Judging vs. Being Judgmental (in which I probably come across as judgmental)

I just came away from a post about what is wrong with our society, which made me remember that I've been wanting to write this post for a long time.

One of my fears is of being perceived as judgmental.  Scratch that.  I don't care too terribly much how I'm perceived, my fear is of being actually judgmental.  It is hard.  Especially because I judge.  Oh, how I judge.  I judge that lying is wrong 99.9% of the time.  I judge that breaking the commandments is wrong, no matter what a person's excuses.  Including if they don't know about the commandment condemning it.  If God says something is wrong, I just think he's right, every time.

Does that mean that everyone who doesn't keep every commandment is guilty?  I don't believe so.  I certainly hope not!  And does it mean that people who break important commandments are always bad people?  Don't be stupid (you dummy!).  Of course it doesn't.

Let's take Ethan Frome for example.  He allowed himself to fall in love with a woman who was not his wife.  It is heartbreaking to read.  He has a story.  Do I think he was bad?  No.  Do I think he was wrong?  Absolutely.  Would I have acted better under his exact circumstances?  I can't say.  Most likely not.  It doesn't change the fact that some things are wrong.

Judging (righteously), I think, is knowing the difference between right and wrong.  It is the ability to draw a (usually) clear line between what is good and what is bad.  The good kind of judging refers ALWAYS to to a behavior or choice or action.

If I say that dressing immodestly is wrong, I am judging immodesty.  If I see someone dressed immodestly, I can think that it is wrong to dress that way.  I think this is a good thing to think, and what is expected of us.  (not to go around thinking about every choice everyone makes, but knowing in our minds and hearts which things are good and which aren't).

But what is not expected of us, and what is as wrong (or wronger!) than the immodesty itself, is if I think, "Ick.  She's nasty.  What a ----", or place a value on her personal worth in any other way.  It's being judgemental.  It is wrong.  I do my best to keep from allowing myself to shift from seeing "wrong/bad behavior" to "a person who is wrong/bad".  Of course this is quite simple if I just remember that everyone has a story--reasons behind why they do what they do or think how they think.  I have absolutely no authority to judge anothers' motives.  And I'm glad.  What a responsibility!

But unfortunately judging a behavior is almost always taken in our day for being judgmental.  To claim that something is a "bad" thing is to be INTOLERANT.  Suddenly it is taken to mean that I personally will not stand for it.  I just will not tolerate others' wrong choices.  And, clearly, that I have an aversion to the person who commits such acts or even those who disagree with me about the choice.

It used to be a matter of moral right and wrong but all those lines have become so blurred that the only real "wrong" seems to be when you point out that there actually is a black and a white.  But there is.  And saying that everything is gray makes the world as useful as static on a TV screen.  Separate the black and white and you can see moving pictures and scenes that offer value to the observer.  Something can be understood.

I think there is some good in being able to say "It's your thing, do what you want."  But I think that if that's all we ever say, there is something wrong. Especially if we consider there to be some sort of inherent rightness in another person's choices, simply because they made them.  This is how it seems we are being taught to feel.

A phrase I hear a lot is "living your truth."  Thanks for that one, Satan.  The world loves it!!  Doing what you want--what makes you "happy"--regardless of your creators opinion and instruction.  It's a new truth.  Create your own truth, and live by it.  This has somehow become the new mark of goodness.  "She's living her truth."  Well, good for her.  Except that truth is something that IS, and if your "truth" contradicts it, it's known as a lie.

I believe that God does have an opinion.  And that he's always right.  I think that judging that what He says is true, without casting judgment on the motives of those who don't follow him (often unwittingly!), is a good thing.  An example:

My mother-in-law smokes.  As a Mormon I believe that God doesn't want us to smoke.  It is wrong.  I believe that she is doing something that is wrong.  I am not judging her.  I am judging the action.  I have no idea on earth as to whether or not she is guilty.  My brain tells me that she is only as guilty as her religion teaches her she is (?).  Mostly, though, it doesn't matter.  She can do whatever she wants and I have no problem with it at all (except, of course, that I don't want her actions to cause her to die too soon, please.).  But if I say that I believe it is wrong, black like the color I wish her lungs weren't, please don't tell me that it's actually as gray as the smoke she is exhaling.  (okay, maybe that line is a bit much...)

I think it would be nice if we could just live in a world where we allowed each other to make choices and didn't think too much about it, and certainly weren't asked to state our opinion about it.  But we live in a time when I think it is becoming increasingly important from time to time for us to stand with God, even outside of our own homes, and to share what we believe he expects of us, even when it comes across as being judgmental.  And it is not easy.  I just wish I could go on watching the scenes on the screen without having to explain what kept me staring for so long to someone who sees nothing but static on the same screen.

