just deserts

Several years ago one of my dear friends did something very kind for me. It is her nature as a genuinely sensitive and thoughtful person. I responded to her kindness with my deep-felt gratitude expressed in words much too inadequate. I said, “Oh, I don’t deserve you for my friend!” Her response was a kind and cheerful, “If deserving had anything to do with it, none of us would receive any kindness!”

Her words have caused me to ponder much. She wasn’t saying that we are all such poor excuses for humanity that we don’t deserve good things happening to us, but rather, she was telling me that her acts of service and kindness come from the depths of her soul, out of her goodness and genuine love; weather or not someone “deserves” it never enters into her way of thinking. I have thought about my own kindness to others; do I consider a person’s “worthiness” to receive my good will before I give it? I hope not, I don’t think so…

This idea of deserving has made me realize something about myself, though. I tend to judge my own worthiness much of the time when it comes to receiving the good things of life. I have passed up so many opportunities, even life-changing ones, denying them to myself, judging myself to be unworthy or undeserving. Things I do let myself enjoy come with a measure of guilt attached. After all, what have I done to “deserve” or “merit” the good things of life that are denied to so many others; am I any better than they? How is it that I deserve these things and others don’t? I evaluate myself when struggles come, too, thinking that I must have done something to deserve it; I am being chastised, punished…

It has taken me a long time to learn this valuable lesson: The question is not “Do we deserve the good things (or the bad) in life?” but is “Sometimes things just happen, good and bad. Will we accept the good things of life when they come to us? Can we take the not-so-good things in stride and learn from them?” The good things of life are there for the taking (and for the making), there are only three things required of us… more on this tomorrow.

mean-agers

The summer I turned ten years old my friends and I saved up enough money to each buy our first single 45 record. It was by a British rock group that was taking the world by storm. The single cost 59 cents at the drug store and was of the song “I Want to Hold Your Hand” (I think the B side was “I Saw Her Standing There”). Wow, I wish I still had it…

It was the only record I ever bought, because it upset my mother so much. She was convinced I was on the road to ruin and was horrified that I had started down that path at such a young age. I knew how she felt about teenagers. You see, I often heard her and my aunt lamenting the sad condition of my older cousins, both a little on the wild side. My mother couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen to me and she began at an early age conditioning me not to swing my hips when I walked and other such nonsense typical of the modern “mean-ager” (that’s what she called them).

Consequently, I approached those teenage years with much trepidation, fearing that, through no fault of my own (after all, how could one just skip a whole decade of life?!?), that suddenly I would become my mother’s worst nightmare and mortal enemy… I was also receiving a mixed message; on the one hand I was encouraged to “know who you are” but on the other hand I was not allowed to find out who I am nor BE who I am… That’s what those teenage years are for. Instead of entering those years with excitement and anticipation, I entered them being afraid of myself, not knowing how to handle the emerging me, feeling a need to hide the mean-ager inside of me.

Many parents dread those years their children are teenagers. But I have found them to be a fascinating time. I very much enjoy watching my children coming into their own, watching them explore the world as emerging adults. Yes, they sometimes make mistakes, but that is how they learn and grow in their understanding of this complex world. My role is to maintain a balance as I gradually relinquish control but still maintain safe boundaries, standing by while stepping back. It is preparing them for, but not pushing them into adult life. It is letting them learn their own life lessons while never losing my understanding and compassion for them during this most important time of life. It is remembering there is no such thing as a mean-ager.

answers to life's problems

When my boss died, his practice was sold and I took fulltime work for another dentist that I knew and had been an acquaintance of my former boss. He appeared to be a religious man and I assumed him to be of the same caliber as my previous employer. It soon became apparent that he was not cut of the same cloth. He did such things as remove an old crown, go through the motions of making a new crown, but just re-seat the old crown, then charge the patient for a new crown. He put a six-year old child through capping her front four baby teeth, even though they were loose and due to fall out in a few weeks, because the insurance would pay for it. There was incident after incident.

I knew I had a moral responsibility but didn’t know how to handle the dilemma. I wanted some concrete guidance, some sign from heaven, maybe just reassurance from somewhere that would give me the courage. I prayed about it constantly, I documented the cases, and pondered how to handle things, all the while waiting for divine direction.

Finally the answer came while reading the scriptures. I already knew what needed to be done, I didn’t need to wait for divine direction. In fact, I would be slothful and not a wise servant if I didn’t do what I knew I needed to do.

It took a great deal of courage for me to bring him before the proper authorities. I laid out my documentation. His response was to excuse himself because “everyone does it”, to claim he had “repented of that” and he didn’t “do that anymore”. His testimony carried more weight than mine, and things were resolved, although not to my satisfaction (no reparations to any of the patients were required of him). I gave two weeks notice and, traumatized, decided to give up the profession altogether. Fortunately, a good friend of mine from dental school needed a hygienist and working for him restored my faith in dentists in general.

I don’t wait so long anymore before searching the scriptures for answers to life’s problems. It always amazes me that everything I need to know is available to me in those pages.

safely dead

My paternal grandfather was a mortician and I had been exposed to death through our visits to my grandparents who lived in the upper two stories of their funeral home in Idaho. Our favorite game as children was “King and Queen”, played in the casket room with my aunt and uncles. Even with all this, I really had not experienced much in the way of death. My maternal grandmother died when I was 18, and though I mourned and missed her terribly, it hadn’t been unexpected. So when my boss, in his mid-fifties, got cancer, it was a new experience for me. I saw a different aspect of death.

He kept up his practice as best he could at first, although as he got weaker, he’d call me in to steady and strengthen his hands for such things as extractions. He was sure he could beat this disease. When he was hospitalized for surgeries and treatments, other dentists donated their services to keep the practice going. I walked the block to the hospital during my lunch hour or after work every day, to keep him apprised of his patients and everything going on at the office. Those were happy times, actually. He’d often have an old friend there visiting him and it was a delight to hear their reminiscings.

Even as things got worse and he was sent home, he still had hope and faith that he would come out on top. I reported to him about his practice every day. Then one day he didn’t seem interested at all and I could tell that his mind was turning from his worldly concerns to those of eternity. He died shortly after that.

