Before I talk about Girls' Camp this year, I would like to point out that the new Bourne movie had the same affect on me as other movies mentioned in my last post. I have thoroughly enjoyed this series (even the Jeremy Renner installment) and felt like the original three Damon movies were a very apt, and complete, trilogy. The Jeremy Renner movie is a great stand-alone. Enter this movie. Bourne is without purpose, fighting as a mercenary for money. He is torn between being a true patriot and being a man without a country. He has no closure and is still filled with horrific nightmares. Two blood-soaked hours later (the fighting is just brutal), he is still in exactly the same place. That being said . . . it is Matt Damon. He is that rare actor who has the ability to make something of nothing--like a really good-looking Tom Hanks.
But enough about that. Two weeks ago I finished my second week-long stint at Girls' Camp. Part of my thoughts here come from a mini-talk I gave the Sunday after.
My scripture study for the week had me in the book of Mosiah. I have been reading the Book of Mormon very slowly this year because I have a newish set of scriptures and lots of lovely white pages and blank margins for new thoughts. I think Mosiah, and the first half of Alma, are my favorite parts of the Book of Mormon. There is much to be gleaned about society, personal conversion, service, community and trials in this portion. Every chapter seems to offer deep and applicable truths. Anyway, I was reading about the people of Zeniff and their troubles stemming from an extremely tyrannical leader (Noah) and the fall out for years after his death.
In this section, there are two different groups of people that come under hardship because of oppression from a government that, in the beginning, they had willingly pledged themselves to live under. But because they are outsiders--different culturally and religiously--they become extremely persecuted. Additionally, one of the groups has false charges laid to them of serious wrongdoing. The upshot is, that largely through no fault of their own, the people are living under a lot of stress. They pray for deliverance that is not forthcoming.
However, in both instances, it causes the people to have great humility before God as they pray for their enemies' hearts to be softened. Additionally, the scriptures tell us that God didn't deliver them right away, but instead made their backs strong so they could bear their burdens.
I think it is easy to discount teenage girls' problems as "drama." And while, yes, teenage girls do create plenty of drama, my experience at camp this time around was that many of them experience trials that are deadly serious, for which there is no immediate or easy resolution. This time at girls' camp, I really tried to hear their stories.
I met a girl who anxiously awaits her father's release from prison next year--her family has tenaciously stood by him and attested to his innocence in his white-collar crime from the beginning. It was an LDS prosecutor who relentlessly assassinated his character during the trial and is responsible for putting him in prison.
I met a girl who is one of five siblings (some half/some full) who were adopted by members of her family when her mother was in danger of losing all of them to foster care. Her parents are also her aunt and uncle. One girl, who is more like a cousin, is biologically her sister and legally her aunt.
I met a young woman who has spent most of her childhood homeless and was shown by our camp nurse how to use the shower and wash her hair. One girl in her unit was complaining relentlessly about how much she disliked camp; this sweet girl replied, "I like it here." It may be the first week in her life when she got to act like a kid . . . and know where her three meals a day were coming from.
I met a girl whose mom suffers from depression--which suffering really translates to this girl trying to act as mom to the boys in her family.
I met a girl whose mom just got a clean cancer diagnosis after months of being told that she only had weeks to live.
I met a girl whose life was deeply changed by a stillborn brother, and whose mom is pregnant with a due date very near the due date of the previous baby.
I met lots of girls seeking for testimony they aren't sure they have.
It occurred to me that Girls' Camp is a fun place for these sweet (and sometimes bitter/salty/sour) young women to put all those burdens on hold for a few days. And while camp cannot take their burdens, it is a place for them to strengthen their backs. Our mortal experience is what it is. We are each a unique combination of biology, culture, personality and opportunity. Some of this is given by God, some of it is given to us by circumstance, some of it we choose. But I am coming to see that God will always strengthen us if we ask. He may not change our circumstances, but he teaches us to change the way we view them.
Showing posts with label opposition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opposition. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Emotional Posting
My previous comments about Utah and my vacation were a bit jumbled. Visiting my family in Utah does make me feel conflicted, though I think I came across in a couple of ways that weren't intended. I will try to clarify here a bit, though without specifics, it may be hard.
First of all, we have no current intention to move. My thoughts are for the long term. In a year I have an adjustable rate mortgage that will need attention; in two years I will have a variety of employment options and all of my kids in school all day; I will also have a child entering middle school. In the current economy it is hard to say if thinking ahead is helpful . . . or just frusturating. If we want to make life changes then two years from now is a great time to do it. The question is whether or not that move will be to a house down the street with a laundry room that doesn't double as a garage, or if that move will be a major life change.
Mike's late comments on the post were well-taken. Of course making a decision to stay or go doesn't mean more or different revelation won't come later. However, as I have gotten more settled in our current community, and ponder on my own growing up, I have begun to feel strongly that there are very real merits to putting down roots. And yes, the blog is still going to be titled "Nomad." A person might relieve restlessness in a lot of ways that don't involve renting a moving van. I finished Little Women; Jo ultimately started a school. Hm . . . .
Mike's comments were further noted: I agree absolutely that a righteous family can be raised anywhere. And so can an unrighteous family. I also recognize that even doing your best and being very committed as parents still won't take away kids' choices. I was misunderstood in my previous post if I seemed to be saying that all Utah Mormons are a certain way. I certainly don't believe that, and I willingly admit that I am largely a product of a small-town Utah background. I do think, however, compared to where I have been living, and feel very comfortable living, the outward trappings of success and properity in Utah are so apparent. Coming from a state with some deep economic depression to a place that changes dramatically every time I come (more businesses, homes creeping further and further up the hills . . .) is, quite truthfully, overwhelming.
And there are some very good-looking people in my parents' ward. And my parents live in an affluent area. And there are some incredibly righteous people in my parents' ward. Many of them are the same people. Many of them have had deep and difficult trials--they just don't happen to be things that show up when you are looking at their lovely faces and homes. Based on the friends I have had over the years, I can't really have any other opinion. I do apologize if I came across otherwise.
I know that if we stay in Oregon we will sacrifice some of of the loveliest things about my own childhood, but we will have other opportunities. I guess. Those things are unknown. I am not sure if it takes courage to strike out on a new path, or if I'm just avoiding the going back to Utah thing because being there makes me remember things that I have long tried to put behind me. Maybe staying away is just running.
So here is my short list of things I do really love/like about Utah. I can be reasonable.
1. The view from my mother's deck. When the air quality is good (half the time?) you can see 20 miles.
2. The radio station 101.9 The End. Nobody else has one like it. I heard new songs from bands I didn't think existed any longer.
3. The accent. It is just so funny. When I miss it I can just tune into RS or Young Women's General Conference.
4. A church on ever corner. My kids get a kick out of counting them.
5. There are just so many temples. *sigh*
6. Logan. I could do a whole post on what I love about Logan. Oh, wait, I have. What a glorious couple of days of true homecoming I had there.
7. The local high school and its unchanging rhythms--two a day football practice, early morning range, the teacher parking lot filling up before school begins next week, the red and black tee-shirts in the local grocery store.
8. Seeing people I know almost every where I go.
9. Wards and primaries chock-a-block full of people.
10. Aggie Ice Cream, turkey steaks, Creamies . . . you know, the food you can only get in Utah. Don't miss the Jell-o so much. (My sister brought "Y" shaped jigglers to the family party.)
11. Family parties following a day on Dad's boat.
All wasn't well this time. There was a degree of drama that threatened to overwhelm everyone. I was glad to be able to walk away, but feel guilty for not being there at the same time. Conflict, conflict, conflict. . . . maybe it isn't Utah. Maybe it is family. Maybe it is me.
First of all, we have no current intention to move. My thoughts are for the long term. In a year I have an adjustable rate mortgage that will need attention; in two years I will have a variety of employment options and all of my kids in school all day; I will also have a child entering middle school. In the current economy it is hard to say if thinking ahead is helpful . . . or just frusturating. If we want to make life changes then two years from now is a great time to do it. The question is whether or not that move will be to a house down the street with a laundry room that doesn't double as a garage, or if that move will be a major life change.
Mike's late comments on the post were well-taken. Of course making a decision to stay or go doesn't mean more or different revelation won't come later. However, as I have gotten more settled in our current community, and ponder on my own growing up, I have begun to feel strongly that there are very real merits to putting down roots. And yes, the blog is still going to be titled "Nomad." A person might relieve restlessness in a lot of ways that don't involve renting a moving van. I finished Little Women; Jo ultimately started a school. Hm . . . .
Mike's comments were further noted: I agree absolutely that a righteous family can be raised anywhere. And so can an unrighteous family. I also recognize that even doing your best and being very committed as parents still won't take away kids' choices. I was misunderstood in my previous post if I seemed to be saying that all Utah Mormons are a certain way. I certainly don't believe that, and I willingly admit that I am largely a product of a small-town Utah background. I do think, however, compared to where I have been living, and feel very comfortable living, the outward trappings of success and properity in Utah are so apparent. Coming from a state with some deep economic depression to a place that changes dramatically every time I come (more businesses, homes creeping further and further up the hills . . .) is, quite truthfully, overwhelming.
And there are some very good-looking people in my parents' ward. And my parents live in an affluent area. And there are some incredibly righteous people in my parents' ward. Many of them are the same people. Many of them have had deep and difficult trials--they just don't happen to be things that show up when you are looking at their lovely faces and homes. Based on the friends I have had over the years, I can't really have any other opinion. I do apologize if I came across otherwise.
I know that if we stay in Oregon we will sacrifice some of of the loveliest things about my own childhood, but we will have other opportunities. I guess. Those things are unknown. I am not sure if it takes courage to strike out on a new path, or if I'm just avoiding the going back to Utah thing because being there makes me remember things that I have long tried to put behind me. Maybe staying away is just running.
So here is my short list of things I do really love/like about Utah. I can be reasonable.
1. The view from my mother's deck. When the air quality is good (half the time?) you can see 20 miles.
2. The radio station 101.9 The End. Nobody else has one like it. I heard new songs from bands I didn't think existed any longer.
3. The accent. It is just so funny. When I miss it I can just tune into RS or Young Women's General Conference.
4. A church on ever corner. My kids get a kick out of counting them.
5. There are just so many temples. *sigh*
6. Logan. I could do a whole post on what I love about Logan. Oh, wait, I have. What a glorious couple of days of true homecoming I had there.
7. The local high school and its unchanging rhythms--two a day football practice, early morning range, the teacher parking lot filling up before school begins next week, the red and black tee-shirts in the local grocery store.
8. Seeing people I know almost every where I go.
9. Wards and primaries chock-a-block full of people.
10. Aggie Ice Cream, turkey steaks, Creamies . . . you know, the food you can only get in Utah. Don't miss the Jell-o so much. (My sister brought "Y" shaped jigglers to the family party.)
11. Family parties following a day on Dad's boat.
All wasn't well this time. There was a degree of drama that threatened to overwhelm everyone. I was glad to be able to walk away, but feel guilty for not being there at the same time. Conflict, conflict, conflict. . . . maybe it isn't Utah. Maybe it is family. Maybe it is me.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
A Little Controversy
There is nothing like stirring people up to get the day going.
I get a regular e-mail from an on-line "magazine" of sorts called LDS Living. I believe it started when I ordered something from Deseret Book some time ago. I open it occasionally when there are news stories that look interesting or Family Home Evening ideas. Before my route this morning, and while I was trying to muster enough ambition to leave the house at 3 am in 25 degree weather despite a cold that has been lingering in various incarnations for three weeks, I opened one of these stories.
Here is the link.
The article is brief, but the upshot is that a high school with a majority LDS population decided to attend a cheer competition held on Sunday. It is a cheer competition inside Utah, with dozens of other Utah high schools participating, probably with similar demographics of LDS populations (according a commenter, anyway). Two girls told the coaches they wouldn't be going, expecting them to be understanding. They weren't.
Instead, they tried to have the girls removed from the team.
A meeting was held between parents, coaches and administration, where the parents argued that booting the girls from the team would be discriminating against them based on religion (not because they were refusing to fulfill team requirements). The coaches relented to avoid a big scene and allowed the girls to stand in the back of the main formations, with a small part so that they could be removed on competition day.
Due to scheduling conflicts, the cheerleading squad could only practice on Monday nights.
The girls complained again. This time they were booted. One of the mothers said the girls were "devastated," and the girls expressed how hard it was now to go to school and the games because they can no longer cheer. The article labeled the coaches, "unwilling to compromise."The girls' families said they don't want to make a scene.
It was very early, remember, when I read this. There were already two comments, speaking the girls' praises up and down. I had to create an account so I could make a comment.
Mine reads:
"I appreciate that what these girls did was hard for them, but the reality of my non-Utah LDS community is that our kids have to make decisions from the time they are very young to avoid competitive sports all together if they want to avoid Sunday participation. Nearly all of our youth leagues play at least a portion of their games on Sundays, and it can be very hard to find supportive coaches who are willing to tweak the schedule or work around being a man short on the Sunday games. Besides sports, LDS kids in our area seldom can attend birthday parties and a huge variety of community and school events because Sunday is the day of choice for so many activities. As a former teacher, it is also clear that the school did the best it could in the circumstances. I think the magazine blew this story way out of proportion by turning a very commonplace decision for LDS kids all over the world into a dramatic and newsworthy event."
As of noon today, there were 47 comments. Which, truthfully mostly seem to discuss my threadjack.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I always like discussion, but I also realize I created a fair amount of conflict between people who all seem very sincere and mostly reasonable. I have not weighed in again.
I think I would like to here. What I cited above are not my only issues with the whole thing.
1 - We are talking about cheerleading, people. Cheerleading. The girls are not being denied any kind of academic activity. Remember, the ACTUAL purpose of the public school?
2 - And while we are talking about cheerleading. Just how modest ARE those uniforms? If we are going to get ticky about keeping unstated commandments, maybe that is worth addressing. (Just ask Loradona.) With the wholesome attitude toward the subjects of this article, it makes it sound as though cheerleading is some kind of inherently uplifting and virtuous activity. Not that it necessarily has to be the opposite, either; but if I had a daughter on a squad, I'd be as much concerned about certain types of dancing and uniforms as Sunday competitions.
3 - The coaches WERE accommodating. Very. They chose to allow the girls to stay on the team until they refused both to compete AND practice. There is no organization where you can just show up on performance/game/presentation day and expect to be unpunished. Maybe the coaches should have thought through signing the team up for the competition to begin with. There is no discussion from their viewpoint in the article--was a conversation held ahead of time with parents about this possibility? Did the team vote to participate? Again PUBLIC school. Nobody requires to the cheerleaders to actually do anything, or even exist for that matter.
4 - It is called a SACRIFICE, darlings. That is the whole point.
5 - And when your sacrifice is made public (the not-wanting-a-scene-mothers had to be interviewed for the thing, right?) and hundreds or thousands of people read it, and many comment on the fact that you are a "hero," doesn't this totally undermine actual spiritual growth that takes place in quiet moments of reflection and private decision making?
I want to reiterate that I can appreciate that this decision was hard for these girls, and they are to be commended for it. By their parents. But the "devastation" these girls feel shocks me with its lack of actual perspective. With its complete misunderstanding and overshadowing of the truly meaningful sacrifices young men and women make all over the worldwide Church every day. This is not a "Team Utah vs. Team Mission Field*" thing as implied by one appalled comment maker; it is a call to identify teenagers actually worthy of notice.
And here is the first one I'd like to call attention to: Sedrick Tshiambine. His story, found near end of this article, is one of true inspiration, sacrifice and dedication.
Clearly, the readership here is more selective, and probably more left of center than the mainstream US Church, and I'm interested in your take. Even if you disagree. Especially if you disagree.
* I really hate that term "mission field." I can't even begin to express why. Maybe another day. I think it is time to put the soapbox away for the day.
I get a regular e-mail from an on-line "magazine" of sorts called LDS Living. I believe it started when I ordered something from Deseret Book some time ago. I open it occasionally when there are news stories that look interesting or Family Home Evening ideas. Before my route this morning, and while I was trying to muster enough ambition to leave the house at 3 am in 25 degree weather despite a cold that has been lingering in various incarnations for three weeks, I opened one of these stories.
