar to the old adage: If you teach a man to fish..., while at the same time recognizing that there is occasionally the one time need to actually give fish. (If you look in the Bible, Christ followed both methods, sometimes teaching how and where to fish, other times offering not only fishes, but loaves.) Furthermore, I believe that it is better to invest in or for something rather than against something. How much money has the United States spent in efforts to go after single persons? Sometimes (read: all the time) I think the money could be better spent elsewhere. Thus, if any of you dear readers have heart urges to give to Africa, might I strongly suggest that you donate to Yeah's campaign? It will not be wasted, but will go to an honest man who hates corruption, and has successfully rooted it out of one city in Mali, and wants to root it out of the rest. 

Mormon Women Oral History Project.

AKA: The best thing I did in Vienna.

Have you ever sat down with someone, and asked them to tell you all about themselves? I have done this. In fact, I have spent days and weeks doing this in a foreign country, right before I was about to say goodbye. I wanted to do it the whole time I was in Vienna, because there is a project I believe in that is comprised of such asking and such listening. It is called the Mormon Women Oral History Project, and was started by a woman I admire, named Claudia Bushman, when she was teaching at my school in California.

The point of the project is in many ways wrapped up in its name: to let Mormon women speak their own histories, and to record them and transcribe them. It is so simple but so beautiful, because sometimes women's voices are forgotten in scriptural and spiritual discourse. I wanted to help the project become even more international to open up the voices still further, and recognized that my Vienna stay gave me a unique opportunity to do so.

I was able to meet with sisters from the UK, the Philippines, Austria, Canada, and the United States. Together they represented a fair spectrum of human experiences and backgrounds. Each was a woman I cared about. Each was a woman I would call friend. As I sat with them, I asked them about their life, their faith, their families, their experiences inside and outside of the church, and their feelings on LDS women's issues. I listened as they told me diverse stories and viewpoints. I remembered that the church is big, not only geographically, but ideologically. I remembered that it remains relevant in those differences, rather than in spite of them.

My favorite question of all asked simply and straightforwardly, "What is your conception of Heavenly Mother?" I understood the courage of this question, and its assumption that these women did have a concept of their Mother in Heaven that was just waiting to be teased out. Maybe I liked this question because I shared that personal hope. And maybe because of that personal hope/investment, I found myself nervously hurrying to fill any silence with a softer, less effective question: "Or do you have a conception of Heavenly Mother?"

Many of them did, but not all. Some expressed a desire to know more. Some expressed theories on why we don't. Some were satisfied with their supposed reasons. Others were not. One shared the most beautiful thing about Heavenly Mother I have heard in all of my 2008 paid-by-BYU months of Divine Feminine research, and all of the years that have intervened.

It concerned a personal story/revelatory experience in the temple. The woman was sitting there, hurt and frustrated with her husband—more hurt than she could have imagined—when she felt God speak to her. In her anger and frustration, she said, "No. I don't want to speak to you. I want to speak to Mother." And then she felt/heard something else. "She's here." Like when you're in college and you call home before the time of cellphones, and your dad picks up, but really you just want to talk to mom. And your dad goes and gets her, and sometimes he stays on the line too. It was like that for this woman. She felt them both, and knew that they were both listening and that they both care. And because her Heavenly Mother was there, she could speak. She could speak honestly and openly, and she could let them give her an answer.

It reminded me of something Eugene England once said at a BYU Women's Conference. He started out by asking, "What is a good basis for imagining eternal marriage, then?" before he went on to answer:

The plain scriptures, I believe. In the first place, modern scriptures and revelations suggest quite plainly that we would more accurately and profitably read the scriptural references to "God" as meaning God the eternal partnership of Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother. They have a more perfect unity even than that of God and Christ and the Holy Ghost, and so the word God implies both of them, at least as much as it denotes the three beings in the classical Christian trinity called "God." 

