Oxford Comma

     The Oxford Comma: I didn't even know that this concept had a name until I heard the song Word Crimes by Weird Al Yankovic. Great song, by the way. It's pretty much my favorite thing.

     Now you can love it, too. Anyway, the Oxford Comma is an optional comma that you'll find before the and in a list of at least three items. For instance, among my favorite singers are Michael Bublé, Adam Levine, and Ryan Tedder. You could technically also write that as "Michael Bublé, Adam Levine and Ryan Tedder." The difference is minimal (for most people). But for an English major, it can be something to cause a feud over ("Over which to cause a feud." Sorry, English majors).
     Now, I said it above, and I'll say it again: this construction is entirely optional. There is no rule regarding the Oxford Comma. But remember, as I've said even more often, I love commas, so as you can imagine, I prefer to use and see the Oxford Comma. When it's omitted, I know that it's okay, but I still long for it to be there. It's kind of like thinking you see an old friend in the grocery and having it turn out to be some other bald, bearded man (that happened to me yesterday). It's a let-down. But again, optional.
     Now, why is it such a big deal? What's the difference? Most of the time, nothing, except for the normalcy and dependability of seeing it. When we don't expect to see something, we often don't see it at all. See the classic awareness test if you don't believe me:

     That's also the whole point of Assassin's Creed, right? If people don't expect it, it "doesn't happen." But if we expect to see something and we don't, it's tragic. Humans like for things to be normal, stable, and consistent (notice the last comma).
     But there's another good reason to use the Oxford Comma, regarding the clarification of ambiguity, or a vague statement. Wiki-"man's best friend"-pedia has a great page on this topic, and my favorite example that they give is: "'Among those interviewed were his two ex-wives, Kris Kristofferson and Robert Duvall.' A serial comma following 'Kris Kristofferson' would help prevent this being understood as 'Among those interviewed were his two ex-wives (namely, Kris Kristofferson and Robert Duvall).'" I keep wanting to explain this further, but I don't want to treat you like an idiot, because I know you're not. If it's not quite clear (due to my poor explanation), comment below and I'll specify. :)
     But anyway, the point: there are two discrepancies with the discussion of "Do or Do Not: Oxford Comma Edition." The side for the Oxford Comma says, "Use of the comma is consistent with conventional practice." And the side against the comma says, "Use of the comma is inconsistent with conventional practice." Wait, what? How does that even work?
     The other problem is the name of the comma itself: "Oxford Comma" is just one of its names, and possibly the most common, but it was originally known as the "Serial Comma." "Series Comma" (which makes a lot of sense considering that it deals with lists) and "Harvard Comma" are also perfectly acceptable titles. I find it very interesting that so many people claim it, including two elite universities. I don't know who has more right to it, and I don't really care all that much.
     But the way that people argue for or against the comma irks me, and it's basically identical to how people argue about anything. With no authority other than somebody's word, we approve or discredit something without discussing its merit. We only say that it works or it doesn't. Is the Oxford Comma consistent with conventional practice? Well, it depends on whom you ask, apparently. Who's right? Not a clue. Does it matter to anyone? Not really.
     Who came up with the concept? What is it even called? Doesn't matter. Why not? Because no one cares.
     I mean, yes, of course no one cares about commas because commas are pretty meaningless in the grand scheme of life (as much as it pains me to admit it). But doesn't that pattern sound familiar?

     Have you guys been watching the Presidential debates? Oh my goodness. I get so furious watching grown children argue about who looks better in a red tie (and oh yeah, what they want to do about ISIS, because that's the only issue facing America). Trump and Christie are too "My way or the highway," Cruz and Rubio are too politically plastic, and Bush and Kasich don't strike me as anything particularly noteworthy. The only two that I like are Rand Paul and Ben Carson, and it has little to do with their policies. Yes, I like their policies. But mostly, I admire their way of presenting themselves and what they believe.
     I love Carson's moral compass. I love how honest he is, how he owns up it when he doesn't know something. I love the reliance I can tell he would have on his committees and advisers. He feels dignified, intelligent, mature, considerate, and good. I trust him.
     I love Rand's foundation on the Constitution. I love that the "right thing" for him, the "right direction" in which to take the country is the direction upon which it was founded. I don't see him as having a personal agenda. I see him as wanting to do the right thing and preserve the honor of a God-inspired nation.
     So whenever I watch the debates, all I hear is a whole lot of avoidance. What are the facts? Whatever I say they are. What should we do with ISIS? Whatever will get me elected. Immigrants or no immigrants? That depends on how many immigrants are listening right now. National debt? Get rid of it! Military spending? Of course, we're Republicans! etc. None of the candidates (expect for the two I've mentioned) discusses what's morally right, what the founding documents say, or what the president even has the power to do. They're arguing about Oxford Commas when a nation's integrity, stability, and survival are at stake.
     Next time you watch the debate, read the news, or scroll past a Trump article on Facebook, pay attention to the way the candidates address the issues—not looking so much at what they say their policies are (for now) but how they argue, respond, and appeal.
     Nobody's perfect, but we should be humane enough to listen to each other. I always say that I can't argue with swiss cheese—people with so many holes in their arguments that they're not willing to address. I can't stand debating with people who don't take responsibility for themselves or acknowledge their biases on a given point. If we're talking about what's right, then let's talk about what has been established as "right" by God, the Constitution, our employment contract, or whatever else pertains to the conversation, but not just what we feel like thinking is right.
     I value truth, honesty, and integrity. Communication depends on them. As such, I think it's important that we all (including myself) become a little better at forming and defending our opinions so that we actually arrive at a helpful conclusion, maintain dignified conversation, and preserve the purity of our cause. Otherwise, we're just arguing about Oxford Commas.

