By Small Means Great Things Are Brought to Pass

By small means great things are brought to pass.
     That's what the scriptures say isn't it? Well, not long ago we were asked to do a small thing by a couple of the Lord's apostles. Since I figured that they might know a little something about how the Lord works I was interested. So I paid attention. I mean I want "great things to come to pass" just as much as the next sister. And even I might be able to do something right if it's small enough.
    Well, you know what it was? According to them, apostles of the Lord no less, it's important to eat meals regularly with our families, especially dinner.
    Really? That does seem like a small thing doesn't it?  And considering the realities of modern life....highly impractical.  When I first heard this I wondered in my "raggedy convert" way how that could possibly be of eternal importance anyway. I mean we're talking burgers and meatloaf here.
     I was still wondering the next day when I asked my 3rd period high school class what their favorite family dinner was. (Hey, it was only five minutes till the bell rang and 4th period was lunch!) There were about 12 kids, mostly seniors, all hanging in there to graduate despite their various disabilities.
       One piped up right away with a mouth-watering description of his Nana's tamales and his mom's enchiladas that made us all hungry. He said they have these for every birthday, anniversary, graduation etc. when all the family gets together. (Aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins etc.)
     I said, "How often does that happen and can I get invited to the next one?
     He replied, "Sure Mz Dub, two or three times a month at least. I'll ask my mom." He also shared another glowing description of his mom's spagetti, which he says they have at his house every Tuesday when it's just his family. I heard teenaged stomachs growling and somebody threw a pencil at him.
      "What about the rest of you?" I asked the class, "What's your favorite family dinner on a weeknight?"
       I was very surprised that every other student said they never ate with their families during the week. Not just seldom mind you. Never. There were lots of reasons for this....parents worked, everybody got home at different times.... it just wasn't convenient. Most didn't eat with their family on weekends either, except on rare special occasions.
     "So, what do you do for dinner?" I asked.
      Cereal, sandwich or microwave was the answer for most of them. A heated discussion on the virtues of "hot pockets vs ramen noodles" ensued. One girl gave her recipe for grilled cheese sandwiches. (Toast two pieces of bread. Unwrap a slice of cheese. Put it between the toasts and nuke it for 30 seconds.) Those with cars said they relied heavily on the dollar menu at the fast food places. That started an argument about Jack vs Mac. The bell rang before it was decided.
       The class left and it was finally lunch so I unwrapped my peanut butter sandwich and thought that it was a little sad about their dinner situations. What could you do, though? That's modern life. I began to think about those modern lives as I chewed. Several of my kids had family members in prison..... fathers, mothers, brothers, or cousins. ( Not the "Tuesday was spagetti" kid though). In fact, a couple of them had a really close, personal working relationship with the juvenile justice system, complete with probation officers that I met with on a regular basis. (Not the Mom's enchiladas kid though)  I recalled that one boy had spent the entire Thanksgiving break in the Durango county jail and was highly incensed, not because he'd missed his family Thanksgiving but because he'd planned to spend all four days getting wasted at parties. None of them lived with both parents. (Except for the Nana's tamales kid) One lived with his father and five brothers, each of them with different mothers. One sweet girl was pregnant but would graduate at the end of the semester before the baby was due. She lived in the projects with her mom, who worked two jobs to support them.
     I began to think about the young man who ate spagetti every Tuesday with his family. His life was very different from the others. I knew this student's parents well and had even met his grandparents at one of the school games. They all were involved in this boy's life. I knew, too, that the culture in their family had included regular dinners together for more than one generation. It was just the way they did things. Could "small means" have made a big difference over the years?  Is there something going on at dinner that I missed? Are we talking about more than meatloaf here?
    This was still on my mind the next Sunday during Relief Society meeting, so I asked the sisters if they'd heard this "dinner together" counsel we'd been given. I also pointed out that I worked outside the home and that there was no possible way I had time to cook a fancy meal every night after the day I usually had! I believe I may have said, "Get real!"
      The response was amazing. Some of it outraged, even. Boy, did I learn a lot!
      First I learned that NOBODY has time to cook a fancy meal every day whether they work outside the home or not. Then I learned that, "It's not about the food, stupid." Apparently none of the apostles ever said a word about fancy meals. They just said to eat together as a family. One sister pointed out that nothing was mentioned against paper plates or "Taco Tuesday" from the local chain either. She says she serves them with bagged carrots, sliced cucumbers and ranch dressing which she counts as salad and that her family looks forward to it every week. Another sister says that any self-respecting LDS woman with half a brain could put a family meal on the table in 15 minutes anyway.
            A deluge of dinner ideas followed. I'll share but the women who told me about them don't want their identities revealed. What people eat in the privacy of their own homes is highly personal. None of these meals would be featured on, or even admitted to, on the cooking shows. We're talking day to day, get the gang rounded up around the table, even when you just walked in the door 15 minutes ago, food. There's no arugula anywhere. Remember there's 365 days in a year and that can be a long winding road full of potholes. Here's a couple of the things they told me. Keep it quiet.