Such a more correct identification of "God" might help us better comprehend the direct role our Heavenly Mother played in our creation and salvation. When we read in Genesis that God said, "Let us create man in our image," it makes most sense to read it as God the Father and God the Mother speaking as One. When we read in John that God sent His only begotten Son to save us, it would be better to understand, as it certainly makes more sense, that our Heavenly Parents sent Their only begotten Son. 

This process is truer to the evidence—and to our real needs as men and women—than looking for a female God between the lines in the scriptures or in apocryphal works or mythologies, as many feminist theologians are doing. It might help us better imagine our futures as husbands and wives, equally yoked in what Shakespeare called "the marriage of true minds"—and to work toward that future now. 

Second, modern revelation tells us that when God put "man" on the earth, "in the image of mine Only Begotten created I him; male and female created I them." (Moses 2:27.) Clearly men and women were both created in the "image" of Christ. That would seem to mean we are created in the image of the Heavenly Parents who together make up the "God" whom Christ came to reveal, that is, the perfect eternal partnership He came to teach us how to achieve and to show us in His life and character what we would be like when we achieved it.

On another day I asked myself these same questions (the ones I had been posing to my friends). Spencer was at school, so I sat on our couch, microphone headset in tow, and I talked and I talked for three hours, out loud to just myself. I talked about the things that are hard for me in the church and I talked about the things that are good for me. I talked about my feelings on sisterhood and the myriad ways that women have blessed/saved my life. I talked about my own experiences researching Heavenly Mother, and I talked about the million times God has answered my small, simple, and specific prayers in ways that I know are from heaven. I talked about lessons learned from my father and mother, and how I know that my mom believes in prayer because when I was a child I walked in her room to talk to her and found her kneeling beside her bed, quietly crying, when she thought no one was looking. 

As I spoke, my first feelings were renewed: that this project is an important one. There is something so powerful and beautiful and affirming in letting individuals tell their own stories. It is redemptive, really. And in this context of spirituality, where women's voices are often lacking, the simple act of asking and the even simpler, but not less essential act of listening, becomes doubly important. I believe that the French philosopher, Levinas, would agree, because he understands that it is this simple back and forth talking that lets us have relationships of peace. It is how we let the other present themselves to us as a self. It is how we avoid violencing the other.

One more interesting thing happened: as I sat with these women, these sisters who I already cared for, and as I heard their stories, my heart was filled with even greater love for them. I felt the spirit every time. I felt love and tenderness every time. I remember reading in Ender's Game that it is impossible to truly know someone and not love them. Participating in this project is the strongest I have ever felt that. One possible reason for this, is because hearing someone's words, in their voice, from their mouth lets us rejoice with them when they rejoice, and mourn with them when they mourn. The simple act of talking becomes healing, and things that are hard no longer feel quite so burdensome when they are shared, when they are spoken. And it also works the other way: things that are happy feel even happier. Even more joyous.

I am left with the sneaking suspicion that we should all be telling more stories. We should all be asking for more stories.

(And as a p.s. question, added after the first writing: What question would you like to ask? What question would you like to answer?)

I said this on a Sunday.

(In Vienna, early fall.)

James 1:27 states, "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." The first time I remember hearing this scripture, I was in high school and was running around the local track with my father. We ran together often, and as we ran our conversations frequently turned to things of the spirit. He told me that this verse extended to everyone who was lonely, and everyone who was in need, including the poor and the destitute. Because of this, I am going to include those things as well.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf spoke about the Welfare Program of the church in this last conference. Among many important things, he said, "Sometimes we see welfare as simply another gospel topic--one of the many branches on the gospel tree. But I believe that in the Lord's plan, our commitment to welfare principles should be at the very root of our faith and devotion to Him."

There are three main points that I would like to impress upon each of you. The first is that we are all beggars. The second is that we are all responsible. The third is "why" we give. I would like you to think about these things as I talk with you.