This isn't the type of video that I normally post, but it's religious and about the Constitution, so it works! Enjoy!

Illinois

     There's no place like home, right? Right.
     Home can be anywhere, really. The old adages of "home is where the heart is" and "home is where you hang your hat" are just as valid as the nostalgia of the place where you were born and/or grew up. I, personally, have always had a hard time determining where "home" should be. In my (two weeks shy of) twenty-one post-natal years on earth—not to forget the nine months where I was technically alive, mortal, and a person, yet I floated inside of a uterus—I have moved eighteen times (eight of those as a missionary in Chile, which is normal). With all of those moves, I have lived in four states in America and three regions in Chile, but the distribution has been far from equal place to place. I moved to California when I was three, and I lived there until I was ten (seven years in the same house, which is an unparalleled personal record). I later moved back when I was fifteen and left again when I was eighteen. So in twenty-one years, I have lived in California for ten. One would say that I'm from California. In fact, that's what I most often do. When somebody asks me, "Where are you from?" I almost always respond, "Carlsbad, California" (where I spent nine of the ten years).
     But I declare proudly that I was born in Springfield, Illinois, home of the Simpsons (not that I'm altogether proud of that). I lived in the tiny, beautiful town of Litchfield until I was two and a half, and then I briefly lived in Chicago until I was three. Almost everyone in my mom's family still lives out there, mostly in and around Litchfield, and I've gone back to visit many time. I absolutely love it. And I have a secret: when I say I'm from California, I typically mean that I'm more familiar with it, because I spent quite a significant portion of my life there. I'm "from" California. But I consider "home" to be Illinois.

     To me, Illinois means family. It means peaceful. It means get away from everything that doesn't matter and remember who made you you. It means small town U.S.A., Route 66, Hardee's, baseball, and the Holiday Inn Express right off the freeway that makes my parents remind us of those old "I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express once" commercials—every time. And I love it.

     Illinois is the only place where I remember what it's like outdoors, what it's like to be a kid again, and why people matter more than things. I love being home.

     Unfortunately, most people I know have never been to Illinois, or at least not for long enough to appreciate it. Even worse, there are so many people I know who can't even pronounce the state's name properly. One of my biggest pet peeves, easily, is when people pronounce the "s" in "Illinois." I don't know how to type the vocalizations of my cringing at the thought of such tyrannical mistreatment of my beloved homeland, but just know that it makes me sick.
     Dictionary.com has the following insert on its page featuring the definition (and pronunciation) of Illinois: "The pronunciation of Illinois with a final [z] which occurs chiefly among less educated speakers, is least common in Illinois itself, increasing in frequency as distance from the state increases."
     Well, you don't get much farther away from Illinois in the continental U.S. than California, so as you can imagine, I've heard this word-slaughter many a time. It's a shame, and no matter how hard I try to educate people, the problem just won't go away.
     Now, there are obviously worse things to worry about, but have you ever experienced something like this? When somebody completely misrepresents you or something you love? I imagine that this is how my roommate, Conrad, feels when I (slightly) misquote The Lord of the Rings. It's the way I feel when somebody misquotes Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Frozone's argument with his wife, Honey, in The Incredibles. It's how I feel when people slander The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Yes, these things have differing levels of importance in society and in eternity, but in my own personal world, these are things that matter.
     Each of us has things that we hold sacred, whether pious or not. There are things we don't want anyone to speak poorly of, regardless of the truthfulness of the accusations. I've heard people make fun of Illinois for the way Illinoisans pronounce (or don't pronounce) things. I have a slightly mid-western accent when I get excited, which is something I inherited from my mom. I know firsthand that the "g" in a gerund ("-ing") is completely optional, words like "gonna" and "wanna" and "ain't'cha" or at least "aren't'cha" sound far better than their dictionary-featured ancestors, and the word "y'all" is soothing to the soul. No, I don't pronounce "wash" or "Washington" with an "r," like "I gotta warsh the car 'fore I can get 'er up ta Warshington." Yes, my grandpa does. And yes, the rest of that sentence is totally me when I get out of that snooty college mood.
     So yes, I'm aware that Illinois has its quirks. But don't you dare ever tell me that as criticism. It's too close to the chest. As I've gotten older, I've seen that the same is true for just about everyone; we anxiously defend what we love—our home, our habits, and our families. I don't fault anyone for "being blind" to the flaws of their make-up, because I don't think we're actually that blind to ourselves. We may not be able to articulate our concerns, but mainly we just don't want others to criticize or point fingers.
     I think that there are two solutions to this disconnect, if we want one: first, those pointing fingers can be more patient and understanding. Exercise compassion. I need a lot of work on this, in some areas more than others. And for those being offended, take a step back and realize that people don't mean to hurt you. You may not be able to see the problem because you're too close to it—"the forest for the trees" and all that. I believe that people are inherently good, that the light of Christ burns within us. We want to do what's right, and we want to fix what's not. It's a natural tendency. It's something we need to adapt if it causes us to be condescending or pessimistic, but it's good that we want to improve. Bottom line, we need to be more understanding of each other. Our families, our experiences, and our feelings are all unique, so we are, too. We have to be open and honest with each other, and we have to be kind.
     We're not perfect, so some of these flaws that others see in us or our heritage may need to change. No matter the tone of the comment, take what's true and learn from it. Be better. Seek understanding and self-improvement. And if you're delivering the feedback, make sure those who hear it hear your heart. Because when people feel that your comments come from a place of love, they'll feel right at home.