 --  Sloppy Joes /Cottage cheese and pineapple/ The no peel raw veggie salad thing.

( I learned Joes are quicker and less trouble than burgers. Brown any ground meat, drain and mix with bottled BBQ sauce.) Use raw veggies that don't need peeling like those little carrots, celery, red bell peppers, tomatoes, zucchini etc. Serve with ranch.  Onion or sesame seed buns look better here. 10 minutes.

--  Can Can Chile and Cornbread (Boxed Crackers if the wolves are nipping at your heels.)

Brown 1-2 lbs of any gound meat. Or get 1-2 lbs ground meat out of the freezer because you forgot to do it this morning when you were rushing out the door. Put it in a pan with a little water, put the lid on and start cooking. Every now and then turn the frozen clunk over and break it up until all is browned. (Do this any time you forgot and need browned meat.)

Mix with 1 or 2 cans each of diced tomatoes, beans (like pinto or kidney), Hormel or other canned chile. Season with chile and garlic powders, heat, covered, while the cornbread bakes. Add 1/2 can of creamed corn to each box of mix, by the way. 15 minutes.

                           

-- $5 Pizza from the pizza store / Bagged fancy salad (Alright there might be some arugula.) /Peach sundaes (Vanilla ice cream, topped with sliced peaches and a sprinkle of brown sugar) 5 minutes.

                 

 -- "Crock pot" Put something in it before you leave home. Serve with crescent rolls or biscuits from a fridge--3 minutes when you get home plus baking.

                     

*Big Crockpot Bonus 

The crockpot will make the house smell good. One sister reports her son said that when he comes home from school or practice and smells dinner cooking, "It feels like a hug."

                           

 **(Technology Update!!!)

Several sisters said that their ovens have a "delay start" feature that makes it possible to place even frozen stuff in there and it will magically start cooking later so it will be ready at dinnertime. Comes with the "dinner smell hug" bonus too. (I looked. I think mine has that. Who knew?)

      The list went on and on. The point being that since this "small means" might end up making a big difference it's worth a little thought and planning. More than one woman said that presentation means a lot when serving simple dinners like these. One bought a set of those plastic baskets they use at burger places. She uses them on burger, Joe, or hot dog nights. She buys bakery buns with sesame seeds, not the cheap ones. She says it doesn't take any more time and makes a big difference. She has a special red and white checked tablecloth for those occasions too. Everybody gets a root beer on those nights and she's been called the " best cook in the world" by her six year old.
      Every woman there said that a well stocked pantry and freezer make ten minute meals way easier. One smart lady says she cooks large amounts of pasta, brown rice, and dry beans on Saturdays, puts them in zip locks and keeps them in the fridge or freezer for almost instant stir frys or spagetti.  She buys big bags of stir fry veggies at the big box store to avoid peeling, and lots of boneless chicken on sale which she slices and puts in freezer bags in meal sized portions. She freezes the meat flat so it defrosts in the microwave in a couple of minutes. You'll need those cans of fruit, and packages of cornbread mix too. Also, when at the grocery make sure you buy plenty of "instant salad and sides." Don't get caught with your pantry down.
      Another sister said she was really helped by the advice of the BYU cooking show lady who said to have dinner at the same time each night no matter who's at home. Forget coordinating schedules,  because chances are you can't. Sometimes everybody will be there, sometimes not. Whoever is there "connects." And, no matter where they may be, the whole family knows its dinnertime and that people who love them are gathered.
      One lady said that their family always prayed for any missing persons when asking the blessing on the food. Her teenaged son once told her that whenever he looked at the gym clock at 6 PM during practice, he knew that his family was having dinner together and that they'd just prayed for him.
       That might be an important thing for a 16 year old to know don't you think?
       Small means. Sure. But just burgers and meatloaf going on here? I don't think so. Maybe it's about the connections that make the difference. Maybe it's the encouragement and comfort we give each other as we pass the potatoes. Maybe it's about laughter, love, belonging and family, and about being able to count on it regularly.
     I'm not sure what it is, but the brethren have me convinced that great things could come to pass when we have dinner with the people we love. How about you?