One. We are all beggars. There are probably times when you have needed help. The help that you have needed has probably varied. At times it may have been an answer to a temporal need, at other times a spiritual one. Perhaps some combination. I hope that that help came, in whatever form you needed it.

There have been times in my life that I have needed help. One of these instances occurred last year, after I finished my Master's degree in Boston. I wanted to stay there. I looked and looked for a job. I had done well in school. I had work experience in my field. I met with professors and advisors regularly to seek help in fine tuning my resume and cover letters. All to no avail. It was a very demoralizing time for me, to work long hours every day, with nothing positive to show for it. The weeks passed. And the months. And I was still unable to secure employment. I couldn't afford to stay in Boston very much longer. Around that time, my oldest brother called me and invited me to come live with his family in California. He asked me to nanny my nephew for a few months, before his wife went on maternity leave for their second child. It rescued me. It instilled my life with new purpose. That purpose was to love a 2 year old child with curly, black hair--to read to him, play with him, and feed him. I was able to help my brother, but even more, he was able to help me, and do something that I could not do for myself at that time. He was able to give me a place to sleep and a car to drive, among many other generous temporal things. There were also many spiritual gifts given to me at that time, including love and encouragement. Because of those things, I was also able to use that time to apply to PhD programs, and ultimately got into my dream school. Then there are the kindnesses of my sister-in-law. There was one unfortunate month during that stay that I was very ill, and could barely leave the house. I was sick and she more than visited me. She bought me juice. She shared her meals with me when I was too tired to cook food for myself. I remember one particular evening when she ate sushi with me and talked with me.

I have not only been blessed by family members in times of need, but by ward members, including those in our shared ward family. Two days after our arrival in Vienna, my husband and I were still without a place to stay. We happened to meet a sister from the ward. A kind sister. She asked my husband how we were, in a very genuine way, and he told her we were fine. Probably also in a very genuine way. I however, who am not quite as adventurous as my husband, was not fine. She asked me how I was, and I started crying. She listened as I told her our story--how we were married one month before, how the day after that, we were hit by a semi-truck, did an aerial through the sky, and landed upside down in a deep ravine, how because of that we were unable to leave for Europe as early as we had planned, how despite that, we had spent the last two weeks in Europe, bicycling across Slovenia and Croatia, and how (for the time being) we had only those things we had been carrying on our bikes, how we spent our first night in Vienna at a hostel and the second night sleeping beside a campground, because the campground itself was unfortunately closed for the season (unbeknownst to us), and my knee was too hurt and too injured to ride any further.

When I finally stopped talking, this sister did what sisters do. She gave me a hug, and invited us into her home. And after bicycling many days in the wilderness, her house truly was the land of milk and honey. And even more wonderful, it was the land of herbal tea and American peanut butter--which two things I had been desperately missing.

We were strangers, and she took us in. We were hungry, and she fed us supper. I was dirty, and she let me take a shower in her bathroom. She handed me a towel. She showed me where the shampoo was. The conditioner. She let us wash our clothes. I think she did these things, because she knew, like King Benjamin, and like others, that when she did these things to us, she was doing them to Christ, and was, in a very real way, "merely in the service of her Lord."

These original kindnesses extended into deeper kindnesses. One of my first thoughts was that we would never be able to be as nice to this couple as they were to us. Then I realized that on one hand, there might come a day when we would be able to be that nice to someone else. We could as it were, "Pay it forward." But, on the other hand, I realized that that wasn't really the point. It wasn't really the point that I couldn't repay them deed for deed, because while that is still true, my current status does not make me exempt from service or from giving. I am still responsible. Right now. Regardless of my circumstances. I can still share meals with those who may need nourishment or company. I can still give of my time. Etcetera.

None of us are exempt from this pure gospel of giving. And indeed, each of us is responsible for everyone else, which is my second point, confirmed by President Uchtdorf: "Please do not think that this is someone else's responsibility. It is mine and it is yours. We are all enlisted. “All” means all—every Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holder [and I would add every Beehive and Relief Society sister], rich and poor, in every nation. In the Lord’s plan, there is something everyone can contribute."