It's the little moments that matter most—the little pieces of ourselves that make us who we are. Be proud of them, and don't let any of those formative experiences—positive or negative—pass you by.

Bless Your Heart, No Offense, and all the JKs

     When I was a kid, I loved playing the Madden football games on PlayStation (yes, the first one). In my experience (and don't hate me for this), football video games are pretty much exactly the same as each other, minus a few nuances. But my favorite feature of the original Maddens that I've never found on any sports game since was the "mulligan" option, which allowed you to go back to before the previous play had taken place. Each player was allowed three mulligans per half (I think. Maybe per game), so no matter what happened to you, no matter how badly you "dropped the ball," you could just act like the play had never happened. It was beautiful. It was the football equivalent of a computer's "undo" button--or as a good friend calls it, the "repent" button.
     Sometimes, we act like we can mulligan the things we say to other people. We think we can say whatever we want and then take it back. Obviously, true repentance wipes us clean of guilt, but the effects of our words lasts. We've heard sayings about sticks and stones and how feathers that blow to the wind are impossible to retrieve again. To that, I think Han Solo is best qualified to respond:

     Words can hurt far worse than sticks and stones, and I think we all know that to a certain degree. But still, there's this habit in society of spitting out cutting words and then using a mulligan, hoping the person to whom we've spoken will take our comment to heart enough to change but no so much to hate us. We don't want the guilt.

     We all know these strategies: "No offense" is possibly the most common, and "jk" is part of any American's vernacular. I was born in Illinois, so the version with which I'm most familiar is "Bless your heart." Those three words have followed some of the worst, dirtiest, meanest insults I've ever heard. But they cover it up all nice and cozy with a cherry on top of the cyanide, so it's all good, right?

     I don't have a lot of time today, so this is gonna be the shortest post ever, but I just wanted to say something about this tendency that I've been seeing even more than normal this week. People are people with real feelings, and we remember the things we hear, no matter how they're packaged. Every life has value; we all have a divine purpose, and when God tells us--everyone--that He loves us and wants us to come home to Him, He's not jk.

I've posted this video before, but it's still one of my favorites:

If You Want Something Done Right

     Contrary to common belief, it's actually not an exclusively millenial idea that everyone who disagrees with us is wrong. Yes, we see people getting offended left and right by what many of us might think are childish and unreasonable disputes, and yes, the YouTube argument section (comments) can be even more entertaining than the Sunday funnies, but I think that the problem is that we have more exposure to the thoughts and feelings of those around us. Deep down, this idea that we're always right and that anyone who disagrees with us is wrong is a tale as old as time.

