Then Again, Sometimes, They are Just Windmills

A couple of years ago, I reported an encounter with a soprano of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and… it didn’t go so well.  It started innocently enough, with her asking me “How are you?”  And I answered innocently enough.  A quick conversation ensued that included me mentioning that I had been selling my LDS horror novels at ComicCon.  Her reaction to the very idea that any good latter-day saint would write horror was… interesting.  Let’s just say, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

Now fast-forward to last year. I was walking through the underground parking below the Church Headquarters Building and… there she was again.  This sweet soprano was standing in front of a heating grate.  She had her purse sitting on a ledge above the grate and was rummaging around in it.  (Aside note: As a fond and interested observer of the fairer sex, it seems to me that ladies will often spend time rummaging in their purses, searching for some small item or other—searching with the absolute conviction that the elusive mathom MUST be in there.  I, on the other hand, know better than to attempt to find ANYTHING in my wife’s purse.  If the love of my life asks me to get her something from her purse—for example, her keys—I seem to be incapable of finding it.  I have learned it is best to simply hand her purse to her.  You see, I’m terrified that I’ll rearrange something or lose something—like my sanity—in the perplexing kaleidoscopic labyrinth that is my wife’s purse.  Now, after that lengthy non-sequitur, I shall return to my narrative.  But did you notice the cool Tolkienism I worked in there?)  As I approached this charming lady, I did so with both trepidation and amusement. I’m going to ask, “How are you?” I thought.  And hopefully, she won’t snatch up her purse and run away. After all, I’m an LDS horror writer.  That’s as bad as a purse-snatcher, right?  Probably worse. But anyway, here goes…

“Hi,” I said. “How are you?”

She looked up from her purse-questing, turned her head toward me, and did something completely (at least to me) unexpected—she smiled. “I’m fine.  I just love standing here.”

I stopped walking. Not only was she not treating me like a diabolical purse-snatcher, but she was initiating casual conversation.  But as unexpected as that was, I have to admit that I was intrigued by her words.  “You love standing there?  In front of the heating grate?  Because it’s warm?”

She nodded, still smiling pleasantly. “And it smells so good!”

What smells so good? The air coming out of the grate?  That must be it.  “Huh.  I wonder what they’re putting in it?”

She rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, now you’ve gone and ruined it.”  Then she chuckled.

I laughed along with her. “Sorry, but I’m a horror novelist.  It’s part of my job to imagine the sinister in the mundane.  It could make for a good story.”

Her rummagings apparently completed, she turned and walked with me toward the tunnel that leads to the Tabernacle. “A horror novelist?  How very interesting.”

And just like that, I stepped into the Twilight Zone. Don’t you remember the last time we talked? “Actually, I write LDS horror.”

“LDS horror? Wow.  How does that work?”

And we had a very pleasant chat on our way through the mists of the Twilight Zone on our way to rehearsal. And that time, she didn’t run away…

Now, I didn’t actually think there was something sinister coming from the heating grate, not for one second. But my horror-writer’s brain immediately began IMAGINING scenarios.  But that’s all they were.  I didn’t really think there was a terrorist injecting deadly gas into the ventilation system, or that some nefarious, disgruntled church employee was drugging us all with mind-control gas so he could force the leaders of the Church to change the doctrines.  It was just imagination, not reality.  But imagining is a big part of what I do.

Now are there terrorists out there who want to murder people?  Yes, of course.  But I don’t suspect every stranger I meet of being a terrorist.  In fact, unless they DO something or ANNOUNCE their plans to commit mass murder, I don’t suspect anyone of being a terrorist.  Even if they don’t look like me.  I mean, if I were to be afraid of every person with red hair or brown eyes or freckles or pierced ears, I would live in constant fear of imminent, horrifying, and painful death.  But I don’t.

Are there people who would gladly use mind-control gas to force others to their will? Absofraggin’lutely.  But just because I don’t agree with someone or someone believes differently than I do, doesn’t mean I think that person is evil.  I mean, seriously:  I have a beloved son-in-law who thinks Disney World is better than Disney Land, Star Wars is better than Star Trek, and chicken in Mexican food is delicious!  He is so messed up in his head!  Deluded!  And yet, I still love him.  He’s a great guy, and I’m very happy he’s sealed to my daughter.  (Even if he is dead wrong on certain critical, vital issues.)