                         
             
                         

Dear Friends,
     I know it's been several months since I last wrote. You see, my computer died and I had to save up for a new one. Then I had to figure out how to make the darn thing work.
     I posted the last entry without the help of my daughters who are too busy to mess with my scribblings anyway. It didn't transfer the correct spacing but WOOHOO! anyway. It looks like it went sailing out into cyberspace and landed in the right space. Who knew? I'm going to try doing this by myself so it probably won't be pretty, especially the spacing part. Bear with me because my thoughts come to you with heartfelt prayers for your eternal happiness and all my love.

As always,

Kathy Wagher
(Aka Mrs. Wagher, Miss W., or Mzz Dub)

"Goodly Parents"

   

     "Having been born of goodly parents." That's what Nephi says in the scriptures. Boy, that's a phrase loaded with meaning, isn't it? Or maybe guilt if you happen to be a parent and are worried that you might not have been as "goodly" as you should have been at times. This crossed my mind over the holidays when I had a chance to spend time with all my grown children and grandchildren in the same place several times. As I surveyed the chaos of offspring milling around me I worried about the times when I could have been a better mother. Indeed, my grown children now and again play a game called "Remember when Mom ruined your life?" They take turns telling stories of when I did some horrible thing that embarrassed and scarred them forever and then they all laugh like loons. It's tons of fun for all. I learned that one of the terrible things I did to our son was to make him wear a new pair of jeans to school before they were washed. I'll admit that back in the day new Levis were stiff as a board, but I hadn't had time to do the laundry and those were the only clean pair of pants in the house. Apparently he was ridiculed cruelly by the entire school and sustained severe chafing to boot. I'd managed to injure his psyche and his butt at the same time. How come they never play, "Remember when Dad ruined your life?" It's always the mom, isn't it?
         In my defense, I do recall once when I really made an effort to be a "goodly" mother. Our two oldest were in their late teens. You must remember that Larry and I were raggedy old converts without a clue as to how to raise LDS kids, especially teenagers. Heck, we had no idea how to Be LDS teenagers! Most of the stuff we did as kids was wrong! (Especially the stuff Larry did. Plus he talked me into some things against my will.) Anyway our current parent plan was to hold a hard line on the big stuff, (drinking, smoking, fooling around) and ease up on lesser issues like curfew and such. Our house rule was "We want to know where you're going and when you'll be back." (This horrified many of our church friends, by the way.)  If it's the basketball game and pizza then you say you'll be home by 11:00. If it's burgers and a movie then 12:30. Right? If they weren't home when they said they'd be their dad would be out looking for them for sure. This was working for us pretty well. We had a lot of quasi-rules like that, as I recall.
        In addition I would sometimes try hard to hold family home evenings because that's what the Prophet said to do. This was always under extreme protest from the teenagers who made the whole experience as excruciating as possible. But every now and then it worked. One day I was rewarded for my efforts and I gave an inspiring lesson on the importance of honoring your parents, which was sorely needed in our house at the time.
       Around this time something happened that gave me a lot to think about. Son Dane was then 17 or 18. He was 6 foot 3 or more, weighed at least 275 and resembled a small mountain. He was a tackle on the varsity football team in a big city school and was kind of a big deal because of it. (Newspaper articles, billboards and the like.) Most of his friends were football players too, many of them linemen like himself, although he did have one friend who came around a lot who was a regular sized guy, a quarterback. Once, I remember this kid coming off the field during a big game, marching straight over to Dane and punching him in the face. I heard him yell, "Why'd you let that guy get through! He just about killed me! Can't you think under pressure?!" Dane looked at him, shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and said "Sorry, I didn't see him. I was looking at a cheerleader."
      Whenever the guys came into the house, which was often, you looked up at them and thought, "These kids potentially have great careers as pro wrestlers or bouncers." In addition I always thought, "Gee, I hope they're not here for dinner again." Anyway, as I was saying, it was a Saturday morning. Dane was still sleeping when he was supposed to be cleaning his room. His room had become so awful that I lived in terror that some visitor would ask for the bathroom and mistakenly open his door, which I kept shut for fear that something might crawl out. I had gone in there the day before and in the midst of the rubble found a Book of Mormon on his nightstand with a peanut butter sandwich being used to hold his place! I didn't know whether to be glad that he was reading the scriptures or mad about his bookmark.
      Anyway the doorbell rang and I opened it to let in two huge linemen and the quarterback who said they were there to pick up Dane to go somewhere with them. I explained that he couldn't go until he cleaned his room first. They looked at me with worry and one politely said that they were late already. About this time Dane emerged from the disaster area pulling on his letterman's jacket and zipping his pants. I said, "Son, remember, you have to clean your room before you go anywhere today."
 Worried looks all around.
"Mom, I'll do it when I get back. I promise."
With steely resolve I said, "No. You always say that. You're grounded until your room is clean! Do it now!"
"Ma, he said, "Be reasonable. We're late already."
       (Here's where the "goodly" parenting comes in.)  I said, "Son, remember that Family Home Evening lesson we just had about honoring your mother and father? Remember what we learned? Bad things can happen to people who don't honor their parents. It turns out they sometimes die young. Now I'm  your mother and I'm telling you that you're grounded until you clean your room!"
       Then I saw my only son gaze off across the living room, obviously thinking hard. I could see he was remembering that beautiful lesson about obeying parents.
       He finished thinking. Suddenly he grabbed me by the neck and began to twist. "Mom, tell me I'm not grounded! Say it! Say it!" As I twisted to the floor writhing in pain I saw the astonished, wide eyed faces of his huge friends.
   "Say it, Mom! Say I'm not grounded!"
   As I began to suffocate I managed a quick, "Okay, Okay! You're not grounded."
     He let me go, helped me up and planted a big kiss right in the middle of my forehead. "Love you, Mom. I'll be home by 10."
     As they all walked out the door I saw the linemen slowly shaking their heads in disbelief. The quarterback turned to my son and said with shock in his voice, "Dane, you actually put your own mother in a headlock."
     He replied with a huge grin, "Yea, I know. And you said I couldn't think under pressure."
      Now I realize that some of you may disapprove. At first I felt bad about the situation myself. But I swiftly realized that I could think about it in two ways. On the one hand, I had actually raised a son who would put his own mother in a headlock. On the other I'd raised a kid who wouldn't disobey his parent and go out if she said he was grounded. I decided to go with the latter and said to myself, "That boy has an awesome mother!"                      
        Much time has passed since that day. I now have more fond
 parenting memories. One special one is of that same son, now the father of several teenagers, standing in a doorway, exasperation on his face, frustration in his voice, bellowing over the din of a family gathering to his dear wife. "Lisa! Tell me! Why do we have children!" He meant it, there was some history in his tone. And just the other night his older sister mistakenly dialed her father at midnight waking us both. She was looking for one of her teenagers who was late coming home. We didn't have him. Ahhh. We just smiled a long time at each other.  I asked Larry if we should worry. He said "No, that's her job," and we went back to sleep. I only fretted for a minute before dozing off.
      So it's true what they say. Being a parent is like a lot of other things in life. What goes around comes around. That karma thing and casting bread on the waters really happens. Parents eventually do reap satisfaction. They just have to wait until their kids try to be "goodly parents" themselves.
    In case you're worried about how our son eventually turned out, I'll tell you truthfully that he still needs a lot of work. There have been hopeful signs though. He did serve in his bishopric and stake high council. His oldest daughter will graduate from nursing school next month. She waited for her high school sweetheart to return from his mission. They were just married in the Mesa temple a few months ago. His second oldest daughter will be 19 this summer. She's turned in her mission papers and is waiting to see where she's called. She'll be our first missionary grandchild. The younger kids look very promising too.
     How'd that happen? Well, I know that Heavenly Father blessed Dane the day he met Lisa, and I must say that our son showed good judgement when he fell in love with her. His children ended up with a "goodly mother." May he himself continue to be blessed in his own efforts as well. Actually it turns out that the boy's made us very proud in so many ways. Who knew?
        I pray that Heavenly Father will also bless all of you out there who are trying to be "goodly" too. It's one of the most important and challenging callings you'll ever have. Don't give up. Take heart.  I know firsthand that you can make mistakes. Father's got your back. He sure had mine. After all they're His children too. And remember, one day your kids will have as much trouble as you're having now. It's immensely satisfying I can tell you.
     
