Judging and Being Judgmental
Have I blogged about this topic before? I feel like I have. I probably have. But it is on my mind again. “Judging” and “being judgmental” (in the current, predominant use of that two-word phrase) are not the same thing.
I don’t understand why this is such a difficult concept.
Really.
It seems as if there are two types of people (I’m not saying there are, it just feels like it sometimes: Those who say, “Judge not, that ye be not judged,” and then abandon all judgment and reason in the name of not being judgmental, and then get a bit huffy when you mention that it really doesn’t mean we should abandon all reason and judgment; and those who say, “Judge not, that ye be not judged, you evil sinner who is dammed for hellfire because you don’t believe the way I believe.”
Both are wrong. W.R.O.N.G. (See! That’s me, being judgmental!)
You see, there is a difference between saying/thinking/feeling, “Person X is gay and therefore an awful person with whom I will never associate,” and “Person Y is flagrantly promiscuous (hetero or homo, take your pick) and talks of nothing other than his/her latest escapades in the most uncomfortable, vulgar, crude manner possible, so maybe let’s not have him/her over for dinner around the kids or, even, ever.”
The first scenario is being judgmental, the second is exercising judgment.
Telling your child, “No, you can’t play over at Jonny’s house,” because his parents are democrats (or republicans, or members of the green party) is being judgmental. Telling your child, “No, you can’t play over at Jonny’s house,” because you know Jonny’s parents are usually strung out on the sofa watching porn while Jonny either plays in traffic or watches with them is exercising judgment.
We shouldn’t “be judgmental” (in the current, predominant use of that two-word phrase), but we must make judgments. Really.
If we abandoned all judgment, how would we chose our POTUS? How would we choose our friends? How would we choose a spouse???? How would we decided what we need to be teaching our kids at home (your kid lies to you all the time? Well, you can’t say he’s a liar and try to teach him NOT to be, because then you’re judging him and hurting his feelings! He’s just a sweet fifteen-year-old spirit from God, and if you hug him enough he’s bound to come around without you ever saying anything!) If we abandon all judgment, how do we decide what foods are best to buy for and serve to our kids? How do we decide where, or if, to go to church? How do we decide who to hire to babysit our children? How do we decide which hairdresser to stick with, which doctor is the best fit for us, or which plumber we will or will not hire again? If we get hung up on not judging to the point of abandoning all judgment, then who teaches our kids how to exercise good judgment when it comes to driving a car, picking their friends, planning for their future, or choosing their spouse?
For the love of all that’s holy, we MUST make judgments all the time, and some of them must be about/regarding/whatever word you want to use here . . . people!
I’m not saying we write people off because of one thing, whether it be religion, skin color, sexual orientation, political orientation, education level, or some random lapse in their judgment (as opposed to consistent, repeated lapses) (which I’m not even sure are lapses, by definition, at that point). What I am saying is that we need to keep our eyes open to the reality that:
A. No matter how hard you try, how much you think you aren’t doing it, if you honestly assess yourself you will see that you make judgments every single day of your life.
B. You must make these reasonable judgments or your life will suck.
Elder Dallin H. Oaks, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says it in a much better, less perturbed way than I do:
We must, of course, make judgments every day in the exercise of our moral agency, but we must be careful that our judgments of people are intermediate and not final. Thus, our Savior’s teachings contain many commandments we cannot keep without making intermediate judgments of people: “Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine” (Matt. 7:6); “Beware of false prophets. … Ye shall know them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:15–16); and “Go ye out from among the wicked” (D&C 38:42).
We all make judgments in choosing our friends, in choosing how we will spend our time and our money, and, of course, in choosing an eternal companion. Some of these intermediate judgments are surely among those the Savior referenced when He taught that “the weightier matters of the law” include judgment (Matt. 23:23).
The scriptures not only command or contemplate that we will make intermediate judgments but also give us some guidance—some governing principles—on how to do so . . .
I posted a link to that talk on a FB thread earlier (not mine) and somebody said, basically, “I agree with everything he said, but it doesn’t say we can judge people.”
Huh?
Hence my perturbation. I. don’t. get. it.
I don’t know the person who said that. I don’t know her at all. I suspect, I like to think, that if she and I were to meet face to face and discuss this topic, we would find that we actually agree. I would like to think that this is one of those misunderstandings that arises from communicating in impersonal snippets with no opportunity for give and take (because I’m not going back to the thread to respond – I’ve seen how FB give and take can go, and the original poster doesn’t want that, nor do I). I like to think that. Unfortunately, experience has taught me that for every person who can discern between “judgment” and “being judgmental” (or, what I called in my comment on that thread “righteous judgments” and “self-righteous judgment”), there is at least one more who can’t.