     (Side note: I just had to throw this in there. It's the only absolute on this topic that I agree with. Yes, I know that "only a Sith deals in absolutes," but doesn't that sound like a pretty absolute statement, Obi-Wan? Huh?!)
     I've heard throughout my life, "If you want something done right, you've gotta do it yourself." Wikipedia is my friend, so I can now semi-authoritatively tell you that this phrase comes from Charles-Guillaume Étienne, a French dramatist who said, "On n'est jamais servi si bien que par soi-même," translating directly (so I'm told. I don't speak French) to, "One is never served so well as by oneself." From this counsel, we've adopted the Spark Notes version, "If you want something done right, do it yourself." While I disagree that Charlie-Willy's advice might not be what we should do, I think he hit the nail right on the head with what we actually do (I almost said "do do." I stopped myself) as human beings with a little too much faith in ourselves and not enough compassion for our neighbor.
     The idea behind this statement is that there's only one right way to do things and that only you know how to do it. But since only a Sith deals in absolutes, we know that most often everyone has their own unique way of doing things. Everybody has opinions, and each of these varies from the others even if only by a small margin. In most cases, it's not just a question of right vs. wrong, or even good/better/best. Sometimes it's just style.
     So what we're actually saying when we cite this trope is, "If you want something done exactly the way you want it done, do it yourself." We can all do something the "right" way, or at least in one of the right ways, but it's hard to read other people's minds and come up with something exactly the way they like it. I've seen this a million times at work, writing back liners (the trailer-type summary on the back of books). I can write back liners that I and my boss find fantastic, but maybe one of the editors hates it. In other cases, I've written back liners that make me gag just because I know the editor well enough to cater to their liking. Everybody wants things a particular way.
     For instance, what's the "right" way to tell when a grilled cheese sandwich is ready? I imagine that you and my nine-year-old nephew have slightly different opinions on the matter. You see, he knows that his sandwich is done cooking when the smoke alarm goes off. Seriously. The child refuses to eat a grilled cheese sandwich that is any less than charcoal. So if he wants it done the "right" way according to him, than he either has to do it himself or trust that his mom has caught on to his tastes, however strange she or I might find them.
     The great William Wordsworth (or "Wordy," as Lord Byron called him) insisted that the only true way to write poetry was to speak of common, everyday subjects in common, everyday language. He deplored the style of poetry in which most poets, he felt, lost their words to a so-called artistic flowering. His poems, therefore, are pretty straightforward. He doesn't beat around the bush or say things difficult for the common man to understand, and I like that. While that's all good and well, I take issue with him demanding that all poetry must fit these criteria in order to be good poetry. Wordy's contemporary, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, also objected to such a blanket description. Said Coleridge, "The best part of human language, properly called, is derived from reflection on the acts of the mind itself. It is formed by a voluntary appropriation of fixed symbols to internal acts, to processes and results of imagination, the greater part of which have no place in the consciousness of uneducated man" (Norton Anth. of Eng. Lit. 9E, 497). Translated from Coleridgese, his argument is that poetry, or language in general, is pulled directly from the thoughts of man, and you can't tell me how to think. We alone decide what words, metaphors, and symbols come to our mind, and our writing them reflects a unique imagination that  no one can touch. Not everything needs to be catered or dumbed down to an audience.
     I agree with that completely. Certainly, Wordy has a point: poetry should include common themes and phrases, but the most personal work comes from an unfiltered flow of consciousness from the mind to the paper—keeping in mind, however, that flowering up text for the sake of show is pretentious and pointless. Like William Strunk teaches, if you can cut a word and keep your point clear, cut it.
     Sorry to take you into a lecture. My point is that there is no one "right" way to do most things. Preference and style often get lost in a sea of biased opinions where we convince ourselves (and try to convince others) that only our way leads to success.
     Now, you have every right to insist that something be done to your liking if the project is for you. A director on a film set can and should expect his wardrobe team to take his counsel; it's his movie. A football coach can tell his players to line up in any formation he pleases; it's his team. The danger comes in overreaching our limits and trying to control things that really have nothing to do with us. And when someone else tells us we're doing something wrong on their project, we shouldn't get offended or feel attacked. We shouldn't assume that they're wrong and that we're right, unless it's actually a question of morals. If the project belongs to someone else, do it their way. It's not about right or wrong—it's about taste. And if you're the one in charge, don't expect people to have a perfect understanding of your vision. Patiently explain until they understand, and then decide how important it is that it be exactly the way you want it. If it's not vital, let them get as close as they can. You might like their little spin.
     If it's that important that your vision be carried out to the letter, or if you want something done exactly the way you want it, you have every right to do it yourself. But if you just want something done right, then those possibilities are limitless.

This is a great video about seeing the world through unexpected eyes. Everybody's opinion matters.