I'll Miss Him

I'm going to miss Aaron for the two (happy!) weeks I'll be visiting family in California.  I'll miss the usual everyday conversations, like these that took place this morning:

Aaron called to me from the other room.  Not just a "Mom!" but a "You know what, mommy? Blah blah blah blah blah blah..."  I told him I couldn't hear him and asked him to come into the kitchen.

He said, "What?"  And I repeated that if he wanted to talk to me he'd have to come to the kitchen, where I was.

He said, "I thought you have to come here."

I said, "No, if I want to talk to you, I have to go to where you are, but if you want to talk to me, you have to come to me."

He replied, disappionted, "Well, that's not awesome."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Mommy, does bad guys go potty?"  

"Yup."

"Oookay."  

* * * * * * * * * * * *

After prayer Aaron scolded Spencer for not having closed his eyes.  I explained that he's still little so it's okay if he doesn't always close his eyes because he doesn't really know how.  Aaron countered with, "But mommy, you know what?  When Spencer goes night-night he knows how, so he knows how for prayer, too."

Oh!  That's right!  Spencer does know how to close his eyes!  The things I've been letting him get away with...

Just Write: My Life is Just Right

We're all in the living room.  Frank Sinatra is playing.  When Greg first turned it on I wasn't sure if it was Harry Connick or Frank.  I checked and it's Frank.  He sounds like Christmas to me.

Some yummy smelling oil is diffusing.  Greg is sitting on an exercise ball rocking back and forth to the music with both Aaron and Spencer on his lap.  I don't know how he's doing that, but I'll bet it's good exercise.

Evie is making Christmas presents for her cousins.  I will take them to California when I go in two weeks for Thanksgiving.  David is drawing -- cars, of course -- with glitter glue paint.

Everyone is talking in low voices and it feels like Family.  It feels like Home.

I'm getting up now to make something warm and yummy and good to balance out the too-much-sweets-from-our-Halloween-party last night.  But I promised Aaron I'd play one game of Candyland with him first.

I love my life.

I wrote about this moment to join in with Heather's Just Write free writing exercise.  You can join in or read Just Write posts from other bloggers by following that link.

Better Food, Cleaner Dishes and No Spiders

We sort of have this thing about appliances around here.  Way back at the very dawning of this blog I wrote a post about our hunt for, and purchase of, a washing machine.  It tells the tale of our complete ignorance and relative incompetence when it comes to making an educated purchase of such contraptions.

But it's not the issue of having to choose one that keeps us from buying a dishwasher or microwave.  Money isn't the problem, either (because we have bags of money in the basement waiting for us to decide what to spend it on)  (don't tell the neighbors).  No, we are just prejudiced against these appliances.

I don't like food out of the microwave.  As a little girl my best friend had a microwave WAY before the rest of the world did and we would stick a piece of Wonder bread in there and relish each bite of the steaming, rubbery, food-like substance that came out 15 seconds later.  But I seem to have outgrown rubbery food and become a disliker of slimy cheese.

I like my cheese crispy.  I like my hot-dogs browned (and un-exploded).  I like my frozen dinners -- I don't like my frozen dinners.  Everything a microwave can do, a stove-top or oven can do better, in my opinion (except soften butter).  So we haven't had a microwave for 11 years.

Greg is strongly averse to dishwashers.  "They don't work well", he says.  "They're not worth the trouble" he says.  And I take his word for it about not being worth the trouble because he's something of an expert, since he washes about !% of the dirty dishes around here.  So, we don't have a dishwasher (actually we do in the downstairs kitchen but we've never used it).

We also don't have a drier, but that's more for reasons of nobody-in-Europe-has-a-drier.  Plus 11 years of not using one has made me a little afraid of them (although I miss them dearly at the same time).

In conclusion, the other morning Evie came into my room and told me there was a spider.  I stepped out of my bedroom and found this waiting to jump down on the next person who dared descend the stairs below him:

For comparison, the light underneath is about as long as my humerus.  (I always give measurements in bone lengths)  (especially while talking about spider size around Halloween)  This guy was definitely bigger than my patella.  (glad he never got anywhere near my patella, though, let me tell you!)

It was no problem though, because Greg came out and sucked him up with the vacuum.  Because we HAVE a vacuum.  We are, in fact, firm believers in the vacuum cleaner.