Is it a vocabulary problem? Do the words “judge” and “judgment” carry such unforgivable, negative connotations that we now need to use a new word when we mean “reasonable judgment” as opposed to “catty witchiness”?
Yes, I try to exercise good judgment. I don’t do it perfectly, but I do my best. I try to exercise it in a way that will be beneficial not just to me and mine, but to others as well. I do not feel less “Christ-like” for doing so. Christ was blind to neither reality nor truth, nor does He tell us we should be. I realize his perception of both is perfect and mine is not, and I am thankful that it is He who must sort through it all and make the final judgments. In the meantime, I will continue to strive to understand both reality and truth as best I can and make necessary intermediate judgments accordingly. For my sake. For my children’s sake.
Tewt the Newt hopes you’ll forgive the blogger for spouting off about this again, and also hopes you’ll take the time to read the talk. Even if you aren’t LDS, you’ll probably find it interesting, and you might, just maybe, notice that it mentions judging people.
So We’ve Had a Little Problem . . .
. . . at church with certain youth stealing food from the church kitchen. Generally, there is no food in the kitchen unless it has been brought as refreshments for a particular activity. The rule is there is never to be food left in the kitchen. You bring it, you serve it, you take out the trash and take home the leftovers when you go home (in theory, anyway – our congregation isn’t much on following church policy, and once I found months-old frozen breast milk in the freezer, and many times I’ve found left-over take-out). Therefore, if there is food in the kitchen, it is there (or should only be there) for a specific purpose. Yet some of the youth seem to think that if it’s in the kitchen, it’s free game (yet they never partook of that breast milk . . . ). I don’t understand this concept since my kids know that even the food in their own kitchen at home isn’t free game – they must ask first (within reason, of course).
Anyway, a while ago I was in charge of refreshments for something, so I made some signs which I put on the counter next to said refreshments, and when the activity was over I took the signs home. Recently I took one back to the church for another refreshment-including shindig, but I forgot to take the sign home. I don’t know who hung it on the fridge after that, but somebody did:
I never intended for any of the signs to go on the refrigerator, but I did think they were a humorous way to deal with a not humorous situation (sorry, but stealing, even if it’s stealing cookies, isn’t funny to me – actually, it is one of God’s Top Ten Thou Shalt Not’s, so when it happens at church I really want to punch some parent in the face for doing such a craptastic parenting job, but that’s just me being merciless and judgmental, which we all know I am).
Other people, to whom I showed the sign before I put it by the last round of goodies, also thought it was rather hilarious (or at least funny), so I was a little surprised when A~ came home from her Wednesday night activity with the Tale of Youth Leaders Openly Bashing My Sign.
Yes, two lovely, Christian women who are in charge of leading, guiding, and setting an example of Christ-like behaviors for our female youth (including, but not limited to, two of my daughters) stood in the kitchen with some of said youth (including, but not limited two, one of my daughters) telling them how mean-spirited and inappropriate the sign is, how they couldn’t believe anyone would make such a thing, and how they thought maybe they should make a sign telling people to be nice.
Really? Because you’re being such shining examples of nice?
My daughter stood there, listening to their pious vitriol, all a-squirm in the knowledge that: a. her own mother made the sign, and b. she, herself, found it funny. While she was probably the only one a-squirming, at least one other girl also knew who made the sinful sign and, she, of course, shared with the whole room. Then the “leaders” took the sign down and said they would just put it on top of the fridge so no one could accuse them of stealing it.
*SNORT* See? The sign worked! It discouraged thievery!
I’m not bothered by the fact that these two women don’t approve of my sign. Not everybody shares my sense of humor, and am just glad that I’m not going through life with such a squinched-up, dried-out, non-existent one (sense of humor, that is). What bothers me is that they would be critical and judgmental about it in front of the girls, not knowing who made it and/or if they were insulting one of the girls’ own parents (which, of course, they were). Even if they did know who made it, and even if they did know they weren’t criticizing a parent of someone present, lovely example they set, don’t you think?
In the interest of not being a hypocrite, I must insert here: I, too, can be good at mean. I know that. I’m not proud of it. But I also pretty much keep a lid on it unless I’m blogging for an audience who doesn’t know who I’m talking about, or I’m discussing irritating people with my husband. I don’t stand in front of a group of youth and unleash the monster within, you know? God help us all if I did.