We mourned his loss for he was truly a great man. But I knew he was finally ready to move on to the next phase of his existence. For him, death became a welcome release from the pain of mortality. He had lived well, and he had endured enough. Death, too, is a part of life. And while we enjoy the living part of our existence, we need not fear the next step, for there is joy and triumph in a life well-lived and a measure of relief in being “safely dead”.

To close, I share a verse by another friend and mentor, written shortly before his death several years ago:

SEND A MOURNING DOVE

by Conrey Bryson

Send a mourning dove to mourn for me

And let all the people smile.

Let the mocking bird on the cypress tree

Keep singing all the while.

Let the rosy finch, from the chapel eaves

Continue his merry tune

‘Til the whip-poor-will from a desert shrub

Has welcomed the rising moon.

With these I have lived, and these I have loved

Through the long and happy years;

Now bid me farewell with a merry note

And a few soft, loving tears.

Oh thou who gavest these joys to me,

And the wisdom to know their worth,

Let me bear them on through the glorious veil

As a gift from thy wondrous earth!

Send a mourning dove to mourn for me

On a blessed, sacred morn:

Let the rabbits run, and the squirrels play,

And the blue jay urge them on.

Send a mourning dove to mourn for me,

And let him perform with style,

As a sign to open up Heaven’s gate

To a loving Father’s smile.

prayer

When I graduated from college I had wanted to settle in Austin, TX to begin my career as a dental hygienist. I had fond memories of a spring weekend there in 1972, a pleasant day at Zilker Park, cool evening breezes at an outdoor evening dance… But I was offered a job in my home town, working for my family dentist, so I moved into a very nice apartment and settled in for a happy life. My boss was a very good man, I admired him very much and often thought how God must be a lot like him (or the other way around).

I had been working for him about three years, during which time I bought Flossy and moved into a bigger apartment. Life was going really great for me. But things weren’t going so well for my brother. He was at quite a low point in his life, struggling with many problems, not all of his own making. Of course, as a loving and compassionate sister, he was in my prayers constantly and I began praying that some of his burden could be given to me to bear; things were going so well for me, I felt strong, I could help him get through this…

But as things were resolved in his life, things began to fall apart in mine. It began when my boss got cancer then died; it continued with a new job and a new boss quite lacking in ethics and the moral issues it created for me…

I began to wonder if I had made a mistake in praying for burdens to bear. What was I thinking? While my prayers had been answered, I wasn’t so sure I had been praying for the right things… I realized that prayer is a very powerful thing, and I had much to learn about how it works.

Prayer is work; it takes a lot of effort to be in tune with God’s will, to figure out what to pray for. To be casual with this power is unwise; we must always have the attitude of “thy will be done”. I have learned that nothing is too great or too small to take to Him in prayer; even a simple “help me” will be honored and answered. I have learned to be specific about our needs, and I have learned always to express gratitude. I have learned that God answers our prayers in very unusual ways. His timing is perfect; it can be immediate or take many years. I have learned to trust in His goodness and His wisdom, he really does know the end from the beginning and has our best interests in mind.

And I have learned to be careful what I pray for…

lessons from Rocky Ridge (part III)

Our trek culminated with the climb up Rocky Ridge. It was about a hundred degrees or so hotter than when the Willie & Martin companies came through. That made it easier, I suppose. Not that it was easy. It was rocky, mountainous, and the heat bore down heavy upon us. It was getting close to the time for total despair. Naturally I was the last one to make it to the top. After our little fireside, we were invited to go off by ourselves for some time of reflection. I figured the wise thing for me to do, would be to go ahead and start back down; being so slow, I needed a good head start. That half hour that I spent alone became the highlight of the trek for me. I walked at my own pace and it was very pleasant. The sky was beautifully clear, the desert still and peaceful. I had an epiphany. I thought about my failure as a pioneer. And I cried a lot. I was such a wimp. I didn’t want to be a wimp, I didn’t mean to be a wimp, but that’s what I was. I asked my Father in heaven to forgive me for being a wimp and I thanked Him for, in His infinite wisdom, denying my pleas way back in those heavenly counsels for Him to let me come to earth as a pioneer. Wimps don’t make good pioneers. Then began an interesting conversation with Him about the real reality of it all. The Spirit told me that He didn’t want me to be a pioneer. Had He wanted me to be a pioneer, He would have made me one, whether or not He had enough already. He didn’t want me to be a pioneer, not because I am a wimp, but rather because the gifts He had given me were not suited to that time and place. I was not equipped for those experiences and He would not have let me have to go through them. And it was OK. He told me that He is very pleased that I love the pioneers, for He loves them, too. However, it is not enough for me to just love the pioneers. With the gifts I have been given, suited to building up the kingdom of God here and now, He expects me to be like the pioneers; to translate all I love about them into my circumstances.

Before too long, the others caught up with me, and as usual, left me in the dust. But I didn’t feel so bad anymore. I had a new understanding, a new perspective.

I truly love the pioneers; ordinary people who became extraordinary by letting the Lord mold them into what He needed them to be. We often speak of them as having paid a tremendous price. Indeed they did, but it was a price that had to be paid. I’ve come to realize that the debt was never completely paid off. It is a debt that is never paid off; for each succeeding generation must make their own installment on the debt. The currency changes, but the price remains the same: partaking of God’s goodness, sacrifice, steadfastness, faith, obedience, and gratitude. It is a high price to pay, but it is not too high. Perhaps as we remember and honor our pioneers, we should ask ourselves: Are we falling behind in our payments? Are we risking foreclosure? If we fail to pay our share of the debt, will the investment made by those faithful generations of the past be lost for the generations of the future?

We too, are ordinary people, but as we rely on the Lord, He can make us modern pioneers, noble and great ones; He can make us extraordinary.