Here is the link.
The article is brief, but the upshot is that a high school with a majority LDS population decided to attend a cheer competition held on Sunday. It is a cheer competition inside Utah, with dozens of other Utah high schools participating, probably with similar demographics of LDS populations (according a commenter, anyway). Two girls told the coaches they wouldn't be going, expecting them to be understanding. They weren't.
Instead, they tried to have the girls removed from the team.
A meeting was held between parents, coaches and administration, where the parents argued that booting the girls from the team would be discriminating against them based on religion (not because they were refusing to fulfill team requirements). The coaches relented to avoid a big scene and allowed the girls to stand in the back of the main formations, with a small part so that they could be removed on competition day.
Due to scheduling conflicts, the cheerleading squad could only practice on Monday nights.
The girls complained again. This time they were booted. One of the mothers said the girls were "devastated," and the girls expressed how hard it was now to go to school and the games because they can no longer cheer. The article labeled the coaches, "unwilling to compromise."The girls' families said they don't want to make a scene.
It was very early, remember, when I read this. There were already two comments, speaking the girls' praises up and down. I had to create an account so I could make a comment.
Mine reads:
"I appreciate that what these girls did was hard for them, but the reality of my non-Utah LDS community is that our kids have to make decisions from the time they are very young to avoid competitive sports all together if they want to avoid Sunday participation. Nearly all of our youth leagues play at least a portion of their games on Sundays, and it can be very hard to find supportive coaches who are willing to tweak the schedule or work around being a man short on the Sunday games. Besides sports, LDS kids in our area seldom can attend birthday parties and a huge variety of community and school events because Sunday is the day of choice for so many activities. As a former teacher, it is also clear that the school did the best it could in the circumstances. I think the magazine blew this story way out of proportion by turning a very commonplace decision for LDS kids all over the world into a dramatic and newsworthy event."
As of noon today, there were 47 comments. Which, truthfully mostly seem to discuss my threadjack.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I always like discussion, but I also realize I created a fair amount of conflict between people who all seem very sincere and mostly reasonable. I have not weighed in again.
I think I would like to here. What I cited above are not my only issues with the whole thing.
1 - We are talking about cheerleading, people. Cheerleading. The girls are not being denied any kind of academic activity. Remember, the ACTUAL purpose of the public school?
2 - And while we are talking about cheerleading. Just how modest ARE those uniforms? If we are going to get ticky about keeping unstated commandments, maybe that is worth addressing. (Just ask Loradona.) With the wholesome attitude toward the subjects of this article, it makes it sound as though cheerleading is some kind of inherently uplifting and virtuous activity. Not that it necessarily has to be the opposite, either; but if I had a daughter on a squad, I'd be as much concerned about certain types of dancing and uniforms as Sunday competitions.
3 - The coaches WERE accommodating. Very. They chose to allow the girls to stay on the team until they refused both to compete AND practice. There is no organization where you can just show up on performance/game/presentation day and expect to be unpunished. Maybe the coaches should have thought through signing the team up for the competition to begin with. There is no discussion from their viewpoint in the article--was a conversation held ahead of time with parents about this possibility? Did the team vote to participate? Again PUBLIC school. Nobody requires to the cheerleaders to actually do anything, or even exist for that matter.
4 - It is called a SACRIFICE, darlings. That is the whole point.
5 - And when your sacrifice is made public (the not-wanting-a-scene-mothers had to be interviewed for the thing, right?) and hundreds or thousands of people read it, and many comment on the fact that you are a "hero," doesn't this totally undermine actual spiritual growth that takes place in quiet moments of reflection and private decision making?
I want to reiterate that I can appreciate that this decision was hard for these girls, and they are to be commended for it. By their parents. But the "devastation" these girls feel shocks me with its lack of actual perspective. With its complete misunderstanding and overshadowing of the truly meaningful sacrifices young men and women make all over the worldwide Church every day. This is not a "Team Utah vs. Team Mission Field*" thing as implied by one appalled comment maker; it is a call to identify teenagers actually worthy of notice.
And here is the first one I'd like to call attention to: Sedrick Tshiambine. His story, found near end of this article, is one of true inspiration, sacrifice and dedication.
Clearly, the readership here is more selective, and probably more left of center than the mainstream US Church, and I'm interested in your take. Even if you disagree. Especially if you disagree.
* I really hate that term "mission field." I can't even begin to express why. Maybe another day. I think it is time to put the soapbox away for the day.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Tonight's the Night the World Begins Again
So remember that one time I felt impressed to finish my Abish book with a great sense of urgency? And how I let other parts of my life get in the way, and I put off my project? And then six months ago they published the book they chose over mine? A few months after the first rejection I got this one from Deseret Book. And though DB didn't say anything specific about why they passed over my book, their new catalog contains this:
From a previously published author. Apparently my sense of urgency was not something imagined. I can't help but wonder what six or even three months difference would have done. I also can't help but wonder how mine compares, though I'm also fearful to find out. What if I read both and they are good-ish and I get so discouraged I can't write anymore? Maybe such feeling will be the reality check I need to just move on with my life. Or what if they are rotten and I feel bitter? Bitter is a very bad place to be.
(On a lighter note, speaking of other writers doing the same thing I am, but having a wider audience so they actually get read--try this. I'm probably biased, but I think my own parody stacks up pretty well. It might actually be worth reading Eclipse again just to chunk out another one of these.)
I'd like to say I'm working on something original, but my latest pet project with the most potential is a fairy tale retelling. It is true that the fairy tale is a bit obscure and I haven't ever seen this particular story re-told, but I have this nagging fear that when it is finally ready to send out there will be three of the same circulating out there in the black hole of books never published. If this sounds a bit like discouragement, well, that is because it is a LOT like discouragement. This too shall pass.
All of this rambling, believe it or not, is leading to something.
I've been thinking about 2010 resolutions. My thoughts in recent months have been much on personal revelation.* Several discussions here have led me in that direction as well as these three talks from the latest General Conference. There are some things right now that I am struggling with--questions for which my own experience and understanding and knowledge have not provided answers. I listened again to the talked titled "To Acquire Spiritual Guidance" again this morning, and the end of Elder Scott's talk really hits home to me. The italics are my own:
From a previously published author. Apparently my sense of urgency was not something imagined. I can't help but wonder what six or even three months difference would have done. I also can't help but wonder how mine compares, though I'm also fearful to find out. What if I read both and they are good-ish and I get so discouraged I can't write anymore? Maybe such feeling will be the reality check I need to just move on with my life. Or what if they are rotten and I feel bitter? Bitter is a very bad place to be.
(On a lighter note, speaking of other writers doing the same thing I am, but having a wider audience so they actually get read--try this. I'm probably biased, but I think my own parody stacks up pretty well. It might actually be worth reading Eclipse again just to chunk out another one of these.)
I'd like to say I'm working on something original, but my latest pet project with the most potential is a fairy tale retelling. It is true that the fairy tale is a bit obscure and I haven't ever seen this particular story re-told, but I have this nagging fear that when it is finally ready to send out there will be three of the same circulating out there in the black hole of books never published. If this sounds a bit like discouragement, well, that is because it is a LOT like discouragement. This too shall pass.
All of this rambling, believe it or not, is leading to something.
I've been thinking about 2010 resolutions. My thoughts in recent months have been much on personal revelation.* Several discussions here have led me in that direction as well as these three talks from the latest General Conference. There are some things right now that I am struggling with--questions for which my own experience and understanding and knowledge have not provided answers. I listened again to the talked titled "To Acquire Spiritual Guidance" again this morning, and the end of Elder Scott's talk really hits home to me. The italics are my own:
"Have patience as you are perfecting your ability to be led by the Spirit. By careful practice, through the application of correct principles, and by being sensitive to the feelings that come, you will gain spiritual guidance. . . as you pray with all the fervor of your soul with humility and gratitude, you can learn to be consistently guided by the Holy Spirit in all aspects of your life. I testify that you can personally learn to master the principles of being guided by the Spirit. . ."
I've lately begun to think that the greatest test of our lives, and perhaps the most important thing we can learn how to do, is to first LEARN and then secondly DO what the Lord would want us to do. Receiving revelation is a both a gift and a skill. It isn't just something that happens at random times without any work on our end. And like with any skill, practice makes you better. I have had times in my life when I have listened closely to the Lord's promptings and then acted on them. Sometimes the blessings for doing so have been immediate; sometimes those blessings take longer to come. But they always have come. I need to get better at both listening at at acting.
To that end, my 2010 goals are fewer in number than last year, and all relate to the BIG goal of fulfilling the plan the Lord has for my life.
1. I will get less hung up if my Martha tasks are unfinished and concentrate harder on the Mary tasks. (Luke 10:38-42) Oops, there goes my Etsy store.
2. I will re-establish the habit of meaningful prayer in my life.
3. I will record the spiritual impressions that I have.
4. I will continue my current course of scripture study, which has been wonderfully effective for me. (In the spring I bought an inexpensive set of scriptures that I have been cross-referencing to the conference talks and the footnotes. It is fascinating to see patterns emerge and passages of scripture that get continual emphasis.) I need to establish this fledgling habit more firmly so that it is a part of my life at least five days each week.
5. I will work harder to maintain harmony in my family relationships--particularly towards and between my kids.
6. I will attend the temple between six and 12 times this year. At least every other month, if not every month.
7. I will get more sleep--my greatest lifestyle barrier to making the others more successful.
I vowed to post contest winners here today, but this post is lengthy enough. Besides, I haven't determined a winner yet. I guess you'll have to come back again.
I've found that putting my resolutions on my blog is a really great way for me to be more diligent about them. While certainly nothing earth-shattering or unique, their nearly daily reminder on my side-bar helps to keep me honest with myself. Feel free to add your resolutions here, or to add your own thoughts on keeping the channels of communication with God open.
*It has come to my attention lately that there are some regular-ish readers here who don't share my religion. Aspects of my faith, perhaps, but our practice is different. A post such as this, with its deeply personal, spiritual outlook and terminology that may be unique to the LDS tradition can seem alienating. Today's discussion is about "personal revelation." This concept might also be termed insight, intuition, conscience or spiritual guidance. And yet, I think it is something beyond all of that. The first two on the list imply that you have some instinct that guides you a certain way based on your experience and personality. The idea of "conscience" is more about simple decisions between right and wrong--a moral compass that guides our actions. The last is closer to what I'm getting at here, provided that the spiritual guidance is coming from without, and not from within. The Mormon story, from its very beginning, is about the importance of reading, studying and learning, but then coming to a place where you ask God Himself to place knowledge in your mind and in your heart. This knowledge seldom comes in dramatic or miraculous ways (though it does), but is more likely to come quietly. For an excellent tutorial on LDS theology regarding this concept, please read this talk/sermon by Vicki Matsumori. She helps to facilitate programs world-wide for the children in our church under the age of 12; in this particular talk she speaks very clearly, concisely, and lovingly about the ways in which our Father in Heaven communicates with us.
Friday, September 04, 2009
He That Hath the Spirit of Contention Is Not of Me
My first title for this was, "Because, yeah, encouraging kids to work hard and stay in school is REALLY subversive." Then I realized that the whole point of writing this is that after the past few weeks I feel like I've had enough negativity to last a lifetime. So I've tried to eliminate all sarcasm and cutting from the following. If this makes me less entertaining, well, perhaps it makes me less offensive too. And, whatever else you may think, I have no wish to offend.
So let me start with a disclaimer: If you are going to pull your children from school on Tuesday so that they cannot be "brainwashed" by our president, that is your right, of course. I wanted to make that statement right off the bat as I was told on Facebook yesterday by a mother I didn't know that it was her God-given right to control everything her child learned. While I wish her luck with that, I bring up her comment to illustrate just how strongly people feel about this.
Now, if you are keeping your kids home Tuesday because you have studied what is available about the speech, or because you are disturbed by the lesson plan your child's teacher is planning on presenting with the speech, then I commend you for your research and the obvious concern you have for your child. I don't know if it is a God-given right to control each thing that enters your child's head or not (I'm not sure about the scriptural backing for this statement), but it certainly is your right to parent how you wish.
However, if you are pulling your child on Tuesday because of something you heard a television or news radio host say, or because you disagree with Mr. Obama's policies, or because you have been reading opinion columns, I would ask that you reconsider. Here is my reasoning:
1--There is a shocking lack of respect from children in this country for adults in general and particularly for people in positions of power. To teach your children that all respect must be "earned" by some arbitrary set of principles that involves others agreeing with all of your dearly held ideals is to deny the fact that each person is a child of God. Whether you agree with Mr. Obama or not, even in every particular, I am guessing that he has done nothing to offend you personally. I'm guessing that if he were invited to your house for dinner you would find him affable and friendly, optimistic, and eager to talk with great affection about his kids. Naturally, you would avoid politics and religion, but dignified acquaintance demands that these topics not be discussed anyway.
Using negative and incendiary language around your young children about local or national political leaders confuses and hurts them. After all, they are reprimanded severely if they use such language about children they know and interact with. You might think that you are merely passing on political ideaology to your children, but it is important to be very aware of what else you might be teaching them.
2--I believe that running negative talk radio shows or television in your home that involves hosts who shout, berate, belittle and constantly criticize drives the Spirit away. Even if the host of such programs is LDS. If you disagree with this, please find the titled reference in 3rd Nephi in the Savior's initial sermon to the Nephites. He is very plain about the source of the spirit of contention. Children are especially sensitive to the spirit of contention; indeed, it is the opposite of the Holy Ghost. There is nothing wrong with you listening in your car, or after bedtime with your spouse, particularly if such programs lead to mature discussion of ideals and principles that you either agree or disagree with. You wouldn't allow violent or rude cartoons into your home, how much more confusing and even scary is it for children who see and hear talk show hosts using almost violent terms as they urge people to "reclaim their country."
The thoughts expressed concerning Laura Schlessinger last week have really prompted me to think about these talking-head types who feel duty bound to tell the whole world what is wrong with everybody but them. These people, whomever they are, get paid, and well-paid, to set themselves up above others, to mix enough truth with lies that they sound credible, to shock, to divide, and to gain popularity and influence. If you have copy of Mormon Doctrine hanging around your house, look up the definition of "Priestcraft" and see if that doesn't match pretty closely. For how many generations have men been warned about the danger of following the "philosophy of men mingled with scripture." How many more times must we hear it to truly be on our guard?
Again, don't misunderstand, I'm certainly not against people profiting from their labors, intelligence, talents or ingenuity. I am against the preservation of people's right to profit above all other moral responsibility. I am against people using these same skills to incite normally sensible people to extreme anger and divisiveness without offering clear and positive alternatives. I am against people using their God-given gifts (and all good gifts are from God) to wreck and create enmity between people. Just so we are clear--I am not against their agency to do so. I just think they are selling their souls.
3--If your family disagrees with Mr. Obama that doesn't mean something cannot be learned from him. Last month, Bill O'Reilly wrote an article for a weekend circular magazine, Parade. Perhaps you saw it in your paper? Mr. O'Reilly is a Fox News journalist who has routinely been critical of Democrat-sponsored policies and Democrats in general. He is also a shrewd and talented newsman who holds people accountable for what they claim to know and be. His article details some very positive things that American children can learn from our commander-in-chief. Isn't it possible to help our children see, in a calm and rational manner, that there are positive things to learn from all kinds of people, even when we don't agree entirely with them?
I hope that no readers here take offense from what I've said. I have no idea exactly what you believe politically or where your information is coming from. My assumptions here are not aimed at anyone in general, but more at the mood prevailing in our country right now. And I'm deeply disturbed that the heart of such controversies is often in Utah. Gay marriage, which our prophet spoke plainly against is one thing, but to treat a classroom visit by the president as a very affront to all you hold dear, is to create a climate in which Mormons look not only foolish, but as a group that is only allowed to think a certain way by our leaders. Nothing could be further from the truth. I often think of Kennedy and Hatch, life-long friends, when I think of people whose opinions are generally diametrically opposed but managed to form a bond of brotherhood that is built on mutual respect and admiration, and not merely on shared opinion.