    

Blessed By Adversity

The Lord loves me. I know this because I’ve been blessed with some pretty significant adversity of late. Significant in my estimation anyway. Among other things it’s been an opportunity to learn for me and a chance for my family to practice patience and long-suffering. They really needed that. In the midst of this I had a birthday. One of those milestone ones like 18 or 21. This particular birthday actually comes with a little card to carry in your wallet. It’s kind of like the driver’s license you can get when you turn 16 but not as much fun. This one says essentially, “You’re now officially old, recognized by the government and everything. Carry this geezer card with you at all times.” Great. That got me to thinking about old age. And that got me to thinking about becoming decrepit, something I know a little bit about already.

Well, this is what I figured. There must be some sort of universal lesson that millions of us need to learn by becoming old. Think about it. If you live long enough you’ll eventually become old. If you’re old long enough you’ll probably know something about decline and disability. It must be part of the plan. Though for the life of me I can’t figure out what Heavenly Father was thinking. It seems backwards to me. Just as I’ve learned enough to be of some real use in the world my body goes south on me and I’m the one who needs help. Just when I know exactly what to do to make modern education meaningful and effective I have to retire from teaching early and before I’m ready. Wouldn’t it be better to get more powerful physically as we get wiser with each year? Once again I’m reminded that Heavenly Father’s thoughts are not my thoughts. I’m anxious to talk with Him about this. But not too anxious.