Not Un

     Time for another commonly used English phrase that, while correctly structured, can become ridiculous when used in excess. This is the "not un-" construction. It's more popular than I think we realize until we start looking for it. At least, that's how it was for me when I first came across this quote in the essay, Politics and the English Language:
     “A not unblack dog was chasing a not unsmall rabbit across a not ungreen field.” -George Orwell
     Just reading that through once or twice should help you see how silly this whole idea is. Go ahead. Read it, memorize it, and recite it to yourself. The exercise is certainly not unhelpful.
     What is it that we're really saying? The "not unblack dog" is just a "black dog;" the "not unsmall rabbit" is of course a "small rabbit," and the "not ungreen field" is green. The prefix of "not un" just confuses readers briefly, causing a mental double take to make sure that two negatives indeed make a positive. But what's the difference between saying it one way or the other? In meaning, absolutely nothing; they're the same description. But in mental interpretation, when instinct kicks in, the way we hear the statement can change drastically. Our brains hone in on the negative rather than the positive. We focus on what something isn't rather than what it is.
     In a way, this makes sense. Think for a second: what is a dog? How do you know it when you see it? How can you be sure that an animal is a dog? If you're like most people, your first thought isn't "a four-legged creature that barks," which is certainly what a dog is. Instead, you will likely picture what a dog isn't: it isn't a cat, an elephant, a bird, or a platypus. It isn't bald, it isn't overly threatening, and it isn't allowed in your apartment. Our brains work by comparison, which is why we always want more or less. We perceive differences between ourselves and others, and that's how we define ourselves—by the spaces between us, not by the space we fill up.
     Unfortunately, we do the same thing among our peers. We're either more or less attractive, wealthy, or intelligent. There is no equality. No one can be "just as pretty" or "just as smart." We are in better or worse shape, we have a better or worse job, and we have a harder or an easier class schedule. We see ourselves and each other as what we aren't rather than who we are.
     It's always so sad to me when a girl says she's not pretty. What she actually means is, "I feel like I'm not as pretty as _____," which is simply not true. It's the way she feels thanks to social constructs, but it's not who she really is. How we perceive beauty is based entirely on preference, so there will never be consensus on the outward appearance of what we call "beauty," but true beauty is an internal state of being. A person is beautiful by doing beautiful things.

     I know that their etymological roots are different, but I've always loved the similarities between the words "beauty" and "beatitudes," the first principles taught in The Sermon on the Mount, given by Christ in Matthew chapters 5-7. This is where Christ teaches us how to receive blessings: by being meek, humble, peacemakers, pure in heart, etc. Of these points, depending how you count them, four are actions (it's what we do that defines us, as both Batman and Jane Austen teach us), and the other five are states of being—who are are. It doesn't say, "Blessed are those who are not prideful," but "blessed are the meek." Christ wanted us to focus on what we are becoming, not what we are trying not to be. We have two wolves inside of us, and we decide which to feed. Well, if we need to feed Wolf A so we constantly think, "Don't feed Wolf B," you are spending more time thinking about B than A, and the one we dwell on most is the one we feed. Thinking "I want to be not chubby" will always make me realize that I'm still chubby and will cause me disappointment. Thinking "I want to not be a student" reminds me that I'm still a student. But switching that to "I want to graduate" puts me on a path of action. I look at the requirements, take the classes, do the work, and earn the diploma, but only because I've decided to act and to be. So, tying this back to the beautiful girl who doesn't realize it, her beauty comes from doing the types of things Christ taught in the beatitudes: doing and becoming rather than not-being.
     Now, in English, there are actually a few perfectly acceptable uses of "not un," and it's not uncommon to see them pop up. For the purposes of this blog, I want to focus on just one: when neither a positive nor a negative adjective seems to work.
     For instance, I hypothetically just got a B on a paper, and I'm not unhappy about it. I'm not devastated, but I'm not particularly thrilled. It's still a good grade, so overall, I'm okay. The middle ground, then, is to say that I'm not unhappy.
     But this reflects another issue not unseen in our times. We live in a very lukewarm society, where people are afraid to take sides or approach anything passionately for fear of rejection, isolation, or accusations of offense. In short, for fear. It's so sad for me to see this amalgamation of ideals and even in our attempts to be politically correct, which is not the same thing as "respectful." We're losing our identity because we're afraid of being. We're afraid of failure. We're afraid of each other, and we're afraid of ourselves. We're afraid to admit to ourselves that we may have some redeeming qualities. We don't want confidence to come across as conceit, so we hide the whole thing under a bushel and hope that no one will notice the light glowing beneath.
     You may have heard this too many times to count, so as much as I love it, I won't bother analyzing it (I promise). Special shout-out to a shaved-headed Channing Tatum in the following clip:

     “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” -Marianne Williamson

     The only thing I'll point out is that every time I've seen this quoted in a movie, they cut out the parts about God. Don't forget that. God is the reason you are divine. He is your Father and mine, and He loves all of us. He see who we can become.

     Please don't be afraid of yourself, and don't let anyone tell you what you're not. I'm such a hypocrite in this regard, but I'm working on it. I'm such a perfectionist that it can be so difficult to see what I do well and what makes me unique. There are a lot of things that I am not, but for once, I want to focus on what I am:

     I am a devoted and loving fiancé. I am a caring son. I am a good uncle, brother, and brother-in-law. I am a perfectly decent songwriter, singer, and musician. I am a faithful member of my Church. I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. I am honest. I am smart. I am a good listener. I am able to draw meaningful conclusions. I am a good teacher. I am a good reader of literature and life. I am a dependable friend. I am tidy, and I am punctual. I am a Harry Potter and Star Wars nerd, and I am passionate about good food. I am a skilled hockey player and a composed public speaker. I am handsome. I am a good person. I am happy.