(for a hard copy of the complete talk, email requests to loveylou627@gmail.com)

lessons from Rocky Ridge (part II)

And so I made pioneer clothes and broke in pioneer shoes, and was off. The sad reality soon became evident. I am no pioneer. I was the slowest on the trek. As hard as I tried I just couldn’t keep up. I followed the prophet’s counsel to lengthen my stride; didn’t work. Even the old people were faster than I (and I wasn’t even pulling the handcart). This was not a good sign, and things did not improve with time. It hit me hard: I was not a Mary Fielding Smith. MY oxen would be dead. I would be the one holding back the company. The broken wheel would have been mine, the lost child would have been mine, the dysentery epidemic would have been my fault. I did not sink into total despair just yet. I figured that I could still have made my mark in history by being the only pioneer who was in all ten handcart companies. History books would say of me, “This faithful sister started walking with that first handcart company. When it left her in the dust, she fought off the Indians and lived off the land until the second company caught up with her. She walked with it until it left her in the dust…” and on and on until “She finally triumphantly straggled into the Salt Lake Valley ten days after the last handcart company.” Some legacy. You can imagine how this was quite a devastating thing for me to realize; me, who had spent my whole life believing I had what it takes… I had to face the facts, I would have made a miserable pioneer.

lessons from Rocky Ridge (part I)

(this is an excerpt from a talk given 14 July 2002 in Third Ward, Fountain Colorado Stake)

I LOVE the pioneers. I have always loved the pioneers. In fact, since I was a little girl, not a day of my life has gone by that I did not think about the pioneers. I imagine that in the great councils in heaven, when Father was determining our place in His grand plan for our earth life, I begged and pleaded for him to please let me be a pioneer. As I learned more of the pioneers throughout my life, I became quite confident that I would have been a great pioneer. I would have been fabulous. I’d have been like Mary Fielding Smith who called upon the powers of heaven to revive her dying oxen. I’d have been like the 5’4” wife who told her 200 lb. husband to get in the handcart, “You are tired, I’ll push you the rest of the way”. I’d have helped William Clayton write “Come, Come Ye Saints”. I’d have birthed babies in the pouring rain, crushed my china for the temple, cured the malaria epidemic… well, you get the idea. I presumed that Heavenly Father must have had enough pioneers, because, you see, I wasn’t one.

Then came the opportunity for my dream to come true. I was invited to come along on the trek with the youth of the Fountain Stake. For some reason, I wasn’t too thrilled. For some reason, I found myself murmuring… I was quite surprised that a would-be pioneer of my caliber would be having those reactions to such an opportunity with destiny. Then I thought, well, the real pioneers probably weren’t thrilled at the thought of getting kicked out of yet another settlement. They suffered anxiety over what was ahead, after all, life as a pioneer was not easy. This trek would not be easy either, even though it was more of a sugar-coated replica of the experiences of the past (mind you, they had no porta-potties, propane stoves, and sunscreen). I decided my feelings were normal pioneer feelings, but determined I would have a positive attitude through whatever lay ahead. Yes, I was well on my way to being a pioneer, of sorts. It would be a great experience, living a pioneer life for a few days, and it was my chance to prove that I really could have been a pioneer, the pioneer of my dreams, or as the pioneers would probably say to me: “IN YOUR DREAMS.”

treasures

Too many adults regard children as a bother, too much trouble, or a necessary evil. Many years ago I had a friend who was quite the opposite. She valued all little ones as precious treasures, and spoke to each one in a kindly, loving voice, calling him, “my little treasure!” She told me of being in a grocery store and seeing a mother screaming at her children to not touch anything. Her screams went unheeded, those children had been conditioned long ago to tune her out. But her own children, so used to nothing but kindness and love, burst into tears when she calmly and lovingly suggested, “Now little treasure, let’s not touch the things on the shelves.” Her children were always her treasures, because she treasured them.

When I was a mother of young ones, I was always reminded to cherish these years, for they pass too quickly. It was hard to believe, for those days were long, with never a dull moment (or a moment to rest), but now that they are past, I, too, find myself wondering where the time went. I, too, find myself telling young mothers to cherish every moment with their little ones. I wake every morning to baby pictures of my six children on the wall, and wish more than anything for one more day with each of them, just to hear their chatter, their laughter. I wouldn’t wash a single dish or do any laundry. I wouldn’t clean or cook. I would kiss and caress their soft, smooth skin; I would smell their hair and study their faces. I would laugh and play. I kissed them and played with them when they were little, of course, but it wasn’t enough; or maybe I did it so much I began to take it for granted, not realizing those times were slipping away as the relentlessness of time crept forward. That precious time with my own little ones is but a dream as I now watch my sons becoming devoted and nurturing fathers. I am so glad that they treasure their little ones, for they are my treasures, too.

Happy birthday to my little treasure’s little treasure, Dallin Jeffrey, you are pure delight to me!

"I love you, Eli"

One evening at a middle school band concert there was a quiet moment while everyone was on stage, waiting for the conductor. On an impulse I called out in the silence, “I love you, Eli”. There were a few chuckles in the audience and Eli was a little embarrassed as the other band members turned to stare at him. The opportunity for a repeat came up again at other concerts and performances, and without really intending for it to happen, it became a tradition. I started calling it to him from the front door just as he’d climb into his car to be off with friends, and eventually his friends got in the habit of finding me when they headed out, “We’re leaving now” as a hint that I not forget the traditional farewell they had come to love. Although they teased Eli a bit, I think they envied that simple show of affection and regard. Teenagers put on a tough exterior, wanting to show their independence, but they really are very fragile, needing lots of reassurance and support through those tough teenage years.

For some reason, that tradition never caught on with my other children, there were other tender things that we shared, this tradition was Eli’s alone. It continued all through high school and even still, though he is grown and gone, when I get a chance I still call to him, loud enough for the whole world to hear, “I love you, Eli!”

synergy

When Isaac was in kindergarten I accompanied his class on a field trip to the zoo. The children were each assigned a partner and could explore the zoo as they desired, as long as they stayed with their partner and in view of their parent chaperone. I was assigned to keep an eye on 3 couples to make sure they didn’t wander too far. It really was a delightful morning. I enjoyed standing back and watching my little Isaac and his partner, a big girl. They discovered right away that if they cooperated they could get much more out of their zoo adventure. He was too short to read the informational plaques at each display. She didn’t know how to read. But if she lifted him up, he could read the information out loud. And that’s what they did. At each and every spot, she lifted him up and he read to her. It was a very sweet and tender thing to watch, and I was very impressed that they figured it out on their own. It was a blessing that the teacher had paired those two together, I wondered if it had been a random thing or if she had thought it through. For he had the skills she lacked, she had the size and strength he lacked. Together they made it work successfully.

I realized how important it is to have many different people in my life. We tend to attract people that are like us, but what a blessing it is to have instead, people that complement us. A truly wise individual appreciates what everyone has to offer and knows how to bring out the best in others for the benefit of everyone. The most successful leaders do not feel threatened by others who are strong and capable, but seek them out as a valuable asset and resource.