In Cervantes’ classic novel, Don Quixote tilted at windmills, because they might be giants.  That didn’t mean that the windmills actually were giants.  In fact, as far as can be determined, they were just windmills.  So, other than some slight damage to the windmills and Don Quixote’s own bruises, no damage was done.  (Perhaps the owners of the windmills might take exception to that.)  On the one hand, I applaud Don Quixote’s courage to do what he believed was right, no matter the cost, no matter the ridicule.  “To dream the impossible dream…”  On the other, consider if, instead of windmills, our noble knight of La Mancha had slaughtered human beings, because they might be sorcerers or demons.  Then his noble, glorious quest, no matter his motivations or delusions, would have been evil.  Now, if all he had done was to voice his strong opposition to wizardry and demonic powers, there would have been nothing wrong with that.  People might find it annoying, they might disagree with him, they might argue back—especially if they were innocent of witchcraft and consorting with devils—but Don Quixote’s voicing of his deeply held convictions would not make him evil.  Only an act of evil would do that.

I, like many people, have deeply held convictions.  I am unabashedly LDS.  I oppose gay-marriage, abortion, and the normalization of that which the Lord Himself has condemned.  (I also think that chicken in Mexican food is disgusting, but you’ll have to read “The Sweet Sister” to understand my reasoning on that vital topic.)  I realize that puts me at odds with some people.  However, I have never carried a sign in front of a pro-gay-marriage church, stormed a gay wedding, or stood in front of a Planned Parenthood clinic and shouted, cursed, or thrown blood at the terrified women entering or leaving.  I have boycotted products and companies, but although I may have announced my intentions, I have never attempted to force or shame others into joining me.

In short, all I have done is to express my convictions and tried to live by them.

And in return, I get some variation of the following—often from members of my own faith:

“It’s obvious that you hate gays.”
“Every time you cringe when a gay person touches you, you show your hatred.”
“You hate women.”
“You want women to die.”
“You hate people of color.”

These charges are beyond ludicrous. People who know me see how I treat my friends and loved ones (some of whom are gay and some of whom are—and I know this is going to shock some folks—women) with the utmost love, respect, and affection.  And since when does the color of a person’s skin, the color or shape of their eyes, the texture of their hair, or any other “racial” distinction make any difference at all?  It certainly doesn’t to me.  After all, my dear wife is of English-extraction, and I don’t hold that against her.  She’s perfect the way she is.  (Besides, she’s part Irish, and that’s almost like Scottish, isn’t it?)

The tactic of equating a difference of opinion with hatred is as despicable and as it is cowardly. And it is all too common.  “You disagree with me, therefore you hate me/gays/Tongans/women/polar bears/trees/clean air and water/puppies/kittens/baby sloths.”

Seriously?

It seems this new gospel of tolerance-above-all only applies to people who agree with the popular dogmas of the day. As Jesus said, “But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.” (Matthew 15:9)

And then there’s this chestnut: “I have friends and family members who are gay/Chinese/fans-of-chicken-in-Mexican-food. Don’t you see how hurtful your words are?”  This may also come as a shock…  Perhaps, you should sit down before you proceed further.  Are you sitting down?  Okay, here goes…

So do I.

And guess what? I LOVE them!  And, hopefully, they love me back!

For me, one of the coolest parts of Don Quixote is the idea that he treats a whore like a lady. He loves her (chastely), even if he doesn’t agree with (or even acknowledge) her lifestyle.  He doesn’t—and never would—condone her lifestyle, but he loves her anyway.  And his love is pure.  And his love eventually makes her want to change.  His love and his unswerving devotion to his principles help to redeem her.

Having an opinion or an idea or a deeply held (and hopefully, abided by) belief doesn’t make someone evil. Only an act of evil does that.

If you pre-judge someone, assuming hatred when none exists, isn’t that—dare I say it—prejudicial? Isn’t that the definition of bigotry?

After all, sometimes a windmill is just a windmill.

But, having said all that, Star Trek is still better than Star Wars, and Babylon 5 is better than both!!!