Yesterday a friend in Utah sent an e-mail with the following, "I have a friend in Arizona who is being almost bullied by her Mormon mom friends there who are telling her she can't send her kids to school that day, that she needs to send a clear message that she will not be brainwashed by 'that man.' " Of course you should keep your kids home from school if you ever worry for their safety or the appropriateness of what they are learning, but don't assume that because your friends are LDS that they feel the same way about it. And above all, don't judge their commitment to the gospel based on your own perception of politics.
In our "fight to save men's souls" (though I'm quite certain Mr. Obama's speech is not what our leaders have in mind when they use such terminology), let us no lose our own to anger, frustration, discord and ignorance.
So let me start with a disclaimer: If you are going to pull your children from school on Tuesday so that they cannot be "brainwashed" by our president, that is your right, of course. I wanted to make that statement right off the bat as I was told on Facebook yesterday by a mother I didn't know that it was her God-given right to control everything her child learned. While I wish her luck with that, I bring up her comment to illustrate just how strongly people feel about this.
Now, if you are keeping your kids home Tuesday because you have studied what is available about the speech, or because you are disturbed by the lesson plan your child's teacher is planning on presenting with the speech, then I commend you for your research and the obvious concern you have for your child. I don't know if it is a God-given right to control each thing that enters your child's head or not (I'm not sure about the scriptural backing for this statement), but it certainly is your right to parent how you wish.
However, if you are pulling your child on Tuesday because of something you heard a television or news radio host say, or because you disagree with Mr. Obama's policies, or because you have been reading opinion columns, I would ask that you reconsider. Here is my reasoning:
1--There is a shocking lack of respect from children in this country for adults in general and particularly for people in positions of power. To teach your children that all respect must be "earned" by some arbitrary set of principles that involves others agreeing with all of your dearly held ideals is to deny the fact that each person is a child of God. Whether you agree with Mr. Obama or not, even in every particular, I am guessing that he has done nothing to offend you personally. I'm guessing that if he were invited to your house for dinner you would find him affable and friendly, optimistic, and eager to talk with great affection about his kids. Naturally, you would avoid politics and religion, but dignified acquaintance demands that these topics not be discussed anyway.
Using negative and incendiary language around your young children about local or national political leaders confuses and hurts them. After all, they are reprimanded severely if they use such language about children they know and interact with. You might think that you are merely passing on political ideaology to your children, but it is important to be very aware of what else you might be teaching them.
2--I believe that running negative talk radio shows or television in your home that involves hosts who shout, berate, belittle and constantly criticize drives the Spirit away. Even if the host of such programs is LDS. If you disagree with this, please find the titled reference in 3rd Nephi in the Savior's initial sermon to the Nephites. He is very plain about the source of the spirit of contention. Children are especially sensitive to the spirit of contention; indeed, it is the opposite of the Holy Ghost. There is nothing wrong with you listening in your car, or after bedtime with your spouse, particularly if such programs lead to mature discussion of ideals and principles that you either agree or disagree with. You wouldn't allow violent or rude cartoons into your home, how much more confusing and even scary is it for children who see and hear talk show hosts using almost violent terms as they urge people to "reclaim their country."
The thoughts expressed concerning Laura Schlessinger last week have really prompted me to think about these talking-head types who feel duty bound to tell the whole world what is wrong with everybody but them. These people, whomever they are, get paid, and well-paid, to set themselves up above others, to mix enough truth with lies that they sound credible, to shock, to divide, and to gain popularity and influence. If you have copy of Mormon Doctrine hanging around your house, look up the definition of "Priestcraft" and see if that doesn't match pretty closely. For how many generations have men been warned about the danger of following the "philosophy of men mingled with scripture." How many more times must we hear it to truly be on our guard?
Again, don't misunderstand, I'm certainly not against people profiting from their labors, intelligence, talents or ingenuity. I am against the preservation of people's right to profit above all other moral responsibility. I am against people using these same skills to incite normally sensible people to extreme anger and divisiveness without offering clear and positive alternatives. I am against people using their God-given gifts (and all good gifts are from God) to wreck and create enmity between people. Just so we are clear--I am not against their agency to do so. I just think they are selling their souls.
3--If your family disagrees with Mr. Obama that doesn't mean something cannot be learned from him. Last month, Bill O'Reilly wrote an article for a weekend circular magazine, Parade. Perhaps you saw it in your paper? Mr. O'Reilly is a Fox News journalist who has routinely been critical of Democrat-sponsored policies and Democrats in general. He is also a shrewd and talented newsman who holds people accountable for what they claim to know and be. His article details some very positive things that American children can learn from our commander-in-chief. Isn't it possible to help our children see, in a calm and rational manner, that there are positive things to learn from all kinds of people, even when we don't agree entirely with them?
I hope that no readers here take offense from what I've said. I have no idea exactly what you believe politically or where your information is coming from. My assumptions here are not aimed at anyone in general, but more at the mood prevailing in our country right now. And I'm deeply disturbed that the heart of such controversies is often in Utah. Gay marriage, which our prophet spoke plainly against is one thing, but to treat a classroom visit by the president as a very affront to all you hold dear, is to create a climate in which Mormons look not only foolish, but as a group that is only allowed to think a certain way by our leaders. Nothing could be further from the truth. I often think of Kennedy and Hatch, life-long friends, when I think of people whose opinions are generally diametrically opposed but managed to form a bond of brotherhood that is built on mutual respect and admiration, and not merely on shared opinion.
Yesterday a friend in Utah sent an e-mail with the following, "I have a friend in Arizona who is being almost bullied by her Mormon mom friends there who are telling her she can't send her kids to school that day, that she needs to send a clear message that she will not be brainwashed by 'that man.' " Of course you should keep your kids home from school if you ever worry for their safety or the appropriateness of what they are learning, but don't assume that because your friends are LDS that they feel the same way about it. And above all, don't judge their commitment to the gospel based on your own perception of politics.
In our "fight to save men's souls" (though I'm quite certain Mr. Obama's speech is not what our leaders have in mind when they use such terminology), let us no lose our own to anger, frustration, discord and ignorance.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Just Throw a Casserole At It
The tale I'm going to tell tonight is bizarre and unsettling in the extreme. Early last week, in a nice neighborhood just a mile or so from here, a ten year-old girl, whom I'll call Red, was riding her bike to a friends' house. She and the friend had both auditioned to sing in the school talent show. Since they had both, big surprise to anyone who knows a tweenie girl, sung Taylor Swift's "Our Song" for the audition, the committee decided to have them sing it together. (This is not the bizarre part, though I will admit the thought of said performance is a bit unsettling.) Red was going to the friend's house for practice.
A golden colored sedan was cruising around the neighborhood at the same time--later it would be discovered that the car was stolen and being driven by a 25 year-old homeless man--likely looking for a hapless victim. Seeing Red on her bike, he RAN HER DOWN. Red is a bit of a spitfire and had the presence of mind to jump up and begin running away, despite having just been hit by a car. Before she got far, Psycho was out of the car and dragging her by the hair into the passenger side. Red screamed. And screamed. And the neighbors came.
Before anyone had time to react, Red was pulled into the car and Psycho took off. At this point, three things happened simultaneously: the mother of Red's friend called Red's mother, a second neighbor called 911, and a third neighbor jumped in her car and took off after Psycho.
Red's mother was at the scene just as the police pulled up, feeling her heart ripped out at the sight of a single shoe left behind and Red's bike twisted and wrecked on the side of the road. While a plan was formed and an APB with the car's description was sent to every police officer in the city and the surrounding communities, the chasing neighbor returned. She reported the direction the car had gone, but admitted that Psycho had just been going too fast and she couldn't keep up. She also had forgotten her cell phone and the only way she could relay what she had learned of the route Psycho and Red had taken was to come back.
At some point, Psycho pulled over and had Red alone for a few minutes. That is where it gets a little bit murky, but it seems that Red wasn't going down without a fight and Psycho was concerned about being caught so he took off again. He hadn't gone more than few miles when he ran straight into a strip of tire rippers laid down by the officers on duty in the nearest community in the direction he was headed.
The sedan wrecked in a ditch; Red was rushed to the hospital and treated for a broken arm and given a thorough exam while the prosecutor paced outside, adding up the charges that would be laid at Psycho's feet. Meanwhile, Psycho was treated for some minor injuries at the local jail where Red's mother, quite honestly, hope he rots for eternity. And Red's father? Well, at one point he set out in his truck with a loaded shotgun to bring Red home, so Red's mother is grateful that she doesn't have a husband in jail on top of all of this.
Many of these details were in the newspaper. But not all of them. I'm privy to this incredible story because I visit teach Red's mother, and I've tutored Red on several occasions. (It was Red's mother who made the Jedi Master's adorable black and white starry fondant cake for his birthday.) This kind of thing never happens to people you know. Except when it does.
As the Relief Society President and I made our way over to Red's house the morning after this had all happened, I said to her, "I bet the handbook doesn't have any guidelines for THIS situation." I smiled slightly, trying to somehow help the mood of gloom we carried with us.
Very gravely, she replied, "You know, most of what the sisters go through has no easy answer. I never know what to do, really."
"When in doubt bake?" I smiled again.
She smiled this time too, and said that she had been talking about that very thing with her husband two nights previously because she often felt helpless against an onslaught of problems and that the best she could usually was throw a casserole at every difficulty. She perhaps expected her husband, not a member, to agree. Instead, he said, "But at least they know that you are thinking about them, that you care about them, and you are there if they need anything."
I took my turn throwing a casserole at this terrible situation--chicken enchiladas (which seemed a little chintzy so I also threw a big bag of greasy Frito's and a quart of strawberry vanilla ice cream)--as well as volunteering to do some tutoring for Red while she gets caught up in classes she was already struggling in. I spent some time talking with Red's mom when I took the food: we hugged and cried and talked with relief about how much worse it could have been and expressed gratitude for a community that works together. Today at church our Relief Society lesson was about service and the teacher talked about trying to get creative with our own talents and find ways to serve that only we could do. I knew I hadn't done much, but the lesson made me feel good about the service I'd rendered Red's family this week.
Then I spoke to Red's mom who told me she had dishes for me in the car. "How did you like it?" I said, with no real trepidation. I don't think I've ever taken anything that people weren't really complimentary about and my own family gobbled up the enchiladas, no problem. She replied, "Um, they were really spicy; the kids wouldn't really eat them. They gave me a stomach ache because I finally ate three of them when I could get enough sour cream on them." I smiled. I apologized. I felt helpless.
So it is okay to throw a casserole at a problem. Just not THAT casserole. And maybe not THAT problem.
A golden colored sedan was cruising around the neighborhood at the same time--later it would be discovered that the car was stolen and being driven by a 25 year-old homeless man--likely looking for a hapless victim. Seeing Red on her bike, he RAN HER DOWN. Red is a bit of a spitfire and had the presence of mind to jump up and begin running away, despite having just been hit by a car. Before she got far, Psycho was out of the car and dragging her by the hair into the passenger side. Red screamed. And screamed. And the neighbors came.
Before anyone had time to react, Red was pulled into the car and Psycho took off. At this point, three things happened simultaneously: the mother of Red's friend called Red's mother, a second neighbor called 911, and a third neighbor jumped in her car and took off after Psycho.
Red's mother was at the scene just as the police pulled up, feeling her heart ripped out at the sight of a single shoe left behind and Red's bike twisted and wrecked on the side of the road. While a plan was formed and an APB with the car's description was sent to every police officer in the city and the surrounding communities, the chasing neighbor returned. She reported the direction the car had gone, but admitted that Psycho had just been going too fast and she couldn't keep up. She also had forgotten her cell phone and the only way she could relay what she had learned of the route Psycho and Red had taken was to come back.
At some point, Psycho pulled over and had Red alone for a few minutes. That is where it gets a little bit murky, but it seems that Red wasn't going down without a fight and Psycho was concerned about being caught so he took off again. He hadn't gone more than few miles when he ran straight into a strip of tire rippers laid down by the officers on duty in the nearest community in the direction he was headed.
The sedan wrecked in a ditch; Red was rushed to the hospital and treated for a broken arm and given a thorough exam while the prosecutor paced outside, adding up the charges that would be laid at Psycho's feet. Meanwhile, Psycho was treated for some minor injuries at the local jail where Red's mother, quite honestly, hope he rots for eternity. And Red's father? Well, at one point he set out in his truck with a loaded shotgun to bring Red home, so Red's mother is grateful that she doesn't have a husband in jail on top of all of this.
Many of these details were in the newspaper. But not all of them. I'm privy to this incredible story because I visit teach Red's mother, and I've tutored Red on several occasions. (It was Red's mother who made the Jedi Master's adorable black and white starry fondant cake for his birthday.) This kind of thing never happens to people you know. Except when it does.
As the Relief Society President and I made our way over to Red's house the morning after this had all happened, I said to her, "I bet the handbook doesn't have any guidelines for THIS situation." I smiled slightly, trying to somehow help the mood of gloom we carried with us.
Very gravely, she replied, "You know, most of what the sisters go through has no easy answer. I never know what to do, really."
"When in doubt bake?" I smiled again.
She smiled this time too, and said that she had been talking about that very thing with her husband two nights previously because she often felt helpless against an onslaught of problems and that the best she could usually was throw a casserole at every difficulty. She perhaps expected her husband, not a member, to agree. Instead, he said, "But at least they know that you are thinking about them, that you care about them, and you are there if they need anything."
I took my turn throwing a casserole at this terrible situation--chicken enchiladas (which seemed a little chintzy so I also threw a big bag of greasy Frito's and a quart of strawberry vanilla ice cream)--as well as volunteering to do some tutoring for Red while she gets caught up in classes she was already struggling in. I spent some time talking with Red's mom when I took the food: we hugged and cried and talked with relief about how much worse it could have been and expressed gratitude for a community that works together. Today at church our Relief Society lesson was about service and the teacher talked about trying to get creative with our own talents and find ways to serve that only we could do. I knew I hadn't done much, but the lesson made me feel good about the service I'd rendered Red's family this week.
Then I spoke to Red's mom who told me she had dishes for me in the car. "How did you like it?" I said, with no real trepidation. I don't think I've ever taken anything that people weren't really complimentary about and my own family gobbled up the enchiladas, no problem. She replied, "Um, they were really spicy; the kids wouldn't really eat them. They gave me a stomach ache because I finally ate three of them when I could get enough sour cream on them." I smiled. I apologized. I felt helpless.
So it is okay to throw a casserole at a problem. Just not THAT casserole. And maybe not THAT problem.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Looking for a Little Hope
Between the rain we've had all week and the time change, it has been getting dark by about 4:30 here. So I've been looking for a little bright spot.
And I've found it in a big way.
No, I don't just mean Barack Obama being elected. Though, I must say that I had waited a long time to vote for him: probably since I first read about him in the Spring of 2004. So, despite all that is hard about this new world we have found ourselves in during recent months, I would like to now give here my reasons for hope:
* A dignified and gracious concession speech from a man who is a great American patriot and will continue to serve as a voice of balance and careful compromise in the US Senate.
* The non-realization of the so-called Bradley Effect, indicating that there are probably fewer "closet racists" in the country than most of us assume.
* Nem's post from yesterday has made me feel liberated about believing strongly that I can be a faithful Latter-day Saint and still subscribe to much of the philosophy found in the Democratic party.
* A dignified and gracious acceptance speech from a man who made little effort to boost his own merits but instead pledged to work on behalf of every American, regardless of how they voted.
* An election decided, decisively, within a few hours instead of days or months so that our new president will take office without a cloud over his head and with a mandate to govern.
*Nearly 120 million Americans showed up to be counted yesterday. Votes DO matter.
* A president-elect who is practically in my generation who is smart, calm and forward-thinking.
* A renewed determination to do my best to be a responsible citizen and to raise my children to be the same.
* Church leaders who remain optimistic about the opportunities to be found in the very trials that are knocking at the door.
