I am a member of several author groups, sharing help and trying to sell our work. Most of these are good. Others, I realized jarring in their dance with pornography in the guise of “erotica”.

I have been doing research for the cover of my book, Eve Remembers, the past few days, looking at colors and designs, how they show up, entice a reader. As my book is an historical novel, with a woman’s view, I was looking at the section of historical novels. Occasionally, I would stop; look at the blurb, when a book looked interesting. It was an interesting experience. Many openly advertised erotica.

Pornography, in all its disguises, including erotica, has but one purpose—destroy the family as it destroys the opportunity for healthy love and sex. It is more addictive than the strongest drug. Even an accidental view will replay in the mind until the twisted seems normal. Today, small children are affected by innocent views of this smut.

The written word is no different. Reading and writing explicit sex scenes lives in the mind, with or without the violence and degradation often accompanying erotica. Sweet connections between a husband and wife are personal, and need not be revealed in specific detail. Sex between unmarried couples or those of the same gender do not need all the gory details!

Women are threatened when their man dabbles, and becomes drawn into pornography. It causes trust issues, when he prefers to look at other women. Yet, women read and enjoy erotica, insisting they are only interested in the “relationships”. I have heard good and (supposedly) righteous women thrill at the news their favorite romance/erotica will soon be in visual form. They read it. They vicariously experienced the erotica, the violence, the degradation, the illicit behavior, and thrilling over it. Now they want to see it.

Do they not see themselves as partaking of pornography? Do they not see themselves as unfaithful wives? “We are just reading a fun book, not looking at, nor participating in pornography,” they cry. But the story is forever in their minds, there to raise the thoughts of inappropriate behavior, there to dream of a man who is not theirs.

Incredibly, women write an inordinate number of this type of book. They write of women as objects, and then write ferocious article complaining of men treating women as objects! Readers of these books join the mob in voicing outrage at being treated so vilely. It is fine to read of this, but not to have it be part of their living? Men read the books women write. Some must assume women want similar treatment, or they would not read and write about it so frequently!

Not all women read erotica, nor all men act like women are objects for their entertainment. Enough do to create a problem for everyone.

Leave the erotica alone. If everyone stopped reading it, they will stop writing it.

I know, I am dreaming. There are too many in our world that participate in illicit behavior, and enjoy reading and seeing it, as though it validates their behavior. The destroyer has claim upon a large portion of people, who gladly ignore the good and decent.

Will you join my crusade? Stop reading erotica? Stop viewing it?

I grow tired of all the media adulation upon the death of movie stars, while other vital news of greater importance is ignored. However, this week’s loss of Robin Williams is somehow different. Not because his movies were mostly good, clean fun, or that he made me laugh as early as Mork and Mindy, or even that he made me think deep thoughts in most of his movies.

No, the sad event is even darker because he could no longer withstand the darkness of his depression, bipolar disorder, or any of the other mental health issues he had, exacerbated by the drugs and alcohol. The darkness and instability of mental illness, no matter the label, is difficult to bear. Robin Williams was expert in hiding his darkness, giving joy to others with jokes, impressions, and improvisations. He gave to others, providing help to younger actors and giving support to others with mental health problems. For those of us not close to him, he had a good life. All was well.

But the laughter and jokes were a front, covering the darkness of mental health problems and dark depression. Everything was not rosy in his life. He, like many others who suffer with this challenge, tried to find relief in a bottle of alcohol or in one or more of the illicit drugs available. He tried to self-medicate the darkness away. It did not work any better for him than it does for the thousands of others who try the same path. His ability to make people laugh, to feel, helped him financially survive the darkness. Not everyone can do that.

Like many others in the United States, our family has members who struggle with the darkness like Williams did. Countless hours, and hundreds of dollars have been spent talking a beloved child into the hospital or away from that last step. Fortunately for our family, appropriate medication has been prescribed, and the addictions are under control, for now. Lives are improving and hope is on our horizon.

But hope is rarely on the horizon for those most troubled by depression. It is never fully in their court, never certain to drive away the fears and darkness that cause thoughts of ending life by their own hand. Spirituality helps, when there is enough light to allow the truth through, but spirituality, or medication, only lifts the edge of the curtain of hope, then forces it down, as though iron balls were sewn in to ensure the curtain hangs smooth, and tight.

For those who struggle with serious depression, the darkness of the destroyer rules. It requires hope beyond measure, and love from family and friends, lots of it, deeply and for a very long time, to draw the curtain of pain back enough to allow true light and knowledge to fill their souls. It is never certain that the light has won, and the darkness banished.

For many years, the mentally ill were considered lost souls, locked up in back rooms or sanatoriums to prevent their contamination of the general population. They have been perceived as “children of the devil” or worse. It is no wonder children taunt others by calling them “crazy”, and adults flinch when that appellation is directed towards them. Health insurances limit coverage for doctors and medications, further aggravating the chances for most to push aside the dark curtain and walk into the light. In recent years, help for the mentally ill has been drastically reduced, leaving many homeless on the streets of every major city.

No, the tragedy of Robin Williams losing to the darkness, giving in to loss of hope is more than the loss of a talented performer. This tragedy besets our nation. Lives are lost to the darkness. Most fight it; some give in to suicide, leaving behind parents, spouse, and children to pick up the pieces. Not everyone left behind is forced to open their lives to the media like Mr. Williams’ family. But they are called on to answer the questions of friends and neighbors, and the most difficult, unanswerable questions of their own. Darkness attempts to reign. Children believe themselves to be the cause, many falling into the trap of depression themselves.