What really burns my biscuits, chaps my hide, and blisters my bottom about this whole incident is that one of these lovely Christian women is the same one who, a few months back, pulled me aside at church to tell me that I am endangering the eternal salvation of at least one of my children because I am so merciless and judgmental.
Yeah. I’m judgmental, but she’s the one standing there like she’s on a mission from God, telling me I’m judgmental and my kids might, basically, go to hell because of it. She didn’t appreciate me pointing out her little intellectual and spiritual disconnect.
IMAGINE!
Now that I’ve come to the awful realization that I’m probably going to have to keep dealing with this woman until one of us kicks off (we’ve had several other less-that-pleasant interactions) (none of which I’ve initiated, and also none of which I’ve backed down from) (yay me!), I’m trying to figure out the best way to kill her with kindness, as they say. I mean, not really kill her, obviously. I don’t want to do that. But I need to do something, and punching her in the face for being a harpy and mortifying my daughter, cathartic though it may be, is not the best solution.
Kindness. Tewt the Newt is standing by to take your suggestions.
The Mortification of a Teenage Daughter
Lately I have been stalking Pinterest for Christmas decoration ideas. I’m not looking for just any Christmas decoration ideas, however. No. I am looking for Grinch-themed decoration ideas. Not to worry. These decorations won’t be for my own home. No, no. These decorations are for something far more appropriate — our church Christmas party. Because, you know, nothing says “Remember the reason for the season” like going to a Grinch-themed Christmas party at church.
Bah humbug.
The theme for the party, however, was picked, approved and decided upon before I had anything to do with it. Now that I do have something to do with it, I am in charge of the decorations. Honestly? I’ve found some cute ideas and come up with some good ones on my own, so I’m I little more excited about it. But, still? I turn to my network affiliates when I want my kids to enjoy the cartoon versions of Christmas. I take them to church for (gasp!) more spiritual fare. Whatever.
In all my Pinterest perusing of thing Grinchy and Whovillian, I came across a cute outfit idea. It’s not a costume, mind you, just an outfit: green skinny jeans, green t-shirt, green Converse, and a red cardigan. I wasn’t looking for an outfit idea. I just found it. That’s how Pinterest works, after all. You just find stuff, and it sucks you in, and you realize you need it even though you didn’t know it existed five seconds earlier. So that’s kind of what happened to me when I saw this outfit. I concluded that, if I have to decorate for a Grinch party at Church, then I needed to go as the Grinch (without actually going as the Grinch). I decided I’m just too old to buy myself Grinch-green Converse high-tops, but red is a good color for me so I already have a bunch of it, and I figured the green jeans would be cute. I found a pair on clearance at Kohl’s, and, coupled with the current coupon (who in her right mind shops at Kohl’s without a coupon?) they cost all of $8.00 and change. That included tax.
Rather than wait until December, I wore my outfit today to our Super Saturday Holiday Workshop (it’s the one day a year the women in our congregation “take off” for 4-6 hours (depending on whether or not one is in charge of it) (I was) to get together and make crafts that we can give as gifts) (so imagine our piss-off-ed-ness consternation when the men scheduled something, rather last minute, on the same day at the same time, as if the children only belong to us) (harrumph).
Anyway, back to the outfit. I wore it today. Green jeans, white t-shirt, red jacket. It was quite Christmas-y and, since the t-shirt was not green, not even a bit Grinchy (at least, I like to think that). I still had it on as we were sitting together as a family for dinner tonight, and I said, “I’m half tempted to go back to Kohl’s and get the same jeans in red.”
“Other than Christmas, when would you ever wear red jeans, mom?” A~ asked.
“I could wear red jeans lots of times,” I said. “Like Valentines day!”
“Yeah, and you can wear the green ones again on St. Patrick’s day,” Midge piped in.
“Sure. And . . . let’s see . . . I could wear either the red or the green ones on Mardi Gras. That’s a colorful holiday. It doesn’t really matter what color . . .” I was saying as my husband interjected:
“I don’t know about the jeans, but I’ve got some Mardi Gras beads I’ll give you.”
A~’s hand froze, half way to her mouth, and the baby carrot she was about to eat just dangled from her paralyzed fingers as she looked at her plate in dismay and said, “I get that. I get. that. one!” With me to her right and her father at the other end of the table to her left, she didn’t know where to look, so she just kept staring at her plate while I laughed hysterically, her father turned a soft shade of fire-engine red and sniggered like a school boy who’d just been caught snapping a girls’ bra strap, her younger teenage sister tried to puzzle it out in her head, connecting a dot or two, and the three youngest just said, “What? What?!? I DON’T get it! WHAT IS SO FUNNY???”