It is the opportunity of our generation to remake our country. The more I meet and interact with the bright, committed men and women who are young parents now, the more I believe that we can make the world a better place.
And I've found it in a big way.
No, I don't just mean Barack Obama being elected. Though, I must say that I had waited a long time to vote for him: probably since I first read about him in the Spring of 2004. So, despite all that is hard about this new world we have found ourselves in during recent months, I would like to now give here my reasons for hope:
* A dignified and gracious concession speech from a man who is a great American patriot and will continue to serve as a voice of balance and careful compromise in the US Senate.
* The non-realization of the so-called Bradley Effect, indicating that there are probably fewer "closet racists" in the country than most of us assume.
* Nem's post from yesterday has made me feel liberated about believing strongly that I can be a faithful Latter-day Saint and still subscribe to much of the philosophy found in the Democratic party.
* A dignified and gracious acceptance speech from a man who made little effort to boost his own merits but instead pledged to work on behalf of every American, regardless of how they voted.
* An election decided, decisively, within a few hours instead of days or months so that our new president will take office without a cloud over his head and with a mandate to govern.
*Nearly 120 million Americans showed up to be counted yesterday. Votes DO matter.
* A president-elect who is practically in my generation who is smart, calm and forward-thinking.
* A renewed determination to do my best to be a responsible citizen and to raise my children to be the same.
* Church leaders who remain optimistic about the opportunities to be found in the very trials that are knocking at the door.
It is the opportunity of our generation to remake our country. The more I meet and interact with the bright, committed men and women who are young parents now, the more I believe that we can make the world a better place.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday Night Fights
When I said no more political posts until November, I should have said, "not many more." I just can't help it. However, I listened carefully when the annual political letter was read in church yesterday and am conceding that while my own biases will surely be revealed here, I believe that no one party or candidate has all the answers nor is the right choice for every person whose own ideas of "good government" may be different than mine.
What I think is worth discussing here, is the poll-bump that Barack Obama recieved among white suburban women voters after Friday night's debate. One poll, conducted within hours of the debate had over 60% (to McCain's 35%) saying that Obama was the "winner." At least among women--the men were split nearly down the middle in declaring a victor. So was it about Mr. Obama that prompted this disparity among the sexes? I've been thinking about it a lot this weekend and have a few ideas.
* On the economy, both candidates were fairly non-committal. There was some major criticism over this. It is important to keep in mind that both men sat in on bailout-meetings all that day, but that no agreement had been reached as of Friday night. Markets, already skittish, may have imploded with any broad statements made by either candidate that might have been seen as evidence of future policy. As such, McCain and Obama each stuck the party line--McCain counseling fiscal restraint and reassurances of the Republican Party's committment to unfettered markets; Obama calling for regulatory reforms and help for "average" Americans. Where Obama did, perhaps, make inroads with the SAHM crowd was with his emphasis on the importance of financial stability so that you can send your kids to college, pay for groceries, put gas in the car, etc.
* Foreign policy was where the distinctions between the candidates became sharper, or at least semantically they did! Within 12 hours the McCain campaign was declaring victory, patting each other on the back for the number of times McCain made it clear to Obama that "he failed to understand," or that he "just didn't understand" or that his foreign policy was "naive at best," you get the picture. My own impression was not so positive. What it seems that John McCain has failed to realize is that even if elected come November, he will inherit an ailing economy, an unpopular war and a Democrat-controlled congress who is going to rally around the upstart Senator from Chicago whose ideas they just happen to believe in. McCain's insistence that Barack Obama "doesn't understand" his own ideas hashed out over many months with advisors and military strategists, is a broader condemnation of anyone who thinks that American foreign policy is due for a course correction. McCain, for all his excellent record of bipartisan cooperation, has really drawn a line in the sand over the Iraq issue. Yes, he has experience, but there are other experienced politicians and generals who disagree with the current course of action. Is he saying that all these other people are just dead wrong, ignorant and/or naive? If so, that is a pretty paternalistic attitude from a man wanting to lead the free world. Americans, and our foreign enemies and friends alike, are pretty tired of hearing that "President knows best." I thought that much of this lack-of-experience argument would fade in light of the Sarah Palin choice. On balance, each ticket has a similar amount of experience.
* Within 24 hours of the debate the McCain campaign began running ads, triumphantly showing the number of times Obama agreed with him during the debate. McCain has a better (and of course, longer) record of bi-partisanship than Obama. Yet, this agreement despite every condescending remark thrown at Obama paints him as the candidate best poised to bring people together. Whether he will or not, of course, is a matter of opinion and speculation. Still, he seems to be trying to reassure the middle-leaning electorate that "Yes, I know I'll be a Democratic president over a Democratic congress, but I will not overlook the places where there is agreement." There is something to be said for the give-and-take, quiet dignity approach when dealing with a variety of world leaders.
* Obama became very specific talking about "taking out" AlQaeda targets in Pakistan with or without their government's approval. McCain jumped all over that, telling his colleague that even if you thought such a thing, you would never say it on national television for fear of turning allies into enemies or creating a huge backlash in the Muslim world. Perhaps a valid point, though at least it is a specific approach to foreign policy. Five minutes later, Obama made a comment that you don't get to know a Russian by looking into his soul and then going on for a minute or so, rather un-surely, about his approach to this nuclear behemoth. McCain's reply, "I have looked into Putin's soul, and I see three letters: K. G. B." Um, what happened to "even if you think such a thing, you would never say it?" Not only did he commit the same type of error as Mr. Obama, but his statement wasn't even intended to express any kind of specific policy. His own rhetoric about Russian policy was no stronger than Obamas, despite the "zinger." People are smart. WOMEN are smart. They will look for the candidate with policies that agree with their own thoughts, or seek to be educated when they don't have a clear idea. If McCain wants to win over women, he needs to seek to educate, not dictate.
* The story McCain shared about the dog tags in his posession passed on by the mother who pled with him to not let her son die in vain was very touching. McCain used this story to make the point that if we pull out now (or roughly 18 months from now as is the Obama plan) then the sacrifice of all of those American soliders is wasted. Obama's reply was just as valid about the mother who begged him not to send another child to die for a lost cause. I am certainly not going to judge each mother's approach to her grieving. I do think that McCain's own experience however, must be considered when looking at his point. He fought in a losing war. He is never shy to tell about the crucible of prisonership and torture that formed him as an adult. But according to his reasoning, the fact that he was on the losing end of a difficult war, his life-changing experience and terrible sacrifice is somehow less important. I don't buy into this philosophy any more than I believe that a person who disagrees with the Iraq war is less of a patriot.
Again, perhaps not unbiased, but I am one of those white housewives from the suburbs, and these are the things I see women picking up on. I may not be in a swing state, but I'll still vote. I hope you will too! Regardless of your political leanings, your voice is important. As we head to the polls with prayers in our hearts for the future of our country, but mostly our children, let us try not to have the "lesser of two evils" mentality, but instead say, "which candidate do I think will do the greatest good for the greatest number of people?"
What I think is worth discussing here, is the poll-bump that Barack Obama recieved among white suburban women voters after Friday night's debate. One poll, conducted within hours of the debate had over 60% (to McCain's 35%) saying that Obama was the "winner." At least among women--the men were split nearly down the middle in declaring a victor. So was it about Mr. Obama that prompted this disparity among the sexes? I've been thinking about it a lot this weekend and have a few ideas.
* On the economy, both candidates were fairly non-committal. There was some major criticism over this. It is important to keep in mind that both men sat in on bailout-meetings all that day, but that no agreement had been reached as of Friday night. Markets, already skittish, may have imploded with any broad statements made by either candidate that might have been seen as evidence of future policy. As such, McCain and Obama each stuck the party line--McCain counseling fiscal restraint and reassurances of the Republican Party's committment to unfettered markets; Obama calling for regulatory reforms and help for "average" Americans. Where Obama did, perhaps, make inroads with the SAHM crowd was with his emphasis on the importance of financial stability so that you can send your kids to college, pay for groceries, put gas in the car, etc.
* Foreign policy was where the distinctions between the candidates became sharper, or at least semantically they did! Within 12 hours the McCain campaign was declaring victory, patting each other on the back for the number of times McCain made it clear to Obama that "he failed to understand," or that he "just didn't understand" or that his foreign policy was "naive at best," you get the picture. My own impression was not so positive. What it seems that John McCain has failed to realize is that even if elected come November, he will inherit an ailing economy, an unpopular war and a Democrat-controlled congress who is going to rally around the upstart Senator from Chicago whose ideas they just happen to believe in. McCain's insistence that Barack Obama "doesn't understand" his own ideas hashed out over many months with advisors and military strategists, is a broader condemnation of anyone who thinks that American foreign policy is due for a course correction. McCain, for all his excellent record of bipartisan cooperation, has really drawn a line in the sand over the Iraq issue. Yes, he has experience, but there are other experienced politicians and generals who disagree with the current course of action. Is he saying that all these other people are just dead wrong, ignorant and/or naive? If so, that is a pretty paternalistic attitude from a man wanting to lead the free world. Americans, and our foreign enemies and friends alike, are pretty tired of hearing that "President knows best." I thought that much of this lack-of-experience argument would fade in light of the Sarah Palin choice. On balance, each ticket has a similar amount of experience.
* Within 24 hours of the debate the McCain campaign began running ads, triumphantly showing the number of times Obama agreed with him during the debate. McCain has a better (and of course, longer) record of bi-partisanship than Obama. Yet, this agreement despite every condescending remark thrown at Obama paints him as the candidate best poised to bring people together. Whether he will or not, of course, is a matter of opinion and speculation. Still, he seems to be trying to reassure the middle-leaning electorate that "Yes, I know I'll be a Democratic president over a Democratic congress, but I will not overlook the places where there is agreement." There is something to be said for the give-and-take, quiet dignity approach when dealing with a variety of world leaders.
* Obama became very specific talking about "taking out" AlQaeda targets in Pakistan with or without their government's approval. McCain jumped all over that, telling his colleague that even if you thought such a thing, you would never say it on national television for fear of turning allies into enemies or creating a huge backlash in the Muslim world. Perhaps a valid point, though at least it is a specific approach to foreign policy. Five minutes later, Obama made a comment that you don't get to know a Russian by looking into his soul and then going on for a minute or so, rather un-surely, about his approach to this nuclear behemoth. McCain's reply, "I have looked into Putin's soul, and I see three letters: K. G. B." Um, what happened to "even if you think such a thing, you would never say it?" Not only did he commit the same type of error as Mr. Obama, but his statement wasn't even intended to express any kind of specific policy. His own rhetoric about Russian policy was no stronger than Obamas, despite the "zinger." People are smart. WOMEN are smart. They will look for the candidate with policies that agree with their own thoughts, or seek to be educated when they don't have a clear idea. If McCain wants to win over women, he needs to seek to educate, not dictate.
* The story McCain shared about the dog tags in his posession passed on by the mother who pled with him to not let her son die in vain was very touching. McCain used this story to make the point that if we pull out now (or roughly 18 months from now as is the Obama plan) then the sacrifice of all of those American soliders is wasted. Obama's reply was just as valid about the mother who begged him not to send another child to die for a lost cause. I am certainly not going to judge each mother's approach to her grieving. I do think that McCain's own experience however, must be considered when looking at his point. He fought in a losing war. He is never shy to tell about the crucible of prisonership and torture that formed him as an adult. But according to his reasoning, the fact that he was on the losing end of a difficult war, his life-changing experience and terrible sacrifice is somehow less important. I don't buy into this philosophy any more than I believe that a person who disagrees with the Iraq war is less of a patriot.
Again, perhaps not unbiased, but I am one of those white housewives from the suburbs, and these are the things I see women picking up on. I may not be in a swing state, but I'll still vote. I hope you will too! Regardless of your political leanings, your voice is important. As we head to the polls with prayers in our hearts for the future of our country, but mostly our children, let us try not to have the "lesser of two evils" mentality, but instead say, "which candidate do I think will do the greatest good for the greatest number of people?"
Monday, September 22, 2008
Four????
I know that the number and frequency of children you have can only be truly decided between you and your spouse and Lord. Still, what is blogging for if not to solicit random tidbits of advice from friends and strangers alike?
I am at a major crossroads in my child-bearing life. Some weeks back my mother and I were talking and I asked her why "4" seems to be such a magic number of children for people that I know. Before four kids, it seems like all kinds of random people will ask, "Do you think you'll have any more?" (Maybe this is this the case after four children as well?) She said that in her generation she felt that the magic number was 5. There are four children in my family, and mom felt like my youngest brother started school before people quit asking her if she was done.
It took 20 weeks for me to adjust to the idea of having a third son. By the time Captain Tootypants was born, I was okay with it. And now, I've accepted that I have to be careful to not end up in the middle of non-stop wrestling match at my house. I've accepted that my youngest is both the meanest and the sweetest of the three. I've accepted endless hand-me-down piles of brown and blue and green clothes that are nearly always muddy by days' end. I've even accepted the boy smell that permeates my bedroom and my kids' bedroom every morning. Some days I look at my life and think, "How did I get so lucky to have a houseful of exceptionally handsome men who each think I'm the center of their universe?" Other days I think, "Where is the daughter I have long-dreamed of?" There are days when mothering is so easy and I know that four would be nothing, and then there are other days when I want nothing more than to escape the drudgery of housework and diapers and referee-ing and, well, you get the picture.
I've had all my children for very different reasons--the first was obligation, the second was desire, the third was an act of faith. But if there is to be a #4 . . . .
This baby would have to be called "sacrifice," inasmuch as one baby can be seen as more of a sacrifice than another. We would be exceptionally crowded in our small house. We would have to think of some way to afford a payment on a bigger car. My additional schooling (and therefore earning power) would have to be put off a few more years. Even after a year of being here, I don't feel like I've really built the support system that I've had in other places--so necessary when you are hundreds of miles from any family members.
When I felt the powerful prompting to get pregnant with #3, despite Plantboy's schooling not being finished and no job on the horizon, and certainly no knowledge of where would be the following year, I took the biggest leap of faith I've ever made. I gave Plantboy about four days notice on the "I need to get pregnant now!" though we had discussed such a thing as being at least a year into the future. He prayed and he trusted me, dear man. I think I always knew there would be a great blessing attached to that decision; I hoped that blessing meant a baby daughter. The Lord knew my heart. If Captain Tootypants had been a girl instead, it would have probably taken a bolt of lightning for me to have had a fourth baby, and then my sweet baby would have never been a part of my life. My 20 weeks of adjustment over his birth was not just getting ready for a third boy; I think in my heart I was coming to terms with a fourth pregnancy.
I checked the blog of a friend today who just had her fourth baby: one of several friends in the last year to make this leap. Ever since my baby was about two months old, this battle within myself emerges about once a month. Jana's newborn has triggered these thoughts today. For "ideal" spacing, if I have a baby #4, I should get pregnant in about six months. The decision I keep telling myself can wait, cannot wait much longer.
Or maybe I've already made the decision--maybe it was made a long time ago--and my practical side cannot stop thinking about the awful logistics of such a decision. I'm struggling to do the will of the Father, knowing my heart is not in the right place. If I knew a girl was coming to us, I'd get pregnant tomorrow, logistics be damned. But the thought of a fourth boy makes me feel faintly naseous. Would I be able to love a fourth boy enough so that he never wondered if I had him just because I was hoping for a girl? Is a fourth child, for me, a total act of unselfishness since on paper it is pure insanity; or is my decision based on some completely selfish desire to have a daughter on the off-chance that she'll be the best friend I've ever had?
I am at a major crossroads in my child-bearing life. Some weeks back my mother and I were talking and I asked her why "4" seems to be such a magic number of children for people that I know. Before four kids, it seems like all kinds of random people will ask, "Do you think you'll have any more?" (Maybe this is this the case after four children as well?) She said that in her generation she felt that the magic number was 5. There are four children in my family, and mom felt like my youngest brother started school before people quit asking her if she was done.