In the meantime I’d like to ask all of you with working body parts to lend a hand to old people. For one thing you can be pretty sure they hurt. I’m reminded of my husband’s sweet aunt Anne who once told me that she was frustrated with her doctor when she went to see him for relief from some sort of pain she was having. He looked at her and said in exasperation, “Good grief, you’re 80 years old! You’re gonna hurt.” Indeed.

So, hold that door for the old man with the cane and the nice white haired lady on the cart. It’s a sure bet that they hurt somewhere. And remember, “What goes around comes around.” Someday perhaps a young person will hold the door for you. I’ve always liked what Marjorie Hinckley, wife of a prophet, is quoted as saying, “Hold the door for everyone you meet. All are carrying a heavy load whether you can see it or not.”

I’d like to share something I’m grateful to have learned about this “old” subject. Tennyson said it eloquently in lines from his poem “Ulysses” which I was reminded of recently, and which means so much more to me now than when I first read it in my youth.

“It may be that the gulfs will wash us down.

It may be that we will touch the happy isles.

Much has been taken but much abides.

Though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven,

What we are we are.

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will.

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

I think Tennyson would make a good Mormon. He knows something about that enduring to the end thing. It’s not about sitting around I can tell you. That never yielding takes some grit.

My husband gets Tennyson. That’s one of the things I love about him. He’s a simple man but he’s not stupid. I know he understands because recently I read some of “Ulysses” to him to get his reaction. He gazed off in deep thought and then said pensively, “So let’s see if I understand. One of us is unable to stand or take a single step and is in a lot of pain, the other one is nearly blind, can’t hear worth beans and falls down all the time. Right?”

“Right,” I replied.

“So when are we going to Disneyland, Babe?” he said brightly.

I told you he understood.

So, we went to see if the gulfs would wash us down last month. Our kids had a rescue posse all organized even before we left. They thought we were crazy. We felt bad to worry them so much but then there were many times when we worried plenty over them, didn’t we? Anyway, Heavenly Father blessed us and we “touched the happy isle” instead of being washed away. We weren’t able to ride a single ride as in the old days but we couldn’t believe the beauty of the place. Flowers were planted everywhere. A huge monarch butterfly actually landed on a perfect yellow rose right next to the bench where we were waiting for a parade. I don’t remember that ever happening before in the many times we’ve been to that “happiest of places”. Maybe because we were always running off to do it all. Thank you Father for tender mercies once again!

Sometimes I think Heavenly Father has a soft spot for crazy old people. They must be part of the plan.

Francine: The Fish Story

I’ve been telling this story for some 35 years now. I’ve told it at youth firesides, classes of all kinds and once, with some secular changes, even at a high school baccalaureate where I was most kindly requested to speak. A few people have asked that I write it down. Well, it turns out that writing it isn’t so easy. For one thing I always brought essential visual aids when telling this story…..most often a live fish of some kind…..sometimes a large whole one from the fish market. And then there’s a lot of eye rolling, pregnant pauses, facial expressions and that sort of thing that go along with the telling. I’ve learned that, try as I may, punctuation just doesn’t cover those situations. So it is with some real worry that due to my feeble writing skills, printed words won’t translate this story very well. But…..since you asked…….I’ll give it a try. So, here she is……Francine the fish. And to those of you who made the request…..thanks so much for remembering.
Oh, and this is one of those times when I must remind you that I always tell the truth in my stories….even if the events didn’t actually happen. In the introduction to this blog I relate how I explain to my youth audiences that I always tell the truth in church. Once a young man approached me after a fireside and asked with a quizzical look, “Did that really happen?” I’d told a story with a talking rock in it I think. It was about the sometimes tragic outcomes that befall young people who make poor choices involving alcohol or drugs. Well, I’d already explained that I never lied in church so I looked him in the eye and said, “Sadly yes, it happens every day.”