June Cleaver would be mortified at both my attire and our dinner conversation, not to mention the current state of my house. I shall never wear pearls.
Tewt the Newt, on the other hand, couldn’t give a flying fig about pearls and feels mighty smug about the fact that he is already green.
Dear Bathrobe Lady
Dear Lady In Her Bathrobe Coming out of Wal Mart,
That was a bold fashion statement. From its full-length fuzziness to is beacon of bright, Christmas, redness, I was mesmerized. I had my phone in my hand. I almost took a picture. Almost. Part of me wishes I had, and part of me is glad I didn’t. I really dithered there in the parking lot, phone turned on, just one click away from immortalizing your . . . je ne sais quoi (which I believe is French for “complete lack of fetchin’ up”). In my amazement, I was unable to process the black shapes on your red, red robe. Were they Scottie dogs? Reindeer? Mud flap girls? Because I hesitated and did not take the picture (out of respect for both your humanity and mine) I will never know.
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Dear Quinn,
The fact that you could not tell me what a firefighter does is evidence that you watched way to little Sesame Street during your preschool years (I now have “Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood” looping through my head). The fact that you could tell me that police officers shoot people and put them in jail is evidence that I am failing as a mother. The fact that, when instructed to draw a picture of somebody doing a job, you drew a picture of a female teacher and GAVE. HER. BOOBS. should be of great comfort to your father, who is mortified by your love of all things pink (like the shoes you drew on the teacher).
(Yes, I asked, “So, these are her arms, here? Ok. What are the two circles above her arms?”)
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Dear Readers,
First, thanks to those of you who didn’t give me up for dead. Because I’m not. I’ve just been in a blogging coma or something. Also, I am working on editing photos of our epic Harry Potter birthday party to share with you. Do you know how long it takes to obscure faces on a fragillion photos of a party that involved about 30 people? I could password protect the post, but I want to see if any of my hard work makes it to Pinterest. Wouldn’t I just feel like the homecoming queen if some of my ideas started showing up on Pinterest?!?! Oh yes, yes I would. That reminds me – It’s . . . well, crap. I had to stop writing for a bit because dinner was ready, and now I’ve forgotten of what I was reminded.
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Dear Aging,
You. Suck.
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Dear Me,
Sometimes? You rock. Way to work in the word “mewling” when you helped the husband draft that email today. Great word. Really. A word that was crying out to be used.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
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Dear Readers,
I remember!
It’s been quite a while since I’ve been on the blog, so I’m behind on any new, fun, update-y type things in the world of WordPress. Gadgets? Widgets? Buttons to encourage pinning? (I never got to be the homecoming queen, so I’m desperate here.) Let me know what’s new and great. In the meantime, Tewt the Newt will do a little digging around, too.
Bringing Blogging Back (I Totally Plagiarized That Title)
Hey there! Remember me?
No? You don’t?
It’s okay, I hardly remember me, either. It’s been a while.
Well, here I am now, and I have a message to share:
(I have apparently turned into the queen of one sentence paragraphs, but that’s not my message)
Everybody’s favorite blogger, (oh, crap – I haven’t done this for so long that I accidentally typed blooger at first– I don’t even want to think about what a blooger is) . . .
Starting over (this is the message, I swear) . . . Everybody’s favorite blogger, Michelle, over at And Sam Makes Seven is starting a movement.
Dear heavens, not that kind of movement (and if it were that kind of movement, and she’s only just starting, and she’s blogging about it? Well then, this post would be all about praying for our favorite blogger). So anyway, let’s call it a campaign instead, shall we? She is starting a campaign to bring blogging back. Click on that hyperlink I so generously provided and read all about it. She uses the term “overlord” more than once, which we all know is the hallmark of an award-winning blog post. I’m really excited about this campaign, actually (almost as excited as you are that I’m finally writing a paragraph with more than one sentence), and here’s why (aside from the lack of vitriolic advertisements):
But it wasn’t better. No, it was not. FB and Twitter took away our abilities to communicate in complete, grammatically correct thoughts. Remember grammar, guys? Wasn’t it nice?
Instead of taking a small thought or incident and turning it into a carefully crafted story about our lives- full of the touching, humorous, quirky, heartbreaking and mundane details that make our families and ourselves unique and interesting- we now take big thoughts and happenings and condense them down into little blurbs here and there. It’s too hard to fit touching, humorous, quirky and heartbreaking into a little blurb, and so… The mundane took over. We traded the art of storytelling for speed and convenience.