It took 20 weeks for me to adjust to the idea of having a third son. By the time Captain Tootypants was born, I was okay with it. And now, I've accepted that I have to be careful to not end up in the middle of non-stop wrestling match at my house. I've accepted that my youngest is both the meanest and the sweetest of the three. I've accepted endless hand-me-down piles of brown and blue and green clothes that are nearly always muddy by days' end. I've even accepted the boy smell that permeates my bedroom and my kids' bedroom every morning. Some days I look at my life and think, "How did I get so lucky to have a houseful of exceptionally handsome men who each think I'm the center of their universe?" Other days I think, "Where is the daughter I have long-dreamed of?" There are days when mothering is so easy and I know that four would be nothing, and then there are other days when I want nothing more than to escape the drudgery of housework and diapers and referee-ing and, well, you get the picture.
I've had all my children for very different reasons--the first was obligation, the second was desire, the third was an act of faith. But if there is to be a #4 . . . .
This baby would have to be called "sacrifice," inasmuch as one baby can be seen as more of a sacrifice than another. We would be exceptionally crowded in our small house. We would have to think of some way to afford a payment on a bigger car. My additional schooling (and therefore earning power) would have to be put off a few more years. Even after a year of being here, I don't feel like I've really built the support system that I've had in other places--so necessary when you are hundreds of miles from any family members.
When I felt the powerful prompting to get pregnant with #3, despite Plantboy's schooling not being finished and no job on the horizon, and certainly no knowledge of where would be the following year, I took the biggest leap of faith I've ever made. I gave Plantboy about four days notice on the "I need to get pregnant now!" though we had discussed such a thing as being at least a year into the future. He prayed and he trusted me, dear man. I think I always knew there would be a great blessing attached to that decision; I hoped that blessing meant a baby daughter. The Lord knew my heart. If Captain Tootypants had been a girl instead, it would have probably taken a bolt of lightning for me to have had a fourth baby, and then my sweet baby would have never been a part of my life. My 20 weeks of adjustment over his birth was not just getting ready for a third boy; I think in my heart I was coming to terms with a fourth pregnancy.
I checked the blog of a friend today who just had her fourth baby: one of several friends in the last year to make this leap. Ever since my baby was about two months old, this battle within myself emerges about once a month. Jana's newborn has triggered these thoughts today. For "ideal" spacing, if I have a baby #4, I should get pregnant in about six months. The decision I keep telling myself can wait, cannot wait much longer.
Or maybe I've already made the decision--maybe it was made a long time ago--and my practical side cannot stop thinking about the awful logistics of such a decision. I'm struggling to do the will of the Father, knowing my heart is not in the right place. If I knew a girl was coming to us, I'd get pregnant tomorrow, logistics be damned. But the thought of a fourth boy makes me feel faintly naseous. Would I be able to love a fourth boy enough so that he never wondered if I had him just because I was hoping for a girl? Is a fourth child, for me, a total act of unselfishness since on paper it is pure insanity; or is my decision based on some completely selfish desire to have a daughter on the off-chance that she'll be the best friend I've ever had?
Friday, September 12, 2008
In Short, You Are Just Not Enough
I love Kohl's. I discovered it in Texas when it opened on 249. The rule at Kohl's, however, is don't-even-think-about-it-unless-it-is-at-least-50%-off. And better yet, hold out until they put it on clearance in just a few weeks. Besides having a lot of season ending sales right now, they were kind enough to send me a 30% everything coupon this week.
Of course I went to just buy sheets (in response to Plantboy's comment, "these sheets are really rough; they are what? Nine years old?"). But then there was also this adorable outfit for my baby who wears something that is not a hand me down about one day in never. And then I found some really fabulous "skimmers." Dark blue, stretch denim, no gap waist, my size and a petite. With my coupon they would be about $7. Perfect.
Until I tried them on. I think the idea of the skimmer is that it skims the top of the knee? The following research backs me up:
My skimmers, on the other hand, are actually kissing the tops of my calves. Still cute, only I look even shorter than my womanly 5'2" when I'm sporting them. Remember, they are already a petite. I guess is makes sense that my skimmers are more like capris: Most of my capri pants fit like floods. If I was insane enough to buy skinny jeans they would look like tights. In fact, looking at that last picture again, I think I'm only about three inches taller than that woman's legs with her stiletto sandals in the mix.
To add insult to injury, I found a too-skinny letter from Deseret Book in my mailbox when I got home. I'll spare the details of the form letter here: my last rejection was better. And worse at the same time. Stay tuned over the next couple of weeks. I am working on a second blog that will be for fiction only. I think that after I've posted the chapters of my rejected novel, I may open it up to multiple writers and do more of a fiction/personal essay type of writer's workshop. Hope springs eternal.
Of course I went to just buy sheets (in response to Plantboy's comment, "these sheets are really rough; they are what? Nine years old?"). But then there was also this adorable outfit for my baby who wears something that is not a hand me down about one day in never. And then I found some really fabulous "skimmers." Dark blue, stretch denim, no gap waist, my size and a petite. With my coupon they would be about $7. Perfect.
Until I tried them on. I think the idea of the skimmer is that it skims the top of the knee? The following research backs me up:
My skimmers, on the other hand, are actually kissing the tops of my calves. Still cute, only I look even shorter than my womanly 5'2" when I'm sporting them. Remember, they are already a petite. I guess is makes sense that my skimmers are more like capris: Most of my capri pants fit like floods. If I was insane enough to buy skinny jeans they would look like tights. In fact, looking at that last picture again, I think I'm only about three inches taller than that woman's legs with her stiletto sandals in the mix.
To add insult to injury, I found a too-skinny letter from Deseret Book in my mailbox when I got home. I'll spare the details of the form letter here: my last rejection was better. And worse at the same time. Stay tuned over the next couple of weeks. I am working on a second blog that will be for fiction only. I think that after I've posted the chapters of my rejected novel, I may open it up to multiple writers and do more of a fiction/personal essay type of writer's workshop. Hope springs eternal.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Talk From Sunday
In case you are thinking this is getting repetitive, I did do a fireside last November and speak in Sacrament meeting less than a year ago. There is a new counselor in the bishopbric over talks and I am thinking that he lost the original list or something. At least I gave a new talk. That is more than I can say for . . . well, I won't go there. Because it was a REALLY great talk: who cares if he gave it twice?
I am not sure how well this will load because of the footnotes (I know that seems a little, well, over the top, but somebody wanted a copy so I was more careful than normal). It is also quite lengthy; I'm too lazy on our last day of summer vacation to edit. What I WOULD like to know, however is if anybody knows where I can get some extremely cheap and user friendly web hosting for PDF pages? I am thinking of publishing some of my stuff on-line, linking it through here and removing all personal identification from my manuscripts, but the blogger format is all wrong. I want to link PDF protected pages from my home page. Anyway, if you have any advice, skip the talk, and make a comment to give it to me.
Preparedness
When we were given the topic of “preparedness” today, I immediately thought about food storage and panicked. Once my mind began seeing past hundreds of quarts of canned peaches that I don’t have, however, there was a story that came very clearly to me that I wanted to share. It was not immediately apparent why I should, but as I’ve pondered and prayed, I understand why the Lord would have me share this very personal experience.
During my freshman year of college, there were a series of difficult trials that happened to several friends and family members. Although none of these trials happened to me directly, each circumstance greatly affected my outlook. I had been raised in the church, but it wasn’t until I was faced with such life-altering trials that I really began to seek and find my testimony. And then, during finals week of my freshman year, President Benson died. Within days of the funeral, President Howard W. Hunter was sustained prophet and held a press conference.
Wasting no time in declaring his prophetic vision for the church, this soft-spoken and gentle man said that he had two directives for Church members. The first was to look to the Savior as the supreme example in our lives, doing in all things what he would do. He then said,
“Secondly, and in that same spirit, I also invite the members of the Church to establish the temple of the Lord as the great symbol of their membership and the supernal setting for their most sacred covenants. It would be the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church be temple worthy. I would hope that every adult member would be worthy of—and carry—a current temple recommend, even if proximity to a temple does not allow immediate or frequent use of it.
“Let us be a temple-attending and a temple-loving people. Let us hasten to the temple as frequently as time and means and personal circumstances allow. Let us go not only for our kindred dead, but let us also go for the personal blessing of temple worship, for the sanctity and safety which is provided within those hallowed and consecrated walls. The temple is a place of beauty, it is a place of revelation, it is a place of peace. It is the house of the Lord. It is holy unto the Lord. It should be holy unto us.”[1]
Perhaps I had matured, or because of my new-found testimony, it was the first time I remembered really standing up and taking note of what the prophet said. I replayed those words of the temple as “the great symbol of our membership.” That resonated with me, even though I had very little understanding of what he meant.
In October of that year, his first presidency message in the Ensign reiterated the charge[2]. Just a week after the issue came out, he spoke in conference. He again shared a similar message, encouraging us to display pictures of the temple in our homes. He also mentions the upcoming dedication of the Bountiful Temple and said, “My brothers and sisters, I testify that the impressions of the Spirit have weighed heavily upon me in considering these matters.”[3]
It turned out that nearly a million people toured the Bountiful Temple in November and December of 1994[4]. My parents had tickets for a tour on a November evening. The temple was nearly two hours away from where I attended college at Utah State University in Logan, but I decided to attend with my parents anyway. Snow was forecast for that day, but without too much worry I set off. The temple was lovely and the rooms were incredible. I remember especially the bride’s room. However, it was also very crowded, and there was no explanation provided for the purpose of the various rooms. Between the crowds and my confusion, my experience was not exactly what I had hoped for. I was not sorry I had gone, certainly, but I had not felt the spirit the way I expected. When we were done touring the temple, I went with my parents back to my home in Ogden, where they encouraged me to stay for the night. I had early classes, however, and decided to be on my way.
All started well on my journey back to my apartment, but about five minutes after entering Sardine Canyon, the snow began in earnest. Besides the snow rushing at my windshield like the Millennium Falcon rushing into hyperspace, it was very foggy. I slowed down to a crawl, not able to see more than a few feet in front of me, my headlights actually exacerbating the effects of snow and fog. I have driven that canyon literally hundreds of times in my life and I can only remember a handful of instances when conditions were that bad. I knew I was in serious trouble if I went off the road. The only shoes I had with me were the dress shoes I was wearing; my only coat, a thin dress coat. I didn’t have food or water in the car. I didn’t have a phone to call for help. I didn’t have a shovel in case digging myself out became necessary. I went at a snail’s pace for nearly ten miles. With relief, I could tell from the lay of the road that I was nearing the end of the canyon.
Whenever I drive into Cache Valley, particularly at night, the first thing I look for in the distance is the temple. It is built on a bluff just in front of the mouth of another canyon through the mountains to the east. As you enter the valley from the south, the temple stands out brightly, with its white spires illuminated bluish white every night. Though it is nearly pushed up against the east mountains, you get the impression that it actually stands on a large hill right in the center of the valley. The pioneers chose their site for the temple very well.
But that night, as I exited the canyon with 10 miles to go to my apartment just blocks from the temple, I still couldn’t see a thing. The snow had let up, but the fog was as bad as ever. My habit for getting to my apartment was to go up around the temple, even though the route took a few extra minutes, because it was a pretty drive. Despite the terrible visibility and little hope of seeing anything, I kept to my routine and drove up around the temple. I nearly ran off the road as I rounded the curve.
As if someone had turned on a switch, the temple was suddenly before me, blazingly bright and seeming to rise up out of the fog. Its parking lot was empty, covered only with a layer of fresh new snow. The quiet was intense and lovely as I pulled over carefully and just stared for several minutes, feeling the manifestation in my spirit that I had not felt inside the cozy and warm temple from the hours previous. I knew with all my heart that I wanted to be inside that sacred building, that I wanted to understand what President Hunter meant when he said that the temple should be the symbol of our membership.
But I knew something else. I knew that I was no more prepared to be in that glorious building than I was to be driving through the canyon that night.
I’m going to relate the symbols of what I was missing from my car that day to things I was also missing from my life. As I do, please carefully consider the things in your own life that may need putting in order so that we might each claim the blessings that our Father in Heaven is standing ready to give us.
1) Boots. If something had gone wrong and I had to get out of my car, I would have been wet to my nyloned knees in the ridiculous shoes I was wearing.
Just as my shoes would have allowed me to do little more than mince and slip in the snow, the faith I was exercising at that time in my life was weak and tentative. In 1997, the sesquicentennial of the pioneer’s arrival in Utah, President Hinckley narrated a remarkable documentary, shown in conference, titled Faith in Every Footstep[5]. There was a lovely hymn of the same title composed that same year to honor the anniversary[6]. In the documentary, President Hinckley and his counselors spoke with fervor and testimony about the faith of our early pioneer ancestors. They were a people who understood that faith was not just about believing, but that true faith inspires you to act, time and time again, even against overwhelming odds and challenges.
My own faith was not like this. I had not learned to trust the Lord. Despite many wonderful and subtle spiritual experiences through my teenage years, I asked time and time again for a manifestation about the truthfulness of the gospel. I was not unlike Oliver Cowdery. Even with experience after experience, Oliver still petitioned Joseph to ask the Lord to send him another witness. The Lord’s reply to Oliver’s question is loving, but there is a distinct rebuke also.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might aknow concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak apeace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater bwitness can you have than from God?[7]”
I needed to trust the many witnesses I had received from God and move forward; taking my turn to serve others and live the religion I knew to be true. Now, true faith was the first piece of preparation, but not the only one. From the scripture just shared, we see that Oliver was admonished to greater faith by listening to and trusting the Holy Ghost. This leads me to the second thing that would have been useful.
2) I needed something to keep me warm.
This symbol should be a little more obvious. The Savior himself said just hours before his atonement, “But the aComforter, which is the bHoly Ghost, whom the Father will send in my cname, he shall dteach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.[8]”
I love the word “comforter.” I think there is no better description of the way the Holy Ghost can help us to feel. In a world of turmoil and difficulty, indeed, there is no greater need than this marvelous feeling of comfort. In addition to providing feelings of comfort and peace, the Holy Ghost helps to guide and direct us in our decisions.
The importance of the Holy Ghost was a thing I did not understand when I was a teenager in the YW program. My leaders and seminary teachers always seemed so urgent about us gaining testimonies, and learning to recognize the Spirit. I just didn’t really see what the big deal was. It wasn’t until that first spring away from home when life’s major trials truly beset me for the first time that I understood why my leaders had tried so hard. Between the ages of 18 and 25, I made no fewer than eight major life decisions. Decisions that would have changed the whole course of my life and perhaps my eternity if they had been different. I don’t know how I would have done this without the influence of the Holy Ghost, or how I could have possibly had any confidence in my decisions without His powerful, guiding influence.
In a world where the philosophies of men are becoming increasingly confused with doctrines of God, it will be vital to listen to the Holy Ghost so that we might do what is right.
3) Though the events of that snowy night happened before it was common for college students to carry cell phones, a means of communication would have been a third highly useful thing to have.
The best means of communication that we have with the Lord is prayer. It can be done any time and anywhere. It can be done with much forethought or on a whim. Prayer can be formal in front of a congregation, or traveling in the car on the way to work. When we call on God in all sincerity, he will answer us. Alma the younger gave the following counsel to one of his sons:
“Yea, and acry unto God for all thy support; yea, let all thy bdoings be unto the Lord, and whithersoever thou goest let it be in the Lord; yea, let all thy cthoughts be directed unto the Lord; yea, let the affections of thy heart be placed upon the Lord forever.
“aCounsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for bgood; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the cmorning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day.[9]”
4) If the worst had happened and I had been stranded in my car for any length of time, I would have gotten hungry very quickly. You know what a humbling experience it can be to fast even a few hours. Our physical body can only survive a very short time without nourishment. Our spirits are no different.
In the last few chapters written by Nephi, he talks about the importance of reading the scriptures saying, “aAngels speak by the power of the Holy Ghost; wherefore, they speak the words of Christ. Wherefore, I said unto you, bfeast upon the cwords of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will dtell you all things what ye should do.[10]”
To bring this feasting image into more modern language, in 1988, President Benson gave a talk about one of his favorite topics, the Book of Mormon. He spoke at length about the potential he saw for the book in the hands of righteous and studied church members. My favorite part of his talk is specifically to missionaries, but his words can apply to all of us.