Francine the Fish

When our family was young our love affair with the ocean and the beach began. I suppose this was because every one of us except Larry were true desert rats…..born and raised in the parched Sonoron desert. True, Larry was a mid-westerner as a boy. He’d lived by year-round rivers, but far from the oceans, so his heart was with us on this for the most part. We wanted to spend every vacation near sand and big rolling water. The problem was money. There wasn’t any. At least for expensive hotels and restaurant meals. Then, luckily we found out about the wonderful beach campgrounds all along the gorgeous coasts of California, Oregon and Washington. Glorious days and nights could be had sleeping right on the sand with the waves breaking just outside your bedroom door……as long as you brought the bedroom yourself…..in the form of a tent or camper. At the time all this was to be had for only 12 dollars a night! No hotel room could compete with that price! If we borrowed a camper from Larry’s dad and saved up for gas we could swing this every now and then for sure! Some of our most precious memories come from those wonderful days….. including the day we first met Francine.

We were heading north on the Pacific Coast Highway just outside of San Diego. The blue ocean waves were coming in to shore on our left and lots of interesting, non-deserty things were happening on our right. Things like rivers finally reaching the sea, deltas, mud flats, and estuaries. Novelties to us so used to gulches, dry washes, and saguaro and mesquite studded mesas. We came across a little bridge and there a sign read “Batigos Estuary ½ mile.” We all hollered at the driver at once…Stop here, Dad! When we pulled in we found another little bridge with a gently moving stream flowing under it and out to sea. The stream came from some wetlands on the right of the gravel parking area. A sign in front said “Wildlife Sanctuary” and a little, dusty, dirt road wound its way into the reeds. As much as we wanted to head to the sand and waves we couldn’t resist exploring that little road first. So down we tramped. Tall reeds grew up on both sides. Now and again there was a pool where ducks and other birds were doing their bird things peacefully in them. Then as the road passed just next to a murky pond I heard a distinct burbling sound which made me look down into the water. There swimming in furious circles was a small fish. The burbling was coming from that fish! I couldn’t believe it so I knelt down to investigate. As I got closer I could hear a voice! Yes, a watery but distinct voice. It was complaining loudly, “I am not going to do any of that stuff those guys are telling me to do!! They’re just trying to boss me around. I’m not giving up my freedom to do what they say!” Larry and the kids were up ahead looking at birds so I called them back to see this amazing development. We all knelt down in the dust, gazed intently into the murky water, and witnessed an amazing drama.

We could see the little fish swimming around and around, all the while complaining bitterly about not giving up her freedom, when over to the side of the pond we saw two more fish swimming in place beside a little rivulet that was leading out of the pond. The two fish there were talking too! They were pleading with the little fish who had now come near them and was listening intently to what they said. Incredible as it seems…….. they wore suits and ties with white shirts and little badges pinned to their coats! They were saying, “We promise you, on our honor, we’re telling the truth. We know the path to great happiness and blessings. Our older brother found the way and showed us how to get there. We’ve come here to tell you and the others. Follow us through this little straight and narrow way and you’ll have joy, peace and freedom beyond your wildest dreams. You can become more and have greater power than you ever thought possible. Please. Just swim to the straight and narrow stream and follow the directions. It won’t be easy but you can do it. There’s help along the way. You’ll see.”

They kept talking and the little fish began to swim more slowly in her furious circles. It seemed to us like she was thinking. Then she cautiously stuck her head into the little stream and slowly swam in. She looked around, swam down a little ways, and there on the bank was printed a little sign that read “In order to make it through this stream you must follow the directions.” Then a bit farther down another sign said “Thou shalt not eat the green algae that grows on the bottom of the rocks.” “What?” we heard her cry. “That algae’s my favorite! It gives me a real buzz! Saturday night’s the night we all get wasted on Green!” She hesitated but went on. Then another sign said, “Fooling around with lots of different fish during mating season won’t lead to happiness. You need to find one other fish and settle down.” “Are you serious?” we heard her say sharply under water. “I’m the hottest little flounder in the marsh! Everybody says so and it’s true! Besides who doesn’t fool around!” But she kept on going, now grumbling all the while. She swam slowly by other signs that said “You must give a portion of your hard won fish food to those who don’t have any.” “Sacrifice your gulf golf, shell shopping, or nap time each Sunday to swim in schools to learn more about how to get through this straight and narrow stream.” “Smoking dried seaweed’s bad for your health.” “You must love and do service for other fish, even when you’re too tired.” “You must forgive barracudas and sharks for being mean and try to help them.”

She swam slower and slower past each sign but when she swam by that last one we saw her tail flip and her silvery body turn and dart back down the little rivulet and into the murky water of the pond. There she stopped to scold the two fish who were still swimming at the entrance trying to convince others to give the straight and narrow a chance.

“You must be out of your minds!” She practically shouted. “You want me to give up all my freedom, all my fun! I’m not buying it! No one tells me I can’t eat green algae! And there’s no hope for barricudas! I’ll always hate them! Forgive them my fin! I choose for myself! I choose algae and fooling around! I choose freedom!” She swam off to search the underside of rocks. It was Saturday.