The Hardest Thing

I'm currently in the middle of a week spent with my in-laws (mom, dad and sister).  I love them dearly and they are good people.  It's hard for me to be with them, though, without aching to live in a place where my own parents could be an influence on my children, at least a few times a year (or even once a year!).

My in-laws smother the kids with kisses and affectionate talk in altered tones.  They are always ready to help the older kids with homework and play the little "games" I don't have patience for over and over and over with the little ones that the kids giggle and giggle and giggle about ("Oh no!  Where did Aaron go!?!" x 500).  They take the kids for long, long walks and feed them lots and lots of food.  I'm so grateful for all of this (...almost always).

With my dad they would have a very different experience.  He would get down on the floor with them and play and wrestle.  He would show them things and... well, the fact of the matter is that I don't know exactly what he would do because it's been so many years that it makes me cry to think of it (almost 4) (excuse me while I wipe my eyes and blow my nose).  His wife would ask the kids questions and be infinitely interested and plan craft projects and make yummy food for and maybe with them.

 My mom would read them book after book after book.  She would point out interesting things and teach them words and concepts. She would teach and teach and the kids would feel her love for her God and His plan and her Savior and His sacrifice every single day.  She would always give them something interesting to do.  She would reprimand them when they needed it.  She would sit back and watch them interact with each other.  And she would laugh.

The things Greg's parents do, my parents would do very little of (or in more moderation).  The things my parents would do, Greg's parents do very little of..

I am so, so grateful my kids have loving grandparents living close enough that we see them many times a year.  But it's hard to express how difficult it is for me to have my kids growing up largely without their other grandparents.  It's probably the hardest thing about living here, not to mention what usually REALLY gets me: all the things my kids do and say and ARE that my parents can't experience.

And don't even get me started on aunts and uncles and cousins.  They see their Polish cousin (yes, without an "s" on the end) on Easter and Christmas.  He's 23.  They pretty much never get to see their (soon to be) sixteen other cousins, who are ages 13 and under and some of the cutest, smartest little people in the world.

I just had to unload.  I know it could be worse (My parents are still alive!  And I get along with all my siblings!  And many Americans don't get to see their family often, either! etc.) but sometimes one needs to throw oneself a pity party.  Sorry if I got confetti in your hair.

I Have Another Question (#2)

What are your thoughts on/experience with the marriage rule of never going to bed mad?

My answer:

If I had followed that rule I would have probably been awake since sometime in the early months of our marriage.  When it's late I seem to lose all sense of... everything, and am likely to become a bundle of resentment and/or despair with little willpower to put toward seeing reason/forgiving/admitting I'm wrong/getting the heck over it.  Plus, we're not the best communicators.  So I/we go to bed mad.

By the time I wake up I have a fresh new, or rather, an 8 hour-old, sense of resentment and/or despair over the injustice that is my marriage but by then, or sometime that day I get sick of  talking to Greg only when necessary and in as robotic a tone as I can muster (so mature!), so I stop it and everything goes back to normal (within a day or two)  i.e. I start thinking he's one of the best people in the world.

I can't wait until we're perfect and Greg and I are finally decent communicators and he finally understands that I'm always in the right.

I Have a Question # 1

I actually have a few questions that I would love to hear your thoughts on if you have the desire to share.  I'll post them over the next few days and answer them myself in my post.  Today's question:

What is your cleaning MUST?  In other words, what are you good at keeping clean or tidy because it's almost a pet peeve for it to be dirty or unorganized?

I'm asking this question because once when I was visiting my sister, while she cooked dinner and we chatted I took a cloth and started wiping down the cupboard doors.  I think I asked if I could first.  She thought I was weird, but I was just standing there talking to her, doing nothing, so why not wipe down the doors?  I don't think I offended her (a la "I can't stand to look at these doors for another second!" which is not what I was thinking at all).  I hope not, because I regularly wipe mine down, so I was just doing what I would have done at home.  She thought it might be one of my MUSTS, but it's not.  She then told me about a friend of hers who can't stand to have the splashboard behind the sink dirty.  This is why I started thinking about this and wonder what your "issues" are with cleaning.

My answer:


I like my car to be tidy.  No wrappers, toys or random items of clothing.  Everything is taken out after every weekend trip and it is maintained during the week.  I also care more than Greg about it being washed (exterior) so I've made it my job.

In the house Greg dislikes dust so I (or Greg) vacuum regularly and the kids dust mop all floors every evening.  We also like clean walls so our kids are discouraged from touching the walls (punishable by a beating) (just kidding), and I do spot-wiping regularly.

One thing I wish I was better at is keeping up with clutter, especially in the kitchen and on the stairs.

Now, please tell me yours, if you have one!