I have wonderful friends, each with strengths that I lack. One is very loving and giving. One knows how to enjoy life to the fullest, making every moment an adventure. Another is hard-working, idealistic and pure in heart; and still another is very down-to-earth and wise. I admire each of them for who they are and what they offer to me so willingly. It is wonderful to have their insights, their perspective. It is a blessing that our lives have crossed. Together, we are greater than the sum of our parts; together, we can get much more out of this great adventure called life.

Mother Eve

The story of Adam and Eve has always fascinated me. I’ve wondered about their relationship; did they get to choose each other or did Father, in His infinite wisdom, know that they would make the perfect couple? I’ve wondered about their life in Eden; how long were they there? Was it really all we imagine it to be? It seems that it was enough for Adam; I can picture him being very content with his life of ease. It was Eve who wanted something more out of life. It was Eve who wanted to be like the Gods, knowing good and evil; it was Eve who wanted to be wise. Could it be that Eve desired children and knew that the only way to get them would be to leave the garden? Was that a factor in her decision? Was there ever a time that they talked over the possibility of transgression, discussing pros and cons? Did he know that she was a woman who knew her own mind; did he feel threatened when she made such an important decision on her own?

I believe her actions to be very courageous indeed. For she took a great risk, there was that chance that Adam wouldn’t follow her, he did have other ribs, after all; perhaps she would be cast out without him. She wanted a better life that much. I imagine that their initial reaction to their new, fallen world was one of shock, maybe even despair, “What have we done?” And I wonder if Adam held it over Eve’s head or if she had to constantly remind him, “It is better this way.” Did Eve ever wonder if she did the right thing? I hope someday I will know the details.

There are many lessons in the story of Adam and Eve. To name just a few: Sometimes we have to let go of something good to get something better. Sometimes we have to take a chance. Sometimes we just need to follow our hearts. There is joy and satisfaction in a life of hard work…

All of these things tell me Eve was truly a great lady, worthy of our respect and honor. Thank-you Mother Eve, for your courage; you were true to yourself, truly a woman ahead of your time.

fortune cookies and horoscopes

The last fortune cookie I opened read: DO ONTO OTHERS AS YOU WISH OTHERS TO DO ONTO YOU. An interesting concept, obviously an error in translation; language can be a tricky thing. It got me to thinking about those who write fortunes. I think I would like that job. There is a measure of excitement in opening a fortune cookie. I always hope it will say something meaningful, reveal some secret meant just for me, or give me wisdom that I need just at that moment. They rarely do, it is just a silly game after all, but sometimes I learn something very profound, so profound as to make me keep the fortune tucked away in a safe place. A few years back I opened one that read: BE TACTFUL, OVERLOOK YOUR OWN OPPORTUNITY. I thought that to be very wise counsel. Then just a couple of years ago I had one that said FATE WILL FIND AWAY. Now I don’t believe in fate, per se, but the message to me was, “be patient, everything will work out.”

Horoscopes are fun, too, and they would be fun to write. I don’t think an understanding of the stars is necessary (forgive me all you believers), although it would take a great deal of skill. The secret to writing a good horoscope is to make it specific enough to fit a single individual and yet vague enough to fit the circumstances in anyone’s life. We read them as a family and laugh at how a single horoscope can adapt to my grandson as well as to his mother; a different one to my son, Isaac, as well as to his dad.

A few months ago my daughter mentioned that as she falls asleep each night she makes up her own horoscope for the next day. It is a happy thing to take her into her dreams. I hope she realizes that writing her own horoscope is one thing, but she also has the power to write her own life. She has the power to let her dreams take her into a happy life.

Hmmm… That could be in a fortune cookie!

lunch sacks

A few weeks after my son, Jesse, started first grade, I discovered tucked away in the back of his closet, a big pile of lunch sacks. Thinking I had neglected to tell him how they work, I started to explain how he was to put all the trash inside and throw everything away when he finished his lunch. He understood all of that, he actually had put all the trash inside each day, but instead of throwing the sack away, he brought each one home to add to his collection, explaining to me, “If I throw them away I will never see them again.” Yes, this is a truth, and for some reason, his little heart couldn’t bear the thought. I don’t remember how we worked things out to everyone’s satisfaction, but lunch sacks in the closet were no longer a problem.

Cigarette butts were. And bottle caps. And gum wrappers. Jesse kept everything. Every piece of trash his hands touched, every broken thing-a-ma-jig his eye spied. I tried to be understanding, and I tried to understand. I tried to change my thinking in a way that I could accept this peculiarity. I decided that it was a very unique thing, for he had the ability to find value in anything and everything. And really, that is a noble virtue; it just needed a little direction and nurturing to blossom into something good. For just maybe, that quality could help him learn to see value in anyone and everyone.

Occasionally over the years I would still find a stash of something odd in his desk. But he moved on to collecting things like paper clips, rubber bands, and eventually boxes of Jell-O (if he found a good sale he would stock up, even though we don’t eat it much). When he went away to college I had quite the challenge unearthing his treasures and packing up his room. He still had the trophy I gave him for his seventh birthday with his name and the inscription: CHAMPION COLLECTOR

try harder

One of my earliest memories is of our move from Ogden, Utah to Baltimore, Maryland, where my Dad would be attending school. We traveled by car, hauling our worldly possessions in a trailer behind us. An exciting thing for us children was to go through a tunnel or over a bridge. I was four, my brothers three and two, so you can imagine what a hard thing it was to keep us quiet and entertained on such a long journey. Mother reminded us often how important it was that we keep still and quiet so we “wouldn’t have an accident.”

Coming down a hill at one point, my Dad discovered the brakes were not working and the car escalated to a dangerous speed. To try and slow down the car, he steered so as to scrape the trailer against the side of the mountain, hoping the friction would help slow things down. Back and forth he eased into and then away from the mountain. I was asleep on the floor of the back seat during all of this, but somehow the door opened and I fell out of the car. The trailer caught me and dragged me for a ways. My Dad must have noticed in his mirror for when the road leveled and the car stopped, he dashed back for me, half-expecting me to be dead. I was scraped up pretty bad but there was nothing broken.