That was the end of the little drama.

Amazed we all stood up, hardly being able to believe what we’d just seen and heard. Then slowly each one of us became very sad. Because, as we looked around we all could see what the little fish couldn’t from where she was down in the murky pond. That straight and narrow rivulet led to the little stream. The stream went under the bridge, past the reeds and marshes, and then out to the sea. The awesome Pacific which joined on the other side of the world with the Atlantic and all the other mighty seas of the earth. An entire planet that was made mostly of water. Freedom beyond wildest dreams. Endless possibilities beyond imagining. Thrown away by the small fish swimming round and round in the little murky pond. Thrown away in the name of freedom.

What a lesson, I thought. We need to remember it. I sent one of the kids back to the camper for the fishing net and a bucket. The murky pond was drying up anyway so we caught the little fish, named her Francine and kept her for many years in a little bowl on a shelf. She reminded us of the day when we all learned a great lesson about freedom.

The Mystery That Is Man

I may have shared this with you before but my memory is like a sieve now and it’s been on my mind. You see I’ve been married for closing in on 50 years, all that time to a man. Since I’m not a stupid woman you’d think that would lead to some kind of insight or understanding of male thinking, but sadly you’d be wrong. They’re a mystery. Still.

This line of thought was brought on by our gorgeous desert fall weather, by the way. It’s planting time down here in our sunny valley. Other folks in the northern hemisphere may be putting up storm windows and shoveling those flakes but I’ve been keeping a sharp lookout at Wal-mart and Loews for the first six packs of flowering annuals. (Yes, I know about that old gardener’s saying….. “Friends don’t let friends plant annuals, perenials rule!, but I don’t care.) I nearly shouted with glee the other day when I scored some Johnny-jump ups. I swear they looked like little purple and yellow giggles bobbing in the breeze….you couldn’t help but smile. I even managed to get them planted in the back patio pots all by myself. ( Grandkids had previously lugged the heavy bags of potting soil and filled them for me.) I snuck them in among the petunias, geraniums and dianthus already getting started. Then as I surveyed my work my eyes cast over our entire backyard. When we moved here some ten years ago there wasn’t a green growing thing anywhere. A few dried tumbleweeds had blown into the corners of the block fence, the only sign of life to be found. So we planted trees and shrubs galore, hoping for shade from the relentless desert sun among other things. As I looked around I realized how wildly successful we’d been. In addition to what we’d planted on purpose there’d been a couple of volunteers now grown to huge trees. One mesquite will soon reach above the house. In fact, it’s kind of a jungle out here now. Something will need to be done, I worried. Then my eyes fell on a bare spot along the fence. Once I’d planted a beautiful “String of Pearls” bouganvillia there but it didn’t make it. I remembered the day I found out why. It was another of those “the mystery that is man” days.

I recalled that it was the first February we’d lived here. All our plantings were still new and tentative looking. All except the weeds that were coming up in a solid carpet of green where nothing but dirt had been when we moved in. Somehow the winter rains had magically found seeds waiting for moisture. Nature’s miracle had happened in our own backyard (front yard too, actually). Well, the miracle must be stopped. And it must be stopped right away because the homeowners association would send us an ugly letter if weeds were spotted from the street. (Don’t get me wrong. We’re actually grateful for our HO. It protects the neighborhood property values from people like us.) So Larry was put in charge of getting rid of the weeds. I didn’t even have to nag him because he’s afraid of the Homeowners Ass. as he fondly calls it. I was thinking some kind of herbicide spray would do the trick but then I was not Larry who is a man.

His first thought when given the task of weed removal was to build a contraption out of a two wheeled dolly (that thing you move heavy appliances with), a sprayer, and a propane tank from the barbeque. This wouldn’t have occurred to me. His invention shot fire out the end of the sprayer and made a terrifying blasting, whoosing noise like a hot air balloon being filled before liftoff. He drug it along behind him as he went from weed to weed incinerating it. It left awful black burn marks all over the yard and caused dogs to bark from blocks away. It was horrible. One day our daughter and son-in-law came over when Larry was “weeding,” as he now loved to do. Scott, who is also a man, thought this remarkable invention was a stroke of genius and asked to borrow it for their yard. I joyfully convinced Larry that he needed to share. It made him sad but he agreed. A couple of days later I got a frantic call from Kim. “Ma, tell Dad to come get his fire blower. Scott is burning up the whole yard and black splotches are everywhere. Today I caught the boys looking at it and I know they were trying to figure out how it works. That thing is dangerous! Get over here quick before someone gets hurt!”

I did notice that none of their five daughters tried to figure out how it worked…..only the males who would one day become men. Apparently this thing starts early.