My third point concerns why we serve. President Uchtdorf reminded us that we visit the orphans and widows, feed those who are hungry, and clothe those who are naked because all things are spiritual to the Lord. He said, "The two great commandments--to love God and our neighbor--are a joining of the temporal and the spiritual. It is important to note that these two commandments are called "great" because every other commandment hangs upon them." He went on to lament, "Unfortunately, there are those who overlook the temporal because they consider it less important. They treasure the spiritual while minimizing the temporal. While it is important to have our thoughts inclined toward heaven, we miss the essence of our religion if our hands are not also inclined to our fellowman."

Because this is the Lord's principle, the Lord himself taught it when He was on the Earth. It explains why, time after time, He took care of people's physical needs first, whether by feeding them loaves and fishes, or by healing all manner of their infirmities. One important time, he even encourages the Nephites to go to sleep. It is in 3rd Nephi, after he visits them and teaches them. He said, "I perceive that ye are weak, that ye cannot understand all my words which I am commanded of the Father to speak unto you at this time. Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand, and prepare your minds for the morrow, and I come unto you again." I really appreciate these verses, because I know myself when I am hungry, and I know myself when I am tired, and know that during those times I don't see reason, let alone the soft, gentle guidance of the Spirit. Christ wanted to teach the people. He wanted to nourish them spiritually, but He also knew that not even He could do that effectively until their physical needs were met, which in this case meant sleep.

I recently saw something very beautiful, and because it is not only beautiful, but relevant, I am going to share it with you. It was a short video, showing a Brahmin man who knew these same truths. In his own words:

I was working for Taj Group of Hotels Bangalore. I saw a very old man. He was eating his own waste for hunger. I thought what is the purpose of my life? What am I going to do? In a star hotel, I feed all my guests. But where in my hometown there are people who are living, even without food. I quit my job, and I started feeding all these people from 2002... We feed the homeless, mentally ill, destitute, and the old people who have been left uncared for of the society. People are suffering for food. They don't have food to eat. If you don't give them food to eat, they will die of human hunger. I cut their hair. I give them a shave, I give them bath. For them, to feel psychologically that they are also human beings, there are people to care for them, they have a hand to hold, hope to live. Food is one part. Love is another part. So, the food will give them physical nutrition. The love and affection which you show will give them mental nutrition.

Being a Brahmin community and an orthodox family there are a lot of objections. Brahmins are not supposed to touch these people, clean these people, hug these people, feed these people. Everybody has got 5.5 liters of blood. I am just a human being. For me everybody the same. There are thousands and thousands, and lots and lots of people suffering. What is the ultimate purpose of life? It's to give. Start giving. See the joy of giving.

I especially love his testimony that, "Food is one part. Love is another part." It is true. It is also that same linking of the temporal and spiritual that President Uchtdorf talked about. And while we are told that "the poor will always be with us," we must still work toward zion now. We must still work towards becoming a people of "one mind, one heart, with no poor among us" now. This is our duty. This is our call. Of this I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Small and simple things for which I am really grateful.

• Kindnesses upon kindnesses, from professors, from classmates, from family, from friends.
• A line from a book, "Everything is possible again."
• Another line from the same book, "If nothing matters, there's nothing to save."
• That God speaks to us in ways that we understand.
• Skype, and a 3 year old girl on the other end who knows my name and calls me aunt.
• Facebook and gmail and blogs.
• That it is not yet a terrible prospect to go outside/that it is not yet unbearably cold out.
• Scarves and hats and sweaters.
• My bicycle.
• Pizza.
• Having school classes I don't hate.
• Living in a city I am learning to love more all of the time.
• The (actual) color purple.
• The book The Little Prince.
• Priesthood blessings.
• Music shows.
• Trader Joe's.
• Maps.