I still remember being washed up in the bath that night, feeling so miserable, and puzzling over how this could have happened, “I was trying so hard to be still and quiet…”

Somehow I came to believe that if things didn’t work, I just needed to try harder. And isn’t that what we are told so much of the time? Try harder in school, try harder to get along, try harder to be good… if you just try to be a better mother, wife… The sad truth is, sometimes we are already doing the very best that we can; being told to “try harder” means we are failing to measure up so someone else’s standard. How do we quantify “try harder”? How do we know when we’ve tried hard enough? Can we ever be satisfied with doing our best when there is that oppressive weight looming over us that we still need to try harder? And, no matter how hard you try, some things will just never work out. Rumplestilskin aside, no matter how hard one tries, straw cannot be spun into gold.

And so, here are the important life lessons to be learned:

*Your best is good enough (the atonement makes it so)

*Some things happen in spite of your best effort (my trying harder to be

quiet wouldn’t have, couldn’t have prevented my injuries back on that hill).

*Know when it is time to give up spinning that straw…

Remember,

“A fanatic is one who loses sight of his goal, but doubles his efforts to get there.”

parking garage

For several years my mother and I had season tickets to the symphony. It was a chance to dress up nice and rub shoulders with the rich and famous, so to speak. A good friend played viola in the symphony and it was fun to learn about the inside workings of the symphony as well. She taught my little brother and sisters on their strings.

Symphony concerts were about once a month and I always drove us downtown to the fancy hall where they were held and we always parked in the parking garage under the concert hall. After one concert we couldn’t find our car in the garage. It became a little embarrassing as others found their cars and headed out. Some couples chuckled and whispered to each other, “They can’t find their car.” The garage was nearly empty and we were still wandering, hunting for Flossy. We had been involved in a lively conversation when we arrived and neither of us had paid much attention to the details of where we’d parked. We tried to remember, “I think we pulled over to the right” “It seems that we were by the wall,” Remember, we had to walk quite a ways to get to the elevator.” “Do you suppose it was stolen?” Finally I said, “This doesn’t even look like the same parking garage.” It was then that mother realized we were parked on a different level. All those years we had happened to enter the garage through the lane that went to the upper level, but this time, during our visiting, we hadn’t noticed that we had been in a different lane, the lane that goes to a lower level. Boy did we feel relieved to finally figure that out; relieved and very silly.

But even silly mistakes can teach us valuable lessons; I haven’t lost my car since. I learned to always pay attention and make a mental note of where I am. Mother ties a ribbon to her car’s antennae.

Smashing Pumpkins (part II)

I told that story several times over the next few years, but there was a growing uneasiness in me about what I had really done, and finally I came to understand the lesson I needed to learn from it all. Some of it may be seeing things in hindsight, it is certainly easier to realize some things knowing that everything turns out OK (that is, seeing that Eli grew out of those challenging teen years into a wonderfully amazing man).

I began to ask myself some very important questions about that concert. Would it really have been so bad if he had missed that one day of school and seminary (we’ve taken our children out of school for other reasons)? Would it have been too much of a sacrifice for us to let him use my car for the trip so he would be safe? Would it have been possible for one of us to drive him and his friends there? Could we have listened to some Smashing Pumpkins music and realized it wasn’t morally corrupt (their version of “My Blue Heaven” has since become one of my all-time favorite songs)? Could we have considered that perhaps there never would be another chance for him to attend a Smashing Pumpkins concert (there never was)?

And therein lies the lesson I’ve come to understand: When you love someone, whatever is important to them becomes important to you by virtue of your love for them. My efforts to “be in control” of the situation prevented me from responding to him out of love; I had failed to make what was important to him be important to me. I prevented something that I should have been working to bring about.

I am so sorry, Eli.

Smashing Pumpkins (part I)

I hate to “pick on” Eli again, but so many of life’s lessons have come to me through him. This is a lesson on love…

Eli is and always has been a music expert. It amazes me that he can name the artist for any version of any song in every genre from classical to classic rock (except for country, he doesn’t like country). His favorite group all through high school was Smashing Pumpkins. So it was a natural thing for him to want to attend a concert of theirs when an opportunity came, and one did. The concert was in a city 2+ hours away on a Monday night and he came to us a month or so out, asking permission to drive up there. We thought about it (not that long, I admit) and flatly refused. It was a school night, he’d be in no shape for seminary and school the next day, his car probably couldn’t safely make the trip, and Smashing Pumpkins?!? We frankly couldn’t see the draw… Maybe next time. End of story, right?

But no, Eli really wanted to go to that concert. He applied for a job at K-mart and a couple of weeks later announced that he’d been hired and would be attending a training session at K-mart on a Monday evening (the same Monday evening at the concert). I don’t know if he figured I wouldn’t notice the coincidence, but I did, and knew what he was up to. It therefore became my goal, as a “good mother” of course, to sabotage his plans. I stewed about it for some time and the day of the concert went to K-mart on the off chance he was telling us the truth. The manager assured me there was no type of training going on that night. I asked if she would mind calling my home and leaving a message to that effect for my son. She did. Another son, Jesse was home from school that day and wrote down the message. When Eli got home, there was a message from K-mart, in Jesse’s handwriting, and caller ID even confirmed that K-mart had called. When I got home, I saw the note and said to Eli, “Oh good, you can come bowling with us after all!” I had planned an outing for the family so there was no chance of his sneaking out through the bedroom window. He had been hoodwinked. It was beautifully choreographed and I was the masterful artist of it all! Chalk one up for parents everywhere, right? But this was not all, there were still lessons to be learned…

memories

It seems our minds will never forget what we were doing when we found out President Kennedy had been shot. Or, for you younger ones, what you were doing on 9-11-01. Something about a tragedy of such magnitude seers the details of those events in our minds forever. But even more important to keep in remembrance are those events of the simple joys of our lives, the sweet memories. My sweetest memories are of seemingly insignificant moments or events, simple, happy times that I wish I could experience again: long afternoons spent up in the tree when I was 8; cold evenings sledding down Bird Hill wanting just one more run before it got too dark to find our way home; singing songs around the piano with my Dad; quiet time with a baby during the wee hours of the night; laughing with my sisters; a quiet afternoon with a friend.