“We need to read daily from the pages of the [Book of Mormon] that will get a man ‘nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.’ I challenge all of us to prayerfully consider steps that we can personally take to bring this new witness for Christ more fully into our own lives and into a world that so desperately needs it. I have a vision of thousands of missionaries going into the mission field with hundreds of passages memorized from the Book of Mormon so that they might feed the needs of a spiritually famished world.[11]”
I will not ask for a raise of hands for how many of you have hundreds of passages memorized from the Book of Mormon, but it should be apparent that we have a long way to go in how carefully we are reading this most sacred book, as well as our other scriptures. It is impossible to feed others if we ourselves are spiritually famished.
5) The last useful tool to me would have been a shovel. Sometimes you just have to dig yourself out.
Regardless of how much faith a person has or how often we read the scriptures, we are all just human, and mistakes will be made. This is part of our mortal experience. However, to be prepared for partaking the Lord’s covenants whether baptism or the sacrament or the temple, we must be humble enough to continually be in a state of repentance. As I’ve learned about and studied repentance I’ve come to see that repentance is much more than being sorry for the actions you’ve committed. It is even more than attempting to make reparations for the mistakes we’ve made. And it is more than merely promising never to commit these acts again. While each of these is an important part of the process of repentance, true repentance is more akin to conversion than apologizing. It is a complete bending of our will to our Father in Heaven’s so that our hearts are changed and we have no more disposition to do evil.
A few years ago, Elder Hafen gave one of the best talks that I have ever heard on the atonement. It was titled “All for All.” He explained that Christ is willing to put all he has on the line to save us, as long as we do the same. Obviously, what He brings to the table is much greater, but he accepts our best effort as enough. He then talked about trials and sin as part of ever mortal experience. He said,
“Adam and Eve learned constantly from their often harsh experience. They knew how a troubled family feels. Think of Cain and Abel. Yet because of the Atonement, they could learn from their experience without being condemned by it. Christ’s sacrifice didn’t just erase their choices and return them to an Eden of innocence. That would be a story with no plot and no character growth. His plan is developmental—line upon line, step by step, grace for grace.
“So if you have problems in your life, don’t assume there is something wrong with you. Struggling with those problems is at the very core of life’s purpose. As we draw close to God, He will show us our weaknesses and through them make us wiser, stronger. If you’re seeing more of your weaknesses that just might mean you’re moving nearer to God, not farther away [12].”
We all have difficulties that must be worked on. It is not a punishment to correct our lives to put them more in line with our Father’s will. It is instead a great blessing. Repentance allows us to “learn from our experience without being condemned by it.”
Obviously, any of these tools: faith, the influence of the Holy Ghost, prayer, scripture study and repentance could be a topic all on its own. I use them here to merely illustrate some things that can help prepare us to enter the temple.
After the Bountiful Temple’s dedication in January of 1995, President Hunter fell very ill as cancer spread through his body. His February message in the Ensign again reiterated his urgency to get members of the church to the temple[13]. On March 3, 1995 he passed away[14], just short of nine months after being called as prophet. His prophetic tenure was brief, but his message was powerful and sank deep into the hearts of the saints worldwide.
Almost exactly a year later I went to the Logan temple to receive my own endowment in preparation to serve a mission, thinking that I had arrived at some great destination. Instead, my temple experience, even from that very first day, showed me what President Hunter meant by the temple being a symbol. The temple was not actually an end in itself; it was a preparation for entering one day into God’s presence. The temple teaches us what is necessary to return to him.
As I made covenants there and participated in ordinances, I knew I was committing myself to a lifetime of service to the Lord: the temple was a beautiful representation of all that was possible if I kept my covenants. Yet the most powerful symbol for me that day came as I joined four generations of my family in the Celestial room. I cried as the spirit filled my whole soul, truly realizing for the first time that one of the Lord’s greatest promises is that God will allow our most cherished relationships on this earth to continue into the eternities.
Fairy tales always wrap up everything nice and neat with a “happily ever after” at the end of the story. Real life, however, is not quite that neat. Our lives continue long after the highs and lows: indeed we know that our lives will continue forever and we will constantly learn and struggle and triumph along the way. Some months after my endowment, I was serving my mission in a huge country with but a single temple. President Hinckley visited that great country in 1997 to tell the people in each of the major cities he visited that they would soon have temples too. The Lord had seen the faith of his people in following the admonition to carry recommends even if they had little opportunity to go to the temple: He would bring the temples to them. The Saints wept for joy at the news and I caught the tiniest glimpse of the thousands upon thousands of Saints who had taken President Hunter’s words to heart.
Each day is a preparation for eternity. I pray that each of us will look carefully at our lives and prune away what is unnecessary and spend our time instead focused on what the Lord tells us matters the most.
I know that as we prepare to one day enter the Lord’s presence there is no better voice to follow than the prophet. I have a testimony that President Monson is a prophet today, and that the keys have been handed down, unbroken since Joseph Smith was given them more than a century and a half ago. I know the Book of Mormon is God’s work: another testament that Jesus is indeed the Christ and that he is the head of this Church. I saw these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
[1] Jay M. Todd, “President Howard W. Hunter: Fourteenth President of the Church,” Ensign, Jul 1994, 2
[2] Howard W. Hunter, “The Great Symbol of Our Membership,” Ensign, Oct 1994, 2
[3] Howard W. Hunter, “‘Exceeding Great and Precious Promises’,” Ensign, Nov 1994, 7
[4] ”Bountiful Utah Temple Dedicated,” Ensign, Mar. 1995, 74–75
[5] “Faith in Every Footstep: The Epic Pioneer Journey,” Ensign, May 1997, 62
[6] K. Newell Dayley, “Faith in Every Footstep,” Liahona, Feb 1997, 22–23
[7] D & C 6:22-23
[8] John 14:26; note that Jesus refers to the idea of “comfort” two other times in this chapter—once in reference to the Holy Ghost (though some readings of this passage suggest that his reference to “another” comforter is in actuality a personal visitation from the Savior indicating your calling and election made sure) and the second time to his pledge not to leave the apostles “comfortless.” It is not exactly clear why, but it seems that the apostles were unable to have the full influence of the Holy Ghost while they had the Savior with them.
[9] Alma 37:36-37
[10] 2 Nephi 32:3; see also 2 Nephi 9:51 and 31:20 for more references to feasting and the scriptures written by Nephi. It should be remembered that Nephi had seen a vision of the end of the world. He knew, perhaps better than any writer in the Book of Mormon, that this record would be preserved for a people far removed from his own. He had a wonderful perspective on the importance of these scriptures, their coming forth, and what their restoration would mean for the history of mankind. In 2 Nephi 29 he talks at length about the necessity of a second witness and each time having its own scriptures. The incredible writing in that chapter shows his frustration with those who would one day reject the words he had spent his lifetime writing and protecting.
[11] Ezra Taft Benson, “Flooding the Earth with the Book of Mormon,” Ensign, Nov 1988, 4; the embedded reference is from the History of the Church 4:461 as well as the Book of Mormon’s introduction page.
[12] Bruce C. Hafen, “The Atonement: All for All,” Ensign, May 2004, 97. The embedded reference about weakness making us stronger is to Ether 12:27
[13] Howard W. Hunter, “A Temple-Motivated People,” Ensign, Feb 1995, 2
[14] “President Howard W. Hunter: The Lord’s ‘Good and Faithful Servant’,” Ensign, Apr 1995, 8
I am not sure how well this will load because of the footnotes (I know that seems a little, well, over the top, but somebody wanted a copy so I was more careful than normal). It is also quite lengthy; I'm too lazy on our last day of summer vacation to edit. What I WOULD like to know, however is if anybody knows where I can get some extremely cheap and user friendly web hosting for PDF pages? I am thinking of publishing some of my stuff on-line, linking it through here and removing all personal identification from my manuscripts, but the blogger format is all wrong. I want to link PDF protected pages from my home page. Anyway, if you have any advice, skip the talk, and make a comment to give it to me.
Preparedness
When we were given the topic of “preparedness” today, I immediately thought about food storage and panicked. Once my mind began seeing past hundreds of quarts of canned peaches that I don’t have, however, there was a story that came very clearly to me that I wanted to share. It was not immediately apparent why I should, but as I’ve pondered and prayed, I understand why the Lord would have me share this very personal experience.
During my freshman year of college, there were a series of difficult trials that happened to several friends and family members. Although none of these trials happened to me directly, each circumstance greatly affected my outlook. I had been raised in the church, but it wasn’t until I was faced with such life-altering trials that I really began to seek and find my testimony. And then, during finals week of my freshman year, President Benson died. Within days of the funeral, President Howard W. Hunter was sustained prophet and held a press conference.
Wasting no time in declaring his prophetic vision for the church, this soft-spoken and gentle man said that he had two directives for Church members. The first was to look to the Savior as the supreme example in our lives, doing in all things what he would do. He then said,
“Secondly, and in that same spirit, I also invite the members of the Church to establish the temple of the Lord as the great symbol of their membership and the supernal setting for their most sacred covenants. It would be the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church be temple worthy. I would hope that every adult member would be worthy of—and carry—a current temple recommend, even if proximity to a temple does not allow immediate or frequent use of it.
“Let us be a temple-attending and a temple-loving people. Let us hasten to the temple as frequently as time and means and personal circumstances allow. Let us go not only for our kindred dead, but let us also go for the personal blessing of temple worship, for the sanctity and safety which is provided within those hallowed and consecrated walls. The temple is a place of beauty, it is a place of revelation, it is a place of peace. It is the house of the Lord. It is holy unto the Lord. It should be holy unto us.”[1]
Perhaps I had matured, or because of my new-found testimony, it was the first time I remembered really standing up and taking note of what the prophet said. I replayed those words of the temple as “the great symbol of our membership.” That resonated with me, even though I had very little understanding of what he meant.
In October of that year, his first presidency message in the Ensign reiterated the charge[2]. Just a week after the issue came out, he spoke in conference. He again shared a similar message, encouraging us to display pictures of the temple in our homes. He also mentions the upcoming dedication of the Bountiful Temple and said, “My brothers and sisters, I testify that the impressions of the Spirit have weighed heavily upon me in considering these matters.”[3]
It turned out that nearly a million people toured the Bountiful Temple in November and December of 1994[4]. My parents had tickets for a tour on a November evening. The temple was nearly two hours away from where I attended college at Utah State University in Logan, but I decided to attend with my parents anyway. Snow was forecast for that day, but without too much worry I set off. The temple was lovely and the rooms were incredible. I remember especially the bride’s room. However, it was also very crowded, and there was no explanation provided for the purpose of the various rooms. Between the crowds and my confusion, my experience was not exactly what I had hoped for. I was not sorry I had gone, certainly, but I had not felt the spirit the way I expected. When we were done touring the temple, I went with my parents back to my home in Ogden, where they encouraged me to stay for the night. I had early classes, however, and decided to be on my way.
All started well on my journey back to my apartment, but about five minutes after entering Sardine Canyon, the snow began in earnest. Besides the snow rushing at my windshield like the Millennium Falcon rushing into hyperspace, it was very foggy. I slowed down to a crawl, not able to see more than a few feet in front of me, my headlights actually exacerbating the effects of snow and fog. I have driven that canyon literally hundreds of times in my life and I can only remember a handful of instances when conditions were that bad. I knew I was in serious trouble if I went off the road. The only shoes I had with me were the dress shoes I was wearing; my only coat, a thin dress coat. I didn’t have food or water in the car. I didn’t have a phone to call for help. I didn’t have a shovel in case digging myself out became necessary. I went at a snail’s pace for nearly ten miles. With relief, I could tell from the lay of the road that I was nearing the end of the canyon.
Whenever I drive into Cache Valley, particularly at night, the first thing I look for in the distance is the temple. It is built on a bluff just in front of the mouth of another canyon through the mountains to the east. As you enter the valley from the south, the temple stands out brightly, with its white spires illuminated bluish white every night. Though it is nearly pushed up against the east mountains, you get the impression that it actually stands on a large hill right in the center of the valley. The pioneers chose their site for the temple very well.
But that night, as I exited the canyon with 10 miles to go to my apartment just blocks from the temple, I still couldn’t see a thing. The snow had let up, but the fog was as bad as ever. My habit for getting to my apartment was to go up around the temple, even though the route took a few extra minutes, because it was a pretty drive. Despite the terrible visibility and little hope of seeing anything, I kept to my routine and drove up around the temple. I nearly ran off the road as I rounded the curve.
As if someone had turned on a switch, the temple was suddenly before me, blazingly bright and seeming to rise up out of the fog. Its parking lot was empty, covered only with a layer of fresh new snow. The quiet was intense and lovely as I pulled over carefully and just stared for several minutes, feeling the manifestation in my spirit that I had not felt inside the cozy and warm temple from the hours previous. I knew with all my heart that I wanted to be inside that sacred building, that I wanted to understand what President Hunter meant when he said that the temple should be the symbol of our membership.
But I knew something else. I knew that I was no more prepared to be in that glorious building than I was to be driving through the canyon that night.
I’m going to relate the symbols of what I was missing from my car that day to things I was also missing from my life. As I do, please carefully consider the things in your own life that may need putting in order so that we might each claim the blessings that our Father in Heaven is standing ready to give us.
1) Boots. If something had gone wrong and I had to get out of my car, I would have been wet to my nyloned knees in the ridiculous shoes I was wearing.
Just as my shoes would have allowed me to do little more than mince and slip in the snow, the faith I was exercising at that time in my life was weak and tentative. In 1997, the sesquicentennial of the pioneer’s arrival in Utah, President Hinckley narrated a remarkable documentary, shown in conference, titled Faith in Every Footstep[5]. There was a lovely hymn of the same title composed that same year to honor the anniversary[6]. In the documentary, President Hinckley and his counselors spoke with fervor and testimony about the faith of our early pioneer ancestors. They were a people who understood that faith was not just about believing, but that true faith inspires you to act, time and time again, even against overwhelming odds and challenges.
My own faith was not like this. I had not learned to trust the Lord. Despite many wonderful and subtle spiritual experiences through my teenage years, I asked time and time again for a manifestation about the truthfulness of the gospel. I was not unlike Oliver Cowdery. Even with experience after experience, Oliver still petitioned Joseph to ask the Lord to send him another witness. The Lord’s reply to Oliver’s question is loving, but there is a distinct rebuke also.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might aknow concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak apeace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater bwitness can you have than from God?[7]”
I needed to trust the many witnesses I had received from God and move forward; taking my turn to serve others and live the religion I knew to be true. Now, true faith was the first piece of preparation, but not the only one. From the scripture just shared, we see that Oliver was admonished to greater faith by listening to and trusting the Holy Ghost. This leads me to the second thing that would have been useful.
2) I needed something to keep me warm.
This symbol should be a little more obvious. The Savior himself said just hours before his atonement, “But the aComforter, which is the bHoly Ghost, whom the Father will send in my cname, he shall dteach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.[8]”
I love the word “comforter.” I think there is no better description of the way the Holy Ghost can help us to feel. In a world of turmoil and difficulty, indeed, there is no greater need than this marvelous feeling of comfort. In addition to providing feelings of comfort and peace, the Holy Ghost helps to guide and direct us in our decisions.
The importance of the Holy Ghost was a thing I did not understand when I was a teenager in the YW program. My leaders and seminary teachers always seemed so urgent about us gaining testimonies, and learning to recognize the Spirit. I just didn’t really see what the big deal was. It wasn’t until that first spring away from home when life’s major trials truly beset me for the first time that I understood why my leaders had tried so hard. Between the ages of 18 and 25, I made no fewer than eight major life decisions. Decisions that would have changed the whole course of my life and perhaps my eternity if they had been different. I don’t know how I would have done this without the influence of the Holy Ghost, or how I could have possibly had any confidence in my decisions without His powerful, guiding influence.
In a world where the philosophies of men are becoming increasingly confused with doctrines of God, it will be vital to listen to the Holy Ghost so that we might do what is right.