Anyway, a few weeks later we were again out in the yard working when I noticed my lovely “String of Pearls” bouganvillia over along the fence. This variety was a hard to find delicate pinkish white. I was anxious to see it in color. To my great dismay it looked sick. In fact it looked dead. I said to my dear husband, “Oh no…..look at my bouganvillia! And it was doing so well!

Larry stopped what he was doing, gazed over to my poor plant pensively and said, “ That’s too bad, hon.” He stared quietly for a minute and then said, “I think it must get too hot over there by the fence.”

“Too hot!” I cried. No, that can’t be it. Bouganvillia love the heat.” I walked sadly over to investigate. There among the black scorch marks on the ground were poking the charred roots of my once promising plant.

I turned and sent an accusing look over at my husband.

He actually said without shame, “Look….there’s no weeds around it.”

This whole thing got me to thinking about the scriptures. Specifically about Adam in the garden of Eden. As I recall it tells about a time when Adam was left alone there. Father looked down on him and said something like…….

“ Will you look at that. There’s Adam all alone in the garden. Well, that certainly is NOT good! Good grief he needs help! Quick, hurry and get a woman or there’s no telling what will happen.”

And so woman was put on the earth. If you think about this even a little you’ll realize that the whole divine purpose of woman’s existence is to stop men from doing all the crazy stuff they want to do. You can read all about it in the Old Testament. (You’ll notice that there’s no mention of Adam making a fire blowing weed killer. Thank you Eve.)

It’s amazing to me how the scriptures, most of them written long ago, still apply to our lives today. I guess some things never change, do they?

Are All Men Created Equal?

All men are created equal is an idea that changed the world. Even so, special ed teachers like me sometimes have a little difficulty with that “created equally” thing, despite its being such a lofty principle. You see, it’s because we work with precious kids who sometimes seem to be a little bit “less equal” right from the start. Some of our students are blind or deaf. Some have broken bodies or are unable to think or communicate. Some have been abused and have been left to deal with emotional issues. Many have been affected by alcohol or drugs even before birth. All of them have difficulty dealing with traditional school. For sure, “All men are created equal” doesn’t always ring true for us.

I really struggled with this for a long time. It tested my faith to be honest. Sometimes I just couldn’t figure out what God was thinking. Then one particular day at school I began to consider some possibilities at a time when I needed understanding most.

I was working with a young girl in a wheelchair who had multiple disabilities. In addition to not being able to walk, she also couldn’t hear or speak and had limited vision. She’d been my student for months now but suddenly my heart began to ache for her. She started to drool and as I leaned over to wipe her lovely face my thoughts cried out to Heavenly Father. “Why, Father? Why is this precious young girl living her life like this? Where’s the love or justice in that? I thought you loved all of your children. Do you love her? She’s perfectly innocent. Why is she like this? I don’t understand you!”

Then, through that angry aching, from somewhere came thoughts or impressions. Maybe they were things I’d heard or read, or felt. I don’t really know.

“Some of these volunteered to come to earth in this manner that “great things may be required at the hands of their fathers.”

“Some came only to get bodies as they are great and valiant spirits who didn’t require the lessons of this life.”

“Some are being protected from the adversary who has no power to tempt them as they now are.”

A calm feeling slowly began to replace the pain in my heart. I didn’t know if any of those things were true or even possible but now I was positively sure of one thing. It was simply this.

There Are Things We Don’t Know.

Yes, there are facts we don’t have. But Father has all the facts and he knows everything. He’s going to take care of what we see as injustice from our perspective in this life. We need to trust him. Father says that he is no “respecter of persons.” He says that all of his children are of equal “value” to him. We need to believe him.

Then I thought about the scriptures……thoughts that Heavenly Father wants us to have, isn’t that what they are?

In the Book of Mormon we’re told, “Thou shall not esteem one flesh above another.” Now there’s an enlightened and life changing thought for you! That one goes light years past “all men are created equal” doesn’t it? Blind, deaf, broken or whatever. Rich, poor, male or female. Powerful or humble. Strong and healthy or weak and frail. Educated or unlearned. Black, white, red or yellow. All of equal value. All esteemed the same by our eternal Heavenly Father and so should be by each of us. That’s what it says.

Yes, on that day I began to believe that we’ll see each of God’s children restored, their bodies and minds whole. He made that part of the plan. I began to believe that great blessings will come to my special kids and all will agree that Heavenly Father showed perfect love and perfect justice to every one of them.

Love. Justice. Equality. Opportunity for growth. Every one of God’s children will have it. Everyone loved with perfect love.

Knowing that helped me. I hope it helps you too.

Once I Saw...

The holidays approach. When extended