How often our memories slip away from us over time, only to be brought back by a scent, a sound, or that eerie feeling of déjà vu. Journals keep our memories alive and although my journals are far from comprehensive, what I have written is as precious to me as gold. I’ve learned some other techniques as well that involve experiencing each moment fully through every one of our senses. While you are enjoying that happy time, pay attention with your eyes, imprint in your mind what you see, what you are wearing, what those around you look like, their eyes, their smiles. Close your eyes and pay attention with your ears, mentally recording the sounds of the voices, the background noises music, laughter. Savor the tastes of the moment and the smells, take in the sensations on your skin. Make mental notes of everything and revisit the scene often in your mind to keep the memory alive. Then whenever you are discouraged, you can bring those happy things to your mind again, feel those feelings again, and have peace.

Today is a day for me to wear that special blouse, find that favorite spot, read a few journal entries (or write some), and remember…

sweetest surprise

The summer I turned forty my husband accepted an assignment to Korea (for the following May) and I gave away the baby bed. My children were 13, 11, 9, 7, and 3 and by all appearances five children seemed to complete our little family. That fall I found out I was expecting. I had always wanted six children, but now, at my age? I was due the week after my husband was to leave for a year overseas with the Air Force. How in the world would I manage?!? As it turned out, there were complications with the pregnancy and our little boy was born a month early. We named him Isaac (after the Bible Isaac--his parents had him in their old age, too). It was a hard year but that baby was such an absolute delight to all of us that we knew he was sent especially to us especially at that time. He has been a special treasure to me his whole life; I tell him that he was my surprise baby and that he was the best surprise I ever had.

I do advise people, though, don’t give away the baby bed, you’ll surely be tempting fate if you do!

siren

In early December of 1971, my grandmother died. I was away at college, but my parents made arrangements for me to fly home and drive with them to the funeral. I felt a great uneasiness about the trip but supposed it was because I was flying stand-by, so when I got on the plane the uneasiness subsided.

It was a very long trip to the funeral, and about half-way there, in Cortez, Colorado, we hit black ice on the highway, spun and rolled, landing in a ditch. Fortunately, other travelers saw it happen and stopped to help. I had always thought that the sound of an ambulance would be the most horrible sound to hear if you knew it was coming for you, but it turned out to be the most beautiful sound to us, letting us know that help was on the way. Each of us suffered only minor injuries. I needed stitches on my right temple where I went through a window and I banged my right leg up pretty bad (I was on crutches for a week or two, and still I have no feeling on part of my knee).

We spent the night there in Cortez with relatives of a friend, and another friend brought his car up to us so we could continue our journey. It was a sobering reminder of the fragile nature of life, but also the kindness and generosity of others. I’ve decided that the purpose of the ambulance siren isn’t just to get traffic to move out of the way, it is more importantly a call to the injured, saying, “Hang on, we are coming!”

weeds

It may seem odd, but one of my favorite things to do is pull weeds. Perhaps it is a way to work off some aggression, maybe I just enjoy being out in nature and the feel of the warm sun, breezes, and the soil in my hands. Most likely it is a chance to be alone with my thoughts. At any rate, pulling weeds has taught me much about weeds and their characteristics; their root structures, especially. For you really need to get the whole root out to get rid of the weeds.

On my daily walks through our neighborhood I have noticed another aspect of weeds, or maybe it isn’t so much about weeds as it is about people and how they manage their weeds. Weeds usually crop up at the edges of yards, as though their seeds blow in from a neighbor’s yard or far away field. It is easy to dismiss a few small weeds at the edge of a yard as insignificant. They are mowed down along with the grass and it is thought they are gone, it doesn’t interrupt the green after all. But then they grow back and there are more of them. More of them to be ignored, mowed down, then to grow back and multiply. I have seen many yards gradually taken over by weeds this way; once a few weeds, so easy to manage; now a yard of weeds requiring a major overhaul of the yard. It is a sad thing to see.

There are weeds in our lives as well. They crop up as small bad habits, misconceptions, misunderstandings, or just-once-won’t-hurt kind of behaviors. They sneak in at the edges of our characters where they are easy to dismiss as insignificant and can be “mowed down” because they blend in so well with (or covered up by) who we really are. And just like weeds, they grow and multiply and can eventually take over.

Many years ago a friend told me of her experience with daytime soaps. Watching them had numbed her to the seriousness of some of the aspects of life they portray. When someone came to her for help with a real-life situation, she responded by dismissing it as though it were no big deal, it happens all the time (it did happen all the time on TV). This attitude was enough to shock her into getting that horrible “weed” out of her life. Her story caused me to evaluate that weed in my own life and realize the work I needed to do.

A verse of one of my favorite children’s songs goes like this:

I have a garden, a secret garden,

Where thoughts, like flowers, grow day by day.

‘Tis I must choose them, and tend, and use them,

And cast all wrong ones like weeds away.

Goodness and love are seeds that I sow

God up above will help me I know

To keep my garden, my heart’s own garden

A place where beauty will always grow.

Maryhale Woolsey

California stop

Many years ago I took my son, Eli, to get his drivers license. He had been chomping at the bit for a long time and felt fully ready and qualified; in his mind, there was no possibility of his failing the driving test. He probably had plans for that very afternoon to borrow the car and go somewhere on his own. But, as mothers are wont to do, I felt the need to review a few things on our way to take the driving test. I said, “Eli, there are two things you HAVE to remember: don’t go over the speed limit, and come to a complete stop at every stop sign.” But of course, he didn’t need or want any advice from me, and promptly dismissed my counsel with, “Yea, yea, whatever.”

He was devastated when he failed the test, and I was a bit surprised. “What happened?” “I didn’t completely stop at 9 stop signs.” Nine? I asked if he remembered me mentioning that on our way there, but he didn’t remember and I couldn’t convince him that I had… He took the test again a week later and passed with flying colors.

This was a great example to me of the principle that no one likes to be told something that they already know; but on the other hand, even things we DO know, we need to be reminded of from time to time. No one ever knows all there is to know about anything and even when we think we do, it is wise to be humble enough to accept the possibility that there is more to learn, and pay attention. A case in point is attending Church. Eli once said to me, “Why do I have to go to church? I’ve heard it all before.” I can see how it would seem that way to a teenager. Yet we continue to attend, continue to study, and always, if we are open to it, new, subtle insights and revelations come to us, usually pertinent to our current circumstances and challenges.