3) Though the events of that snowy night happened before it was common for college students to carry cell phones, a means of communication would have been a third highly useful thing to have.
The best means of communication that we have with the Lord is prayer. It can be done any time and anywhere. It can be done with much forethought or on a whim. Prayer can be formal in front of a congregation, or traveling in the car on the way to work. When we call on God in all sincerity, he will answer us. Alma the younger gave the following counsel to one of his sons:
“Yea, and acry unto God for all thy support; yea, let all thy bdoings be unto the Lord, and whithersoever thou goest let it be in the Lord; yea, let all thy cthoughts be directed unto the Lord; yea, let the affections of thy heart be placed upon the Lord forever.
“aCounsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for bgood; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the cmorning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day.[9]”
4) If the worst had happened and I had been stranded in my car for any length of time, I would have gotten hungry very quickly. You know what a humbling experience it can be to fast even a few hours. Our physical body can only survive a very short time without nourishment. Our spirits are no different.
In the last few chapters written by Nephi, he talks about the importance of reading the scriptures saying, “aAngels speak by the power of the Holy Ghost; wherefore, they speak the words of Christ. Wherefore, I said unto you, bfeast upon the cwords of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will dtell you all things what ye should do.[10]”
To bring this feasting image into more modern language, in 1988, President Benson gave a talk about one of his favorite topics, the Book of Mormon. He spoke at length about the potential he saw for the book in the hands of righteous and studied church members. My favorite part of his talk is specifically to missionaries, but his words can apply to all of us.
“We need to read daily from the pages of the [Book of Mormon] that will get a man ‘nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.’ I challenge all of us to prayerfully consider steps that we can personally take to bring this new witness for Christ more fully into our own lives and into a world that so desperately needs it. I have a vision of thousands of missionaries going into the mission field with hundreds of passages memorized from the Book of Mormon so that they might feed the needs of a spiritually famished world.[11]”
I will not ask for a raise of hands for how many of you have hundreds of passages memorized from the Book of Mormon, but it should be apparent that we have a long way to go in how carefully we are reading this most sacred book, as well as our other scriptures. It is impossible to feed others if we ourselves are spiritually famished.
5) The last useful tool to me would have been a shovel. Sometimes you just have to dig yourself out.
Regardless of how much faith a person has or how often we read the scriptures, we are all just human, and mistakes will be made. This is part of our mortal experience. However, to be prepared for partaking the Lord’s covenants whether baptism or the sacrament or the temple, we must be humble enough to continually be in a state of repentance. As I’ve learned about and studied repentance I’ve come to see that repentance is much more than being sorry for the actions you’ve committed. It is even more than attempting to make reparations for the mistakes we’ve made. And it is more than merely promising never to commit these acts again. While each of these is an important part of the process of repentance, true repentance is more akin to conversion than apologizing. It is a complete bending of our will to our Father in Heaven’s so that our hearts are changed and we have no more disposition to do evil.
A few years ago, Elder Hafen gave one of the best talks that I have ever heard on the atonement. It was titled “All for All.” He explained that Christ is willing to put all he has on the line to save us, as long as we do the same. Obviously, what He brings to the table is much greater, but he accepts our best effort as enough. He then talked about trials and sin as part of ever mortal experience. He said,
“Adam and Eve learned constantly from their often harsh experience. They knew how a troubled family feels. Think of Cain and Abel. Yet because of the Atonement, they could learn from their experience without being condemned by it. Christ’s sacrifice didn’t just erase their choices and return them to an Eden of innocence. That would be a story with no plot and no character growth. His plan is developmental—line upon line, step by step, grace for grace.
“So if you have problems in your life, don’t assume there is something wrong with you. Struggling with those problems is at the very core of life’s purpose. As we draw close to God, He will show us our weaknesses and through them make us wiser, stronger. If you’re seeing more of your weaknesses that just might mean you’re moving nearer to God, not farther away [12].”
We all have difficulties that must be worked on. It is not a punishment to correct our lives to put them more in line with our Father’s will. It is instead a great blessing. Repentance allows us to “learn from our experience without being condemned by it.”
Obviously, any of these tools: faith, the influence of the Holy Ghost, prayer, scripture study and repentance could be a topic all on its own. I use them here to merely illustrate some things that can help prepare us to enter the temple.
After the Bountiful Temple’s dedication in January of 1995, President Hunter fell very ill as cancer spread through his body. His February message in the Ensign again reiterated his urgency to get members of the church to the temple[13]. On March 3, 1995 he passed away[14], just short of nine months after being called as prophet. His prophetic tenure was brief, but his message was powerful and sank deep into the hearts of the saints worldwide.
Almost exactly a year later I went to the Logan temple to receive my own endowment in preparation to serve a mission, thinking that I had arrived at some great destination. Instead, my temple experience, even from that very first day, showed me what President Hunter meant by the temple being a symbol. The temple was not actually an end in itself; it was a preparation for entering one day into God’s presence. The temple teaches us what is necessary to return to him.
As I made covenants there and participated in ordinances, I knew I was committing myself to a lifetime of service to the Lord: the temple was a beautiful representation of all that was possible if I kept my covenants. Yet the most powerful symbol for me that day came as I joined four generations of my family in the Celestial room. I cried as the spirit filled my whole soul, truly realizing for the first time that one of the Lord’s greatest promises is that God will allow our most cherished relationships on this earth to continue into the eternities.
Fairy tales always wrap up everything nice and neat with a “happily ever after” at the end of the story. Real life, however, is not quite that neat. Our lives continue long after the highs and lows: indeed we know that our lives will continue forever and we will constantly learn and struggle and triumph along the way. Some months after my endowment, I was serving my mission in a huge country with but a single temple. President Hinckley visited that great country in 1997 to tell the people in each of the major cities he visited that they would soon have temples too. The Lord had seen the faith of his people in following the admonition to carry recommends even if they had little opportunity to go to the temple: He would bring the temples to them. The Saints wept for joy at the news and I caught the tiniest glimpse of the thousands upon thousands of Saints who had taken President Hunter’s words to heart.
Each day is a preparation for eternity. I pray that each of us will look carefully at our lives and prune away what is unnecessary and spend our time instead focused on what the Lord tells us matters the most.
I know that as we prepare to one day enter the Lord’s presence there is no better voice to follow than the prophet. I have a testimony that President Monson is a prophet today, and that the keys have been handed down, unbroken since Joseph Smith was given them more than a century and a half ago. I know the Book of Mormon is God’s work: another testament that Jesus is indeed the Christ and that he is the head of this Church. I saw these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
[1] Jay M. Todd, “President Howard W. Hunter: Fourteenth President of the Church,” Ensign, Jul 1994, 2
[2] Howard W. Hunter, “The Great Symbol of Our Membership,” Ensign, Oct 1994, 2
[3] Howard W. Hunter, “‘Exceeding Great and Precious Promises’,” Ensign, Nov 1994, 7
[4] ”Bountiful Utah Temple Dedicated,” Ensign, Mar. 1995, 74–75
[5] “Faith in Every Footstep: The Epic Pioneer Journey,” Ensign, May 1997, 62
[6] K. Newell Dayley, “Faith in Every Footstep,” Liahona, Feb 1997, 22–23
[7] D & C 6:22-23
[8] John 14:26; note that Jesus refers to the idea of “comfort” two other times in this chapter—once in reference to the Holy Ghost (though some readings of this passage suggest that his reference to “another” comforter is in actuality a personal visitation from the Savior indicating your calling and election made sure) and the second time to his pledge not to leave the apostles “comfortless.” It is not exactly clear why, but it seems that the apostles were unable to have the full influence of the Holy Ghost while they had the Savior with them.
[9] Alma 37:36-37
[10] 2 Nephi 32:3; see also 2 Nephi 9:51 and 31:20 for more references to feasting and the scriptures written by Nephi. It should be remembered that Nephi had seen a vision of the end of the world. He knew, perhaps better than any writer in the Book of Mormon, that this record would be preserved for a people far removed from his own. He had a wonderful perspective on the importance of these scriptures, their coming forth, and what their restoration would mean for the history of mankind. In 2 Nephi 29 he talks at length about the necessity of a second witness and each time having its own scriptures. The incredible writing in that chapter shows his frustration with those who would one day reject the words he had spent his lifetime writing and protecting.
[11] Ezra Taft Benson, “Flooding the Earth with the Book of Mormon,” Ensign, Nov 1988, 4; the embedded reference is from the History of the Church 4:461 as well as the Book of Mormon’s introduction page.
[12] Bruce C. Hafen, “The Atonement: All for All,” Ensign, May 2004, 97. The embedded reference about weakness making us stronger is to Ether 12:27
[13] Howard W. Hunter, “A Temple-Motivated People,” Ensign, Feb 1995, 2
[14] “President Howard W. Hunter: The Lord’s ‘Good and Faithful Servant’,” Ensign, Apr 1995, 8
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Trust Is No Joke
When I was in the 9th grade my family visited my great-aunt who lived on an orange grove in Southern California. She bought all of her meds in Mexico and took us across the border one afternoon. I bought a hempy-looking pullover hoodie thing that said "Hard Rock Cafe Mexico" on the back. If you were in junior high or high school in the early 90's, you, no-doubt, can picture exactly the hideous garment I'm describing. I loved it. These jacket shirts were the height of cool that year in my small northern Utah hamlet.
It was stolen from our church during a combined young men/young women activity less than two weeks after I got home from California.
In the grand scheme of things, it was a very little thing. But for a long time afterward, I had a hard time trusting the kids in my ward, and I still have serious suspicions about who did it. To this day, I think twice before I hang something in the foyer at the church.
Our society functions simply because most of the people, most of the time, keep most of the rules. Especially the big rules. And whether it is because of conscious moral decisions made on a daily basis, or because they care too much about social norms to break with conventions, most people can be trusted. If not, you wouldn't dare leave your house. (Not convinced? Think of violent inner cities or war-torn countries.)
But now and then, things happen that shatter our innocence and plunge society into chaos:
* A girl is kidnapped from her home and held hostage for months by a homeless, crazy man her parents had tried to help.
* A father imprisons his daughter in a basement for two decades to cover-up his incenstuous relationship and the children he has fathered with her.
*A woman is tortured in her home before fleeing from her random attacker, whom she had never seen before that day.
*Two teenagers snap and mow down fellow-students in a place of learning.
*Nineteen "devout" men wrecked four planes, destroyed two buildings and took 3,000 lives after years of careful planning.
For those who have been victims of crimes, particularly violent crimes, abuse, or who have been betrayed, perhaps the worst part of the damage is not the act itself, but the years it can take to rebuild your faith in the goodness that constantly wars with the evil in man's nature. I don't know how awful it would be to look into the eyes of those around me and wonder, "Will this friend betray me?" "Will this man rape me too?" "Who in this room might be capable of opening fire on the crowd?" And even if you have not been a victim of something entirely life-shattering, I bet every one of you has thought at some point, "Will he break my heart too?"
These thoughts on trust have been in my head for weeks now, but have really come to the surface in the last day or so. Plantboy and I saw "The Dark Knight" on opening day. (No, it was not entirely my husband's idea, and, yes, I'm a geek, get over it.) Whereas Iron Man Tony Stark is funny and playful and happy to admit to being a hero--treating his vigilantism as a phase--Batman Bruce Wayne is dark and serious and tragic and secretive--treating his alter-ego as something that can only be excised from his soul when another comes the mantle can be passed to.
This post is not, strictly, a film review. There are many out there that are better writers than I am; you can read their reviews if you are interested. Nor will there be any spoilers here: if you like this kind of film you'll see it, and if you don't, then the plot details will be entirely uninteresting to you. My next paragraphs will be more about how this film affected me, and what I took from it.
Heath Ledger. He is everywhere in this film, and does every bit as good a job of stealing the show from Christian Bale as Jack Nicholson did from Michael Keaton in 1991. Though, I might argue, that Ledger's upstaging required greater skill than did Nicholson's. Bale is so much better as Batman than Keaton it is almost laughable. While Nicholson's Joker forces us to suspend belief and makes us laugh with his over-the-top antics, Ledger's Joker is frightening on a scale seldom seen at the movies. When I laughed at Joker's jokes in the film, I did so nervously, almost looking over my shoulder to see if he was watching.
His psychosis is so complete that he doesn't even look at cars he guns down in the street. He never has the same counterpart thugs in two scenes: there is no such thing as a right-hand man if you trust nobody and care for nothing. Even the mob bosses he obstensibly works for look like good family men who will draw lines somewhere. This film is a tragic exploration of good and evil, light and dark, crime-fighters and criminals. Ultimately the revelation is that both sides exist in all of us: it is our choices that define which way we go.
The story here is rich with juxtaposition--Joker v. Batman, Batman v. Two-face, Harvey Dent v. Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent v. Comissioner Gordon--the writing and directing is just subtle enough to not feel beat over the head with it, and just obvious enough so that you don't miss it in the middle of the mayhem. And mayhem it is. I left the theatre quite unsettled, wondering about the effect that a single person, completely uninterested in society's rules, could have on all of us.
The only performance I didn't really like was Maggie Gyllenhall. Why does every role she play seem so sexual? It is in her sultry, half-open eyes, her swishy walk and her ill-fitting bra. I actually really preferred Katie Holmes in this role--earnest, naive, adorable. I think I would have been much more moved by an unexpected plot twist had it been Holmes in the role. For me, Gyllenhall is just like Rene Zellweger and her brother: highly overrated. Maybe that is just me? I am also sad that Joker will be the defining role of Ledger's short career. I think of him in Knight's Tale--boyishly good-looking, funny, quick-to-smile--this fiendish character will instead be the last thing we know of him.
Anyway, if you are looking for a time at the movies that entertains, makes you think and keeps your eyes riveted, don't miss it. If you are looking for a light-hearted laugh . . . . Mama Mia might be a better weekend choice.
Oh, and don't forget to lock your doors.
It was stolen from our church during a combined young men/young women activity less than two weeks after I got home from California.
In the grand scheme of things, it was a very little thing. But for a long time afterward, I had a hard time trusting the kids in my ward, and I still have serious suspicions about who did it. To this day, I think twice before I hang something in the foyer at the church.
Our society functions simply because most of the people, most of the time, keep most of the rules. Especially the big rules. And whether it is because of conscious moral decisions made on a daily basis, or because they care too much about social norms to break with conventions, most people can be trusted. If not, you wouldn't dare leave your house. (Not convinced? Think of violent inner cities or war-torn countries.)
But now and then, things happen that shatter our innocence and plunge society into chaos:
* A girl is kidnapped from her home and held hostage for months by a homeless, crazy man her parents had tried to help.
* A father imprisons his daughter in a basement for two decades to cover-up his incenstuous relationship and the children he has fathered with her.
*A woman is tortured in her home before fleeing from her random attacker, whom she had never seen before that day.
*Two teenagers snap and mow down fellow-students in a place of learning.
*Nineteen "devout" men wrecked four planes, destroyed two buildings and took 3,000 lives after years of careful planning.
For those who have been victims of crimes, particularly violent crimes, abuse, or who have been betrayed, perhaps the worst part of the damage is not the act itself, but the years it can take to rebuild your faith in the goodness that constantly wars with the evil in man's nature. I don't know how awful it would be to look into the eyes of those around me and wonder, "Will this friend betray me?" "Will this man rape me too?" "Who in this room might be capable of opening fire on the crowd?" And even if you have not been a victim of something entirely life-shattering, I bet every one of you has thought at some point, "Will he break my heart too?"
These thoughts on trust have been in my head for weeks now, but have really come to the surface in the last day or so. Plantboy and I saw "The Dark Knight" on opening day. (No, it was not entirely my husband's idea, and, yes, I'm a geek, get over it.) Whereas Iron Man Tony Stark is funny and playful and happy to admit to being a hero--treating his vigilantism as a phase--Batman Bruce Wayne is dark and serious and tragic and secretive--treating his alter-ego as something that can only be excised from his soul when another comes the mantle can be passed to.