     Those who know me well may find me narcissistic. Those who know me best tend to see me as realistic. Only one or two people know that when I'm alone, I'm extremely pessimistic. So the fact that I can present that list may surprise you, and it may not. But I know that I am a child of God. I love Him, and I know that He loves me. I am striving every day to be more like Him, and I know that you are, too. It's difficult, but He wouldn't put us here if we weren't up to the challenge. My only desire in life is to make Him happy, so that means I will recognize what I am and what I'm missing. I will strive to be better and to choose to serve Him. I will stand before Him someday, and when that day comes, I plan on being like Him (Moroni 7:48). It will all be worth it on that most not unglorious day.

Here's a favorite children's song—not just for the little kiddles, but for all of God's children:

One in the Same

     Fun trivia fact about The Lion King: while the music was written by Elton John, the score by Hans Zimmer, and the lyrics by Tim Rice, the African influence came from a man named Lebo M. He's the guy who sings the "naaaaaaa-sivenyaaaaa!!!" or whatever from The Circle of Life. Around the same time as The Lion King's release, Lebo M released a CD through Walt Disney Records called Rhythm of the Pride Lands, featuring the hit song He Lives in You. He Lives in You was such a catch that basically the entire reason that The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride was made was so they could use that song. I mostly just like the sequel for its music, personally, most notably this song and one other: We Are One. This is the song that Simba sings with his daughter Kiara when he tries to help her understand her role and responsibility as future queen. I'll put it here below (now that I've finally figured out how):

    

     The concept of this song is beautiful: we are more than just ourselves; we need each other, and we need to honor those who have come before us while preparing for those who will honor us when we have gone; we need to be one. I agree with that, and my hope in writing this post is to help myself (and hopefully you) understand a little better what it means to be truly unified.

     Before I forget to address the English fallacy inherent in the phrase featured in the title, the expression is "one and the same," not "one in the same." The first (correct) version is a literary device called Variation, wherein synonyms or close-synonyms are grouped together to add emphasis. This happens a lot in religion, calling Christ our "Lord and Savior" or "Savior and Redeemer." The words aren't exactly identical in meaning, but they're similar enough, and their purpose is to emphasize the incomprehensible role of Christ's atoning power. Thus, the phrase "one and the same" just emphasizes the link between the two descriptions, making them pop off the page a little more.

     But "one in the same," though incorrect, may teach us even more about how to come together on a much deeper level than we're used to.

     Have you ever been in a group? This can be in class, on a team, in a family, or in society...so the answer is "yes," no matter who you are. The only way out of it is to be a hermit on a remote island, in which case you wouldn't be reading this blog. Now, within that group, have you ever disagreed, argued, or fought with any members of it? I have. I can't speak for you, but I imagine that you have, too. It's part of learning to grow, I think. But that doesn't mean it's not difficult.

     Who here has seen this movie, Miracle? It's about the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team that broke the Soviet Union's twenty-year streak of utter dominance on the ice. It's one of my favorite movies, hands down. I play hockey, and there are so few films about this, the single greatest sport of all time, and the few that exist are generally absolutely awful—at least as far as the hockey itself goes. So I love this movie.

     Anyway, one of the principle premises of this movie is the players having to realize that they represent their country and not themselves. They have to learn to come together despite college rivalries, which actually are as big of a deal as they make it out to be. In short, being on the same team, they are the same. But that's not enough—they need to learn to be one in the same in order to be successful.

     I am and have been part of countless groups in my life: school classes, jobs, Boy Scouts, a full-time mission, church, my family, etc. Everybody in these organizations is their own person. We are all unique and each have something to offer. We all have strengths and weaknesses, and we can all help each other achieve our potential. Very few people maliciously oppose others, so disagreements generally stem from sincere concerns on either side. It's hard to be different and be together at the same time. It's not impossible, but it's difficult.

     In church, school, work, and otherwise, I am always "the same" as everyone else—in the same group with the same ultimate purpose—but I have a hard time achieving true unity by becoming one. So how do we do it, and why should we?

     In the scriptures, God tells us, "If ye are not one, ye are not mine" (Doctrine and Covenants 38:27). That, for me, is enough reason to want to be one. I want to be God's. But beyond that, I once heard an African proverb that says something like, "If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together." I have seen the fruition of this proverb so many times in my life. The greatest results in my own personal progress have always come from other people who cared enough about me (or hated me enough) to show me how I needed to change and then helped me get there.

     I am so weak on my own. I've gone through periods of self-building and self-destruction, but I know without doubt that I'm valuable and capable as a human being. That said, I need the people around me in order to progress. I can be disagreeable, but once I acknowledge that my friends and family genuinely want to help, I try to open up and see things their way. As I become more at one with them, I become more at peace with myself, and I feel myself drawing closer to God. I feel myself becoming better.

     Being one doesn't mean that you have to lose or assimilate your identity; it doesn't mean that you're not good unless you're surrounded by other, more capable people; it doesn't mean that you have to forget your purpose. It does mean, that while we pursue our individual potential, we need to realize that no matter how badly we may want to, we can never reach it alone. As Desmond Tutu said, "Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another." I couldn't say it better.