So when an opportunity to learn something new (or be reminded of something you already know) comes along, be careful about that California stop or you may miss the chance of a lifetime!

quilting bee

As a girl, one of the things I most looked forward to about growing up was becoming a member of the women’s organization, Relief Society. In my young mind that would be the milestone marking the time I finally “arrived” at the stage of life called “womanhood”. So you can imagine my joy, when I turned 12 and was invited by our ward Relief Society sisters to join their summer quilting group. I was invited to be one of “them”! For one morning a week, through the whole summer, I, an ordinary girl, could rub shoulders with the noble and great. My young hands, already well-acquainted with the needle and thread, caught on quickly as they tutored me in the techniques of hand-quilting. As I worked side by side with those wonderful ladies, I soaked up every aspect of the experience. What a thrill it was to listen to their chatter, I was in awe of their wisdom, their goodness. I was warmed by their laughter and encouraging words to each other, and to me!

I learned a most powerful lesson one memorable day. That morning Sister Turley excused herself from the quilt, explaining that she had a commitment and would have to leave early. After she had gone, another sister got up from where she was working and came to examine sister Turley’s stitches. She shook her head and announced to the rest of us, “These just won’t do! I’ll have to take them all out!” She would have started that painstaking process then and there, but decided to finish the area she was working on first, and went back to her spot. Just a few minutes later, Sister Turley came back in, sat down where she had been working, and explained, “My car wouldn’t start, so I will keep working until my son gets here to pick me up.” My heart skipped a beat as I realized the horror of what could have happened.

It was a very powerful lesson. And not just the lesson that I’d better keep my stitches worthy of that sister’s scrutinizing eye! The lesson was this: None of us is perfect; Sister Turley had many strengths (she was, by far, the best musician the ward had ever had, then, and probably since). So then, shouldn’t we, out of our love and appreciation for her as one of the noble and great, accept her offering on the quilt, even though it was imperfect, because it was offered out of her love, and was the very best she could give?

(this is an excerpt from a talk given at Fountain Colorado Stake Conference, Nov 12 2006; to receive a hard copy of the complete talk, send a request to loveylou627@gmail.com)

chance encounters

My mother is the kind of person who likes to chat with strangers. The opportunity to do this presents itself quite frequently, most often while waiting in check-out lines at stores. I was often embarrassed by this as a child, but nevertheless have found that I do the same thing, which embarrasses my children (I also greet the store clerks by name; my children grew up thinking I knew everyone in the world).

This practice has led to my meeting some very lovely people and having some very sweet experiences. The day before Thanksgiving 30+ years ago I was in a very long line at the grocery store. A lady and her beautiful little girl were waiting also and we struck up a conversation. The little girl was actually her foster daughter. They had been together several years and it was obvious that they loved each other very much. This was going to be a very special Thanksgiving for them because the courts had just determined the little girl was now up for adoption into a family. She whispered to me out of earshot of the little girl, “Tomorrow we are telling her that we are the family that is adopting her!” I thought of them the next day, as I have many times since. What a wonderful Thanksgiving that was for that family, dreams coming true, lives forever changed, wonderful possibilities opening up for them for years and generations to come. I was very grateful to have heard their story, for indeed, there is much to be grateful for in this world.

Over the years I have come to wonder if what I call chance encounters aren’t really chance at all, for so often I meet just the person or hear just the story, or have just the sweet experience I need at the time. There was the gentleman I met walking to work one day 30+ years ago, the lady I met on a plane 2 years ago, and countless others whose lives have crossed mine for only a brief moment but have left an impact to last a lifetime. Perhaps these chance encounters are really tender mercies from the Lord, to remind me that He is mindful of each of us. Talk to a stranger today!

God knows his children

It seems hard for us to fathom sometimes the depth to which God knows each of us individually. There are so many of us, we are very complex individuals, no two of us alike… Yet it is true, and I came to understand it on a small scale with an experience I had with my son, Eli.

As a child Eli had a terrible time with money. He was forever losing it. He went through so many wallets and coin purses, all with money in them, that, well, let’s just say that whoever found them was very delighted at the “finders keepers” rule and he made a lot of people delighted. I was reluctant to take over his money for him, he wouldn’t hear of that anyway. We tried keeping his money in his pockets, but it would always end up in his hand and get set down somewhere in a store while he looked at something and he wouldn’t remember where and… you get the picture.

In eighth grade, the band and choral group at the middle school went on a trip to Disneyland. Eli belonged to both. His older brother, although already in high school, was invited along, too (he had also belonged to both and they wanted to feature him as a soloist on the national anthem for their performances). The students were told how much money to bring for their meals and were given a choice: they could hang onto the money themselves or have the chaperones hang onto it for them and dole it out as needed. Both my boys opted for the former. I could see that being a problem for Eli. Knowing Eli would surely lose his money, I secretly gave extra to his brother, Nate, which he could dole out as needed if/when that happened.

The second day of the trip I got a phone call from Eli. He had been in the arcade and set his wallet down just for a minute and when he looked for it, it was gone, stolen! I told him that he could get some money from Nate and he wouldn’t starve. Crisis avoided.

I was very grateful that I knew Eli well enough to prepare ahead and get him through that learning experience. And I began to understand how Heavenly Father can know each of us so well, well enough to place us in the right circumstances with just the right opportunities, just the right people to help us learn and grow into our very best selves.

Eli grew into a very careful money manager and has been financially independent for many years now. He put himself through school, is married with a daughter and is going back to school for his masters degree in psychology. But of course, I already knew everything would work out for him…

"At the Park" afghan

This reversible, double-knit afghan is for my granddaughter. It is my own design and features the fun things to see and do at the park, from kites to swings, butterflies to squirrels. It took approximately 150 hours to knit and measures 30"x40". Next week I start the one for my other granddaughter!

Grand Canyon

The first car I ever owned was a ’74 Ford Maverick, white, I named “Flossy” (because I was a dental hygienist). One summer my mother and I decided to take Flossy on a road trip. My step-dad planned our itinerary for us, which included a visit to the Grand Canyon. We had a great time, taking turns driving, the non-driver navigated and read aloud the novel everyone had been talking about, “The Thornbirds”.