This post is not, strictly, a film review. There are many out there that are better writers than I am; you can read their reviews if you are interested. Nor will there be any spoilers here: if you like this kind of film you'll see it, and if you don't, then the plot details will be entirely uninteresting to you. My next paragraphs will be more about how this film affected me, and what I took from it.
Heath Ledger. He is everywhere in this film, and does every bit as good a job of stealing the show from Christian Bale as Jack Nicholson did from Michael Keaton in 1991. Though, I might argue, that Ledger's upstaging required greater skill than did Nicholson's. Bale is so much better as Batman than Keaton it is almost laughable. While Nicholson's Joker forces us to suspend belief and makes us laugh with his over-the-top antics, Ledger's Joker is frightening on a scale seldom seen at the movies. When I laughed at Joker's jokes in the film, I did so nervously, almost looking over my shoulder to see if he was watching.
His psychosis is so complete that he doesn't even look at cars he guns down in the street. He never has the same counterpart thugs in two scenes: there is no such thing as a right-hand man if you trust nobody and care for nothing. Even the mob bosses he obstensibly works for look like good family men who will draw lines somewhere. This film is a tragic exploration of good and evil, light and dark, crime-fighters and criminals. Ultimately the revelation is that both sides exist in all of us: it is our choices that define which way we go.
The story here is rich with juxtaposition--Joker v. Batman, Batman v. Two-face, Harvey Dent v. Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent v. Comissioner Gordon--the writing and directing is just subtle enough to not feel beat over the head with it, and just obvious enough so that you don't miss it in the middle of the mayhem. And mayhem it is. I left the theatre quite unsettled, wondering about the effect that a single person, completely uninterested in society's rules, could have on all of us.
The only performance I didn't really like was Maggie Gyllenhall. Why does every role she play seem so sexual? It is in her sultry, half-open eyes, her swishy walk and her ill-fitting bra. I actually really preferred Katie Holmes in this role--earnest, naive, adorable. I think I would have been much more moved by an unexpected plot twist had it been Holmes in the role. For me, Gyllenhall is just like Rene Zellweger and her brother: highly overrated. Maybe that is just me? I am also sad that Joker will be the defining role of Ledger's short career. I think of him in Knight's Tale--boyishly good-looking, funny, quick-to-smile--this fiendish character will instead be the last thing we know of him.
Anyway, if you are looking for a time at the movies that entertains, makes you think and keeps your eyes riveted, don't miss it. If you are looking for a light-hearted laugh . . . . Mama Mia might be a better weekend choice.
Oh, and don't forget to lock your doors.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Real Friends, Not Just Bloggy Friends
I spent a happy two hours with Desmama and Nemesis tonight at Desmama's lovely home. We spoke about pending weddings, mortgages, husbands, sex, kids, new babies and families. We ate a delicious key lime pie that Desmama got from Suburban Hippie's blog. (I did not say we ate a piece of key lime pie. We literally ate the pie. Desdad did help.) We talked until well past sunset on Desmama's back porch looking out over the fabulous pastoral scene the Desfam picked for their house-anyone-would-love-to-grow-old in. I can see them doing just that.
As we spoke about such life-changing events as weddings, babies and moves, I realized that as stressful and difficult as certain things are, there is also a lot of joy along with those things. As much as I would love to have a year of my adult life that does not involve at least one MAJOR life decision, I also realize that I would not change hardly anything even if I had the ability to. Our experiences form who we are, and for all the trials and difficult decisions pending, I really do like myself exactly the way I am.
And though the next year will undoubtedly bring more difficult choices: two days ago I slalomed skiied for the first time in three years and it was as though I'd never been away; tonight I sat face to face with two women I absolutely adore; Plantboy and I are still crazy-in-love after nine years; I spent the afternoon conversing with my mother; my kids were both adorable and adoring today; the stars shone so brightly over Bear Lake that ideas for stories are eating at the corners of my brain again.
I think today I was able to live in the joy of the moment.
As we spoke about such life-changing events as weddings, babies and moves, I realized that as stressful and difficult as certain things are, there is also a lot of joy along with those things. As much as I would love to have a year of my adult life that does not involve at least one MAJOR life decision, I also realize that I would not change hardly anything even if I had the ability to. Our experiences form who we are, and for all the trials and difficult decisions pending, I really do like myself exactly the way I am.
And though the next year will undoubtedly bring more difficult choices: two days ago I slalomed skiied for the first time in three years and it was as though I'd never been away; tonight I sat face to face with two women I absolutely adore; Plantboy and I are still crazy-in-love after nine years; I spent the afternoon conversing with my mother; my kids were both adorable and adoring today; the stars shone so brightly over Bear Lake that ideas for stories are eating at the corners of my brain again.
I think today I was able to live in the joy of the moment.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Bean Boy
Once upon a time there was a young girl with a difficult family. Her father was old enough to be her grandfather, and though kindly and interesting, he treated his large family with a kind of bemused detachment common to men of his age and demeanor. Her mother was a poor manager of money, of which there was never enough, and an even poorer manager of children, of which there were plenty. The young girl was clever and had a way of seeing quickly to the heart of an issue. She knew that their family was not entirely normal, and did what she could to teach her younger siblings what she had learned of the world despite her tender years.
It was about this time they moved from a smallish city to an even smaller town. It was as though a great magnifying glass had been shone on their oddities. The other girls her age seemed so capable, so tidy, so well-dressed. She felt shabby and embarrassed, and the other kids were happy to ignore or ridicule the girl and her motley siblings.
In the summer, to earn money, the young woman (for she had lived in this town a few years) and her sisters worked at the bean patch. They would work all day in the sun, filling large, flat boxes full of beans. As they filled each box, they would work together to drag and push the heavy flat to the end of the row. When it was in place, one of them would yell, "Bean Boy! Bean Boy!"
The girls who were pretty or popular or well-dressed or able to keep their hair in neat braids, would wait just moments for one of the farm boys to come along and easily lift the box to take to the truck. In the truck, the box would be weighed and a number would be made next to each person's name in the ledger book. At the end of the day, the girls were paid for how many beans they picked.
But to the young woman's deep embarrassment, she and her sisters would stand at the end of the row calling "Bean Boy!" over and over again, and nobody would come to help them, at least not for several minutes. Some times they ended up dragging the heavy box to the truck by themselves.
About this time, a new family of brothers started working at the bean patch. The oldest brother was the same age as the young lady. Despite his small stature, he was popular and athletic. Their family owned a small dairy and they worked hard. His family was even bigger than the young lady's, but his mother was not bad with money or children. She liked the way he had always looked her in the eye and had never made whispered comments behind her back.
But what she liked best is that when she called, "Bean Boy!" this young man would always make sure that her flat or her sisters' flats were picked up immediately. If he was unable to do it, then he asked one of his younger brothers to help her. In her whole life, she had never met anyone as genuinely nice as this boy.
She later married him and they had four children.
One day, many years later, her daughter was home from college. She had watched for years as the relationship between her eldest, bookish, daughter and her husband had deteriorated to almost mutual hostility. For all his generosity of heart, her husband was also stubborn to a fault and took it so personally when he was disagreed with. She wished there was a way that her daughter would see that all she despised in her father was absolutely reflected in herself. Except for her love of stories and the features of her pretty-ish face, she had inherited nearly everything else from him. She could see, as they didn't, that if they would both give in just a little bit, their relationship had potential to bring them much joy.
So the mother watched as her daughter and husband dug into each other one night. The daughter expressing her opinions with no filter and attacking her father for his; the father becoming so frustrated that he finally barked, "Just get out of my sight!" There was silence, the daughter's sharp tongue finally silenced, and a look of resolve the mother had never seen before moved through her eyes. The girl turned on her heel and left the room.
The mother momentarily thought that perhaps the daughter had made a breakthrough: had she finally just learned to walk away when tempers flared? And then, minutes later, she heard a car start in the driveway and walked outside. Her daughter's car was loaded with a mountain of half-finished laundry and she was backing out.
"What? No goodbye?" The mother said carefully.
The response was volatile. "How can you love him! He is mean and angry! He never has a kind word for me and he acts like a child. He hasn't said a nice word to me in months. . . " She went on in this vein for a couple of minutes and though she was certainly exaggerating, the mother knew her daughter did have some valid points.
Her tirade spent, the mother invited her daughter back in where they could talk. Her daughter refused saying, "I'm leaving today. He told me to. I don't know when I'm coming back." The mother let her go, not saying much, wise enough not to point out that the girl wouldn't get far if she decided to really make a break for it in a car which her father made the payments on.
Four days later, the college girl got a letter from her mother. The letter contained trouser socks: her mom was never able to send a letter without some kind of token present. The letter was four or five pages from a yellow legal pad--every line used on both sides of the paper. In the letter her mother told her why she loved this man by telling her the story of the Bean Boy, concluding with, "Whenever I feel frustrated or angry with your father, I just remember that inside he is still that Bean Boy--caring, compassionate and rescuing."
The girl cried. She drove to the mountains. She prayed. And in the end she heeded the best advice she ever got found at the end of her mother's letter: "I know that he is the adult. I would love to say that if you just bide your time he will one day reach out and this will all be behind you. But I know him. And I know that it is not in his nature to do so. If having a relationship with this man, your father, is important to you, then you must forget yourself. You cannot expect to meet him half-way. You need to go all the way. I think you'll be surprised by the man you find on the other side."
About six months later, that daughter went on a mission to Sydney, Australia. She cried when she hugged and said goodbye to her dad. All barriers down, he too wept unashamedly as he loaded her on the plane for the greatest adventure of her life. She had come to realize that he, in all his imperfection, was a part of who she was. She had finally come to see his generosity, his insecurity, the way he had always supported her, the respect he had for her as an adult. And she didn't have to go the entire distance on her own. He had come to meet her.
Years after her mission, that girl moved to Texas. Her father remarked to her mother that loading her and newish husband into the moving van was the second hardest thing he'd ever done. When asked what the hardest was, he replied, "Putting her on a plane for Australia."
I know this story is true, because it is my story.
I love my dad for teaching me how to work, how to ski, how to do algebra, and how to give. He never begrudges the money or time my mother spends trying to bail out her family. He showed by example that we never turn down callings, even when we feel unworthy and overwhelmed. I love my parents for making the decision early in their marriage to be active in the Church, though many in their families chose otherwise. I love him for coming to endless dance and music recitals and plays, though he hates that kind of thing. I love my dad for calling me on the phone just to say hi whenever he sees and Oregonian license plate. I love him for always making sure there was money in my pocket when I went out with friends and even now, filling up my tank "anonymously" before we head out on a road trip. He IS kind and generous and all of those things my mother helped me to see before it was too late.
Happy Father's Day Bean Boy.
It was about this time they moved from a smallish city to an even smaller town. It was as though a great magnifying glass had been shone on their oddities. The other girls her age seemed so capable, so tidy, so well-dressed. She felt shabby and embarrassed, and the other kids were happy to ignore or ridicule the girl and her motley siblings.
In the summer, to earn money, the young woman (for she had lived in this town a few years) and her sisters worked at the bean patch. They would work all day in the sun, filling large, flat boxes full of beans. As they filled each box, they would work together to drag and push the heavy flat to the end of the row. When it was in place, one of them would yell, "Bean Boy! Bean Boy!"
The girls who were pretty or popular or well-dressed or able to keep their hair in neat braids, would wait just moments for one of the farm boys to come along and easily lift the box to take to the truck. In the truck, the box would be weighed and a number would be made next to each person's name in the ledger book. At the end of the day, the girls were paid for how many beans they picked.
But to the young woman's deep embarrassment, she and her sisters would stand at the end of the row calling "Bean Boy!" over and over again, and nobody would come to help them, at least not for several minutes. Some times they ended up dragging the heavy box to the truck by themselves.
About this time, a new family of brothers started working at the bean patch. The oldest brother was the same age as the young lady. Despite his small stature, he was popular and athletic. Their family owned a small dairy and they worked hard. His family was even bigger than the young lady's, but his mother was not bad with money or children. She liked the way he had always looked her in the eye and had never made whispered comments behind her back.
But what she liked best is that when she called, "Bean Boy!" this young man would always make sure that her flat or her sisters' flats were picked up immediately. If he was unable to do it, then he asked one of his younger brothers to help her. In her whole life, she had never met anyone as genuinely nice as this boy.
She later married him and they had four children.
One day, many years later, her daughter was home from college. She had watched for years as the relationship between her eldest, bookish, daughter and her husband had deteriorated to almost mutual hostility. For all his generosity of heart, her husband was also stubborn to a fault and took it so personally when he was disagreed with. She wished there was a way that her daughter would see that all she despised in her father was absolutely reflected in herself. Except for her love of stories and the features of her pretty-ish face, she had inherited nearly everything else from him. She could see, as they didn't, that if they would both give in just a little bit, their relationship had potential to bring them much joy.
So the mother watched as her daughter and husband dug into each other one night. The daughter expressing her opinions with no filter and attacking her father for his; the father becoming so frustrated that he finally barked, "Just get out of my sight!" There was silence, the daughter's sharp tongue finally silenced, and a look of resolve the mother had never seen before moved through her eyes. The girl turned on her heel and left the room.
The mother momentarily thought that perhaps the daughter had made a breakthrough: had she finally just learned to walk away when tempers flared? And then, minutes later, she heard a car start in the driveway and walked outside. Her daughter's car was loaded with a mountain of half-finished laundry and she was backing out.
"What? No goodbye?" The mother said carefully.
The response was volatile. "How can you love him! He is mean and angry! He never has a kind word for me and he acts like a child. He hasn't said a nice word to me in months. . . " She went on in this vein for a couple of minutes and though she was certainly exaggerating, the mother knew her daughter did have some valid points.
Her tirade spent, the mother invited her daughter back in where they could talk. Her daughter refused saying, "I'm leaving today. He told me to. I don't know when I'm coming back." The mother let her go, not saying much, wise enough not to point out that the girl wouldn't get far if she decided to really make a break for it in a car which her father made the payments on.
Four days later, the college girl got a letter from her mother. The letter contained trouser socks: her mom was never able to send a letter without some kind of token present. The letter was four or five pages from a yellow legal pad--every line used on both sides of the paper. In the letter her mother told her why she loved this man by telling her the story of the Bean Boy, concluding with, "Whenever I feel frustrated or angry with your father, I just remember that inside he is still that Bean Boy--caring, compassionate and rescuing."
The girl cried. She drove to the mountains. She prayed. And in the end she heeded the best advice she ever got found at the end of her mother's letter: "I know that he is the adult. I would love to say that if you just bide your time he will one day reach out and this will all be behind you. But I know him. And I know that it is not in his nature to do so. If having a relationship with this man, your father, is important to you, then you must forget yourself. You cannot expect to meet him half-way. You need to go all the way. I think you'll be surprised by the man you find on the other side."
About six months later, that daughter went on a mission to Sydney, Australia. She cried when she hugged and said goodbye to her dad. All barriers down, he too wept unashamedly as he loaded her on the plane for the greatest adventure of her life. She had come to realize that he, in all his imperfection, was a part of who she was. She had finally come to see his generosity, his insecurity, the way he had always supported her, the respect he had for her as an adult. And she didn't have to go the entire distance on her own. He had come to meet her.
Years after her mission, that girl moved to Texas. Her father remarked to her mother that loading her and newish husband into the moving van was the second hardest thing he'd ever done. When asked what the hardest was, he replied, "Putting her on a plane for Australia."
I know this story is true, because it is my story.
I love my dad for teaching me how to work, how to ski, how to do algebra, and how to give. He never begrudges the money or time my mother spends trying to bail out her family. He showed by example that we never turn down callings, even when we feel unworthy and overwhelmed. I love my parents for making the decision early in their marriage to be active in the Church, though many in their families chose otherwise. I love him for coming to endless dance and music recitals and plays, though he hates that kind of thing. I love my dad for calling me on the phone just to say hi whenever he sees and Oregonian license plate. I love him for always making sure there was money in my pocket when I went out with friends and even now, filling up my tank "anonymously" before we head out on a road trip. He IS kind and generous and all of those things my mother helped me to see before it was too late.
Happy Father's Day Bean Boy.
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