     I love everyone. People frustrate me sometimes, but I love everyone I've ever met. It's hard to explain why. But that's the way God intended it to be, and therefore that's the way—uh huh uh huh—I like it. So don't be afraid to mingle, to gather, or to unite. Somewhere out there is someone who can help you reach the next step, no matter what it is. Look for them, find them, and learn from them, because it's not enough to be after the same thing. Someday, somehow, you need to learn to be one in the same.

Here's a great video about football! And unity! Two friends who play on rival football teams learn to be unified in their faith in Christ. Check it out!

Medium Well: Confessions of a Hypocritical Grammar Snob

     Infractions of who vs. whom kill me. Comma splices make me wanna kill other people. Since I write the way I speak, I almost never say "because" or "until," but I always indicate with an apostrophe: 'cause and 'til, respectively. I never say "there's" when is should be "there are," and "there're" works, but it looks weird and people will think it's pretentious. My favorite song by Weird Al Yankovic is Word Crimes. I am a lover of commas, especially the Oxford comma and the comma immediately preceding "too." I can stomach these mistakes from other people, but only just. #EnglishMajorProbs

     If you have read my blog before, none of this should come as a surprise, even if you don't quite understand every principle I've indicated. I love English; I love grammar. But I understand my place in society, so I often commit grammar regicide (because grammar is royalty and should be treated as such) due to my knowledge that people will hate me if I sound like a snob. Nobody likes snobs, but even among snobs, there are two specific types that are singled out: rich snobs and grammar snobs. I am the latter (and only the latter), so I must tread softly. I end sentences with prepositions, and occasionally I try to pass off a fragment as a full independent clause. But I do these things knowingly and with pain in my heart. In complete honesty, I wince inside when I make any grammar mistake. Well, almost any.

     There is one rule—one—about which I really couldn't care less, and I now subject myself to the condemnation and cries of shame from my fellow English majors and other grammar snobs: Good vs. Well. I mean, I care about it on the super obvious ones like "I speak English good." That one bugs me. I will never say "tastes good" to refer to a person's skill for tasting. But on the "smaller"—as I see them—infractions, like, "Hey, how're you doing?" "I'm doing good, man," I don't care. I know the difference: "good" is an adjective, and "well" is an adverb. Sometimes it occurs to me as I say it, but the mistake doesn't in any way instigate the same mental and emotional reaction as do other grammatical errors.

     I don't know why this is. Honestly, it puzzles me. Why is there a difference? If I'm so adamant about everything else in the realm of the English language, why do I so readily disregard this fundamental, easy-to-fix principle? The answer is simple: I'm a hypocrite.

     Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, "If you define 'hypocrite' as someone who fails to live up perfectly to what he or she believes, then we are all hypocrites." I don't live up fully to the grammar principles I so admire, so therefore I am a hypocrite. I accept this fully, though I don't do anything to change it, which makes me a hypocrite on a whole other level. But—and I don't say this in any way to excuse myself—aren't we all like that as President Uchtdorf suggests?
     I come from a very religious background, so I've grown up around hypocrisy at its highest sensitivity—not that religious people are more hypocritical, just that they're more eager to cry "hypocrite!" when they see something they think is wrong (which often is and occasionally is not). We're not perfect people, and religions give way to ready judgment because there're (you see? It looks weird) so many rules to follow, so many ways to mess up. There are so many items to be unaware of or to blatantly disregard because they're "not a big deal" or "not what I'm working on right now." That's a topic for another time, but we can see how easy it is to be hypocrite. The problem is admitting it.
     Think about your life for a second. Don't close your eyes or anything, 'cause then you wouldn't be able to read this. But take a moment to reflect and hopefully identify one or more things in your life that you are doing wrong. Done! Took me about three seconds. I'm as imperfect as they come, and I know it. I don't do anything about it, but I know it. Anyways, were you able to come up with anything? It doesn't have to be much. My only desire is that you will notice a discrepancy in your life—something you advocate but are not following totally. For instance, my family has a home video featuring one of my aunts—a vegetarian—admitting that she occasionally eats chicken. My dad responds, "hy-po-cri-ti-cal," which is where I learned that word. I'm not a vegetarian, like, at all, but if someone commits to something, they should follow it. A person who wants to be more like Christ but ducks his or her head when volunteers are sought for a cooking, cleaning, or moving assignment can't very well claim to be doing so well in that goal. Sure, there are other, maybe more important things to take into account, but these hypocrisies create holes in our advocacies and make people less willing to follow us.
     This isn't an attempt to call anyone out on anything specific, so I don't want to pile all of this on you or endlessly identify examples of wrongdoing (see Mosiah 4:29). This was supposed to be about me and my public confession of inadequacy, so back on the Me Bus.
     I'm an imperfect English major. I'm an imperfect man. There are many things in my life that I've done that were wrong—not just grammatically, but morally. I've hurt other people, and for that, I apologize. This isn't the place to specify whom or how, but I've said unkind things and exceeded boundaries and lost trust. I'm sorry.
     But I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to improve—not just morally, but grammatically. My girlfriend, a physics major, has been correcting me on my "good"/"well" usage, and I appreciate it. She's kidding, but she knows my desire to improve, and like the good girl that she is, she does her best to help me. I'm becoming more aware of it, and I'm working on applying it better into my life. I'm not doing a very good job, so I'm not doing very well. My girlfriend, Konrie, is doing both good and well.
     I want to be better, both as a man and a major. I'm striving to improve, but in order to do that, I need to be honest with myself and admit when I'm justifying sin or wrongdoing in any way. I try not to beat up on myself for not being perfect, because I never will be in this life, but I try my best to improve. And because it's good for me, I'll keep trying as well as I can.