Then we got to looking at the map and the itinerary and we started to think (not such a good idea, you can over think some things). He has us going to the North rim of the Grand canyon, but we are coming from the south. hmmm. Look at the map, there is a road that goes there from the south and just ends right there, hmmm. The road picks up again right there on the north side, hmmm. How old is this map? I bet they’ve finished connecting those two roads by now, don’t you think? Yea, and I bet Dad just doesn’t know that, that’s why he had us driving around instead of through, right? Yea, I’m sure the road is finished. Let’s take the shortcut. Aren’t you glad we thought of that? Think how much time we’ll save!

So we went to the south rim. My, the canyon is big, really, really big! ! No wonder they call it “Grand” (although we thought just “grand” was misleading—“grandiose”, “monstrously huge” may have given us better clues). I don’t think they’ll be building a bridge across there… Dad was pretty smart sending us to the north rim. Our little shortcut cost us time and we nearly ran out of gas getting back to our scheduled itinerary.

I remember reading of the Donner Party. A surviving member of the group wrote to a relative afterwards with this advice “Don’t take no short cuts.” I concur.

from sea to shining sea

I lived in Germany for 18 months when I was newly married. We lived on the main floor of a house in a little town called Asperg, not far from Coffee Casserne where my husband was stationed in the army. An Englishman lived in the basement apartment and our landlord, his wife and adult son lived in the top two floors. Our balcony looked out over lovely gardens and just the other side of the bridge over the train tracks were the charming shops of downtown. It was a wonderful opportunity to enjoy the German culture and people. Armed Forces Radio was an important link to my homeland as were my friends from church. I kept in touch with family through letters, no e-mail back then and it was much too expensive to have a phone.

I don’t remember being homesick, a new baby kept me busy, until Independence Day. In church we sang “America the Beautiful”. As I sang the words to that beautiful tribute, all the longing I had for home came to the surface in overwhelming gratitude for our great nation. Tears filled my eyes as I thought of the tremendous blessing it is to be American. When we finally moved back to the states I was filled with peace and security, a measure of which I had been without while on foreign soil.

I thank God every day that I live here; I thank him for those valiant souls who paid the price for our freedoms; and I hope I never take these blessings for granted. Still, when I hear that song, my heart swells with humble gratitude for this nation. I hope we each as citizens can, in word and deed, “crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea”.

Douglas

Douglas is my cousin, the fourth child and only son of my mother’s oldest sister, my Aunt Harriet. He was born on the 4^th of July 1953 (a Yankee Doodle Dandy), exactly one week after I was born. He was a big baby. Sometime that fall, after my accident, but before Thanksgiving, Douglas died. He had been very fussy, inconsolable actually, for a couple days and Harriet took him for a ride in the car to see if that would calm him. He fell asleep and died. No one ever knew what caused it, Harriet couldn’t bear the thought of an autopsy, and so we say he died of SIDS, although that doesn’t seem quite right.

I think of Douglas every Independence Day, as I’m sure Harriet does (a mother cannot forget her child). And I wonder about him and what his life could have been. I wonder how close we would have been. I wonder, too, about the two babies, born so close together, both struck by tragedy, one dying, and one living. Many believe that some spirits are just too perfect to remain on this earth, that they are so valiant as to not need this proving ground, this probationary state. My mother did not believe me to be any less valiant than Douglas; there were just different plans and purposes for our lives. That seems to make sense.

Douglas visited his sister, Kerry, one night about 5 years later, when she was in distress, staying at a relative’s house and very homesick. He comforted her. It comforted us all to know he was near and mindful of us. I believe we have many of our loved ones, spirits, around us. I have felt their help at times as well as their caring, watchful eyes.

And so each 4^th of July, I remember the cousin I never knew and hope that he can enjoy the fireworks. I imagine them to be a tribute to him and all the other children whose lives were way too short.

Feelings

How many parents have told an injured child, “That didn’t hurt,” or a distressed child, “Stop that crying or I’ll give you something to cry about” ? How many children learn to distrust their own feelings or to believe feelings are wrong? How many wives are told to “quit crying and get a grip” or “childbirth isn’t that bad” or “you’re too sensitive”? And how many wives learn to hide their feelings until they just don’t feel anymore? How many men are afraid to show tender emotions because they’ve been taught it isn’t manly?

I have come to appreciate that a big part of who we are is our feelings. Feelings make us human. Feelings come from the deepest depths of our soul, revealing nuances of our character and passions. Feelings coupled with intellect give us a full perspective to make decisions (“I will tell you in your mind and in your heart” not OR your heart). Doing something because it seems right logically, even though it feels like a big mistake is just as foolish as throwing caution to the wind just because it feels good.

To ignore your feelings, repress them, discount them or deny them is to deny a big part of who you are. Instead we need to learn the value of our feelings; acknowledge them, analyze them, explore them and accept them for what they are. Although we have to be wise about how we handle our feelings, we need not be ashamed of them; they are not right or wrong, they just are.

For too much of my life I have been afraid of my feelings, I have not understood their purpose, what to do with them. But now I believe that knowing who you are, being your own person, authentic, has everything to do with respecting your feelings. It is the only way to become your highest self and become open and free. Happy is the person who respects their own feelings and who also knows how to respect the feelings of others.

know yourself

My parents divorced when I was seven. Mother married again when I was eleven and my brothers were ten and nine. It was a strange thing to have a man in the house again, to be expected to call him “Dad”, and to abide by his rules and way of doing things. He was a professor, a doctor of sociology, so he knew what he was talking about and although the adjustment had its difficulties, we did what we could to help things work out for our new family.

One of the things he stressed to us during those formative years was the importance of knowing who you are. When someone would “go off the deep end” or make a drastically poor choice, he would explain, “They just don’t know who they are”. My brothers and I always puzzled over that, what does that mean? How can someone not know who they are, they’ve lived with themselves their whole life, who else would they be?

Then a few years ago I finally understood; he was right. I understood because I realized that I had lost sight of, or forgotten, who I am. In the years of taking care of everyone else around me, years of being whatever everyone else expected me to be, needed me to be, I had neglected to nurture the authentic me, and she was nearly dead. It has been a difficult thing to reawaken my authentic self, but I have learned what it means to know who you are and I have learned how crucial it is to honor who you really are, for only then can you have a truly happy life. More tomorrow…