What can we do? Certainly not damn the family left behind through insidious, grasping messages. Better, love your family; make them the center of your life, as Jack did in “Peter Pan”. If you have someone in your life who faces the darkness of depression, help them know there is light and hope in the world, and you are there to help them through the blackness of despair.

Finally, if you face the hopelessness and blackness of depression, don’t give up. Reach out to someone, anyone. Seek help and know light is behind the curtain. It can be drawn back to view light and knowledge. If you struggle, find one small thing each day that will bring you joy. It may be the laugh of your child, the rain or the sunshine on your face, or beautiful music. Find your joy, and cling to it if you must until the depths of darkness pass, and you are able to find light in your life again.

“What happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas,” is a motto suggesting opportunities for many activities, few legal, moral, or ethical. (My opinion of the motto is a subject for another day.) People come to our beautiful city hoping to return home with a new car, house, or at the least, lots of cash. Most return home with much less than they brought.

Casinos are brightly lit with no windows or clocks to remind patrons of the time or even if the day, or night, has passed. Colorful areas with enticing noises help to convince one that in only a moment or two, their machine or cards will “hit” and they will become wealthy. Few achieve wondrous wealth. The few who do “win” usually pour it back in a futile effort to win more. Thousands of people occupy the multitude of casinos conveniently forgetting all that glitz can’t come from generous management, regardless of signs touting their latest “winners.”

Contrast this tourist view of the city with another which happens many times each week. A man and a woman, dressed in white, kneel at the altar of God, covenanting with each other and God they will be moral, honest, upright people, treating the love of their life with honor. And they do.
One of my favorite quotes comes from the movie Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest when Captain Jack Sparrow tells William Turner,

“Not all treasure is silver and gold, Mate.”

Captain Jack is telling him to look far beyond the glittering treasure of gold and jewels. The love of his life is of more value than all the treasure in the cave. Similarly, patrons seeking treasure by winning at a gambling house may lose the treasure of greater worth, their sweethearts and their families.

In surveying her family through time, Eve must surely have seen millions who gave up love, family, friends, and joy for a chance to obtain a treasure that glitters, shines, or buys more of the stuff of this world. She must have sorrowed at their loss.

Is it time to check the treasure you hold dear? Will it rust or corrupt? Or is your heart, your treasure, focused on family, friends, and God?

I’m sitting here in my parent’s living room listening to stories of ancestors. It is interesting to hear about the changes of names after they came to the United States. Some family names have undergone so many changes it is a wonder we can find our great grandparents.

I love hearing stories of my grandparents and great grandparents. One grandfather was known as a runner. Dad remembers his grandfather in his 80s running races with the young men of the town. Running backward his grandfather was able to run faster.

Other grandparents came to the United States from England, and were enticed to return for a short period. He and his wife determined to return to the United States, bringing with them her parents and sisters. The grandmother died in childbirth and the child died soon after.

One grandfather emigrated from England to Plymouth, Massachusetts ten years after the Mayflower. One time he helped to save the colony from the Indians. Our families came from England, Scotland, Germany, across Europe. It is quite a heritage, one I am grateful to know a little bit about.

Eve looked at family from the opposite perspective. Everyone was (and is) her child or grandchild. She listened to their stories. She felt their joys and their sorrows. She must have been hurt when many of her children chose not to listen to her teachings. It must have been painful when more children chose to follow the destroyer than who chose to follow God’s laws.

I know the joy of childbirth and children. I could feel her love each child and her great sorrow as many chose not to listen and obey the covenants and laws she and Adam had agreed to obey. She waited many years for a child to obey the covenant laws. Abel was obedient, and his brother Cain murdered him. Can you imagine Eve’s grief? Her sorrow? She was not a young woman by then and they still needed a young man to carry on the heritage of the Priesthood. It was years later when that son, Seth, was born.

Have you lost children to faiths other than yours? It is painful, especially when your beliefs are strong. Can you imagine Eve’s sorrow? I can. Her love of family permeated my soul as I wrote her story, Eve Remembers. Read an excerpt:

Abel never returned. The next morning, Jed came running from Cain’s fields. He had gone looking for Abel. The front of Jed’s robe was soaked with his tears.

“Mama! Papa! Cain is not in his fields—but Abel is! He is not moving, his head is all bloody, and he will not answer when I speak to him. Papa, come with me! Please!” he cried, tugging on Adam’s sleeve.

Adam and I followed him to Cain’s fields. They were past ours, so we had to run a distance, panting when we arrived. There he lay, our beautiful, obedient, loving son. His head had been smashed by a rock. There was no breath in him. He was dead. I fell to my knees, sobbing, calling his name.

“Abel, oh Abel! What has happened to you? Who did this to you? Oh, Abel! Why did you come here to find Cain? Oh, Abel!” I cried.

Adam knelt beside me, and held me close, whispering in my ear, “Eve, Eve. He is gone and his brother did this. The Lord warned me something would happen. Abel, our only obedient son. Oh, Eve.” He, too, began to sob. Jed knelt behind us, wrapping his arms around us from the side, tears falling onto our necks. We sobbed a long time, heartbroken.

I hope I never have to lose a child in that manner. I hope you don’t, either.