Here's a hilarious story about being honest with yourself and admitting your faults. Check it out!

Anno Domini

     When I was about eleven or twelve, a friend of mine ran up to me excitedly and asked, "Are you AC or BC?" I would have had no idea what he was talking about, except that I had just heard him ask several other people the same question just moments earlier, trying to trick them. He was referring to the groups on either side of the meridian of time: "Before Christ" and, well, that's where he wasn't too sure. He claimed that the other option was AC, "After Christ." But if we measure time before the birth of Christ and after the ministry of Christ, what happens to those thirty-three years in between? Regardless, the actual abbreviation is AD, but I've heard many people define this as "After Death," meaning the death of Christ. But again, those thirty-three years are missing.
     So I told my friend the answer he wasn't expecting: "neither." I tried explaining that it wasn't AC, it was AD, and that I didn't know what it stood for, but it was definitely AD. He looked confused, but not nearly as much as he would have if I had known and explained the actual definition of AD.
     AD stands for "Anno Domini," a Latin phrase meaning "In the Year of the Lord." It represents not the birth year of Christ, but every subsequent birthday. AD 1 marks his first birthday, AD 23 his twenty-third, etc. For a thorough explanation of the timing of Christ's birth, I recommend Jesus the Christ by James E. Talmage. It's a tough read, but its language is beautiful and significant. This system of measurement was implemented in the sixth century but wasn't widely adopted until a couple centuries later (No sources. Just Google and whatever it could tell me). Most people don't know what AD stands for, and if they do, they often don't know what it means. And either way, when the ball drops and we bang pots, shout "Happy New Year," and kiss a random stranger (why do people do that?), I bet you that one of the furthest things from our mind is that 2016 now marks the 2016th year of the Lord, the year of His 2016th birthday—2016 years since He came into the world to save it.
     Everyone and their mother has heard of the "Keep 'Christ' in 'Christmas'" campaign, right? It comes up every year in the form of videos, memes, snippy posts, and basically anything else that can transmit a message. I love Christ. Christmas is first and foremost a celebration of His birth. There is no logical reason to change the name of a holiday designed to set apart Christ's birth to a title that has the specific purpose of ignoring Christ. It's like changing MLK Day because not everyone's black. How would that make sense?
     At the same time, while I've never understood why this debate even exists, I'll take it seriously long enough to say that I don't think Christ would be very happy with the spite some of His followers use when arguing the "Keep 'Christ' in 'Christmas'" point. I talk about this a lot, but I'll say it again: be firm, but be kind. As Casting Crowns says in their song Jesus, Friend of Sinners, "We've cut down people in your name, but the sword was never ours to swing." Christ doesn't want us to attack each other, even in His name. Defend, yes. Attack, no. Never.
     But what about AD? A few years ago, it was decided by some important people, I'm sure, that BC and AD will no longer represent our measurement of time. We have now moved to the BCE (Before Common Era) and CE (Common Era) system. Those terms have been used for centuries, but they became the politically correct terms as of a little bit more recently. What does this change? The meridian of time is still marked by the same year, so the only change is the name. It's a direct and deliberate removal of Christ from a foundational piece of culture.
     What I'm saying is that if we want to keep "Christ" in "Christmas," then we should keep "Dominus" in "Anno Domini." Christmas is a one-day event, but Anno Domini is a constant, year-long arrangement. Its removal, I think, has far more consistent impact than saying "Happy Holidays." We should never forget Christ, in Christmas or the new year. Christ should be a constant contact in our lives, regardless of the season or event. But watch the sleight of hand. Don't let one get stolen just because we're so focused on the other. God gave us two eyes for a reason; watch both. ;)
     The new year is a great time to reflect on the old one and to look forward to the future. Let us remember to be kind and to be consistent, and let us keep a Christ-centered life as we go throughout the year—His year.

Here's one of my favorite Mormon Messages. It features random customers at a diner in NYC sharing their feelings on the new year and the Biblical account of Lot. Check it out!