Isn’t Michelle brilliant? Yes. Yes, she is. That last sentence I quoted, the one about trading the art of storytelling for speed and convenience, proves it. I actually am on the verge of tears here. She is profound, and she can tell a good story. You know what? Every now and then? So can I. So why the frap haven’t I been doing it?
Remember frap? What a great word. We still use it in our house. That’s the power of blogging and little boys learning English as a second language. We can change the world.
If you still haven’t read Michelle’s post, well, bless your heart for sticking through my drivel, but do make the time to click on over because she enumerates other good reasons for brining blogging back, like the freedom of telling your stories the way you want to tell them rather than censoring yourself so as not over share with nor offend any of your 285 closest “friends”. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I have tons of people on my FB friends list with whom I would not share my blog. I bet you do, too.
Incidentally? I have about half of my FB “friends” blocked from seeing most of my posts and photos at any given time (if you’re reading this, rest assured you are not one of them) (unless you found my blog purely by following me on Pinterest before I realized that linking said blog to that account was about the stupidest thing I’ve ever done – then you might be one of them). And that? Is an interesting story. But it’s a story I haven’t told because I haven’t been blogging.
Remember when I blogged roughly two years ago about the person who thought it was a-okay to give kids a ride down the highway and/or unmarked country roads (seriously, I don’t know the exact route she took) in the trunk of her car? Yeah, that’s just the tip of the iceberg around here. Well, okay, maybe it’s a big, foundational chunk of the iceberg, but the point is we have a whole frozen ocean worth of crazy we’re navigating every time we step foot into our church building. Seriously.
Don’t get me wrong, there is greatness there, too; but for the most part it’s trapped under the ice.
Good stories. Stories I haven’t told.
Okay, so Michelle has some rules for those wanting to join in the Bringing Blogging Back campaign (really, it’s the only campaign worth following right now, anyway):
- Make the commitment: Agree to update your own blog at least once a month (You can do it! I have faith in you!) and choose at least one blog to read, or return to reading, once a month (You do not have to state which blog you’re choosing, but come on… it will be mine, obviously. Technically, however, you’re allowed to read someone else’s… I guess).
- Spread the word: Write a post telling your readers about the "I’m Bringing Blogging Back" campaign and ask them to join you. Give them these ‘rules’ and ask that they share them on their own blogs (this is starting to sound like an Amway kind of thing or chain letter, but it’s not. I promise. I won’t ask anyone to send me a dollar, or buy crap). You can link to this post if you’d like, or just tell them in your own words.
- Let me know: Leave me a comment saying, "Yes, Michelle, I’m with you! I’m Bringing Blogging Back," and link to your post about it. Actually, I don’t give two flips how you say it- you can just leave a comment saying "OK, I posted about it," or even just "I’m in," "Me, too," or whatever. The important thing is leave a comment letting me know you’re in and link to your post. If you don’t have your own blog, but will commit to being a faithful reader, just leave a comment saying so (Anyone who comments on this post will be added to my blog roll, if you’re not there already… Unless you don’t want to be listed).
- Buy the official "I’m Bringing Blogging Back" t-shirt for only $34.95 at… HA! No, I’m totally kidding.
So I’m committing to blogging at least once a month. But really? How can I not blog more? There is always something crazy going on around here. I could blog about our two new cats, our new dog, our new horse, the “rehab” center into which I will undoubtedly check myself because I need a break. Seriously. I’m not addicted to anything (not even my old friend diet Dr. Pepper). I just need a break.
I could also blog about the epic Harry Potter party we just had here last weekend, or the effects of gravity and aging on my turkey-wattle-neck and the night I went to bed despondent over it, and my husband said, “There, there. We have the money to take care of it if it really bothers you that much.”
Well, okay, he didn’t say “There, there.” I mean, you’ve seen pictures of him, right? He doesn’t even LOOK like the “there, there” type.
And, yes, it really bothers me that much.
Stay tuned . . . I may one day blog photos of tumescent chin liposuction.
I’m also committing to reading blogs again. But here’s the catch: I will probably, for the first time in my life, wish I had a Xanax prescription as soon as I open my Google reader account (if I can even remember how). So I’m not going to try to go back and play catch up. I’m just going to wipe the slate clean, as it were, and go from there. Hopefully your lives are soap opera-y enough that I’ll be back up to speed in three blog posts. Seriously, just kidding. If your writing is that damn repetitive I’ll drop you like a roach-infested ice cream cone.
So, who’s in?
Tewt the Newt says, “Ready . . . set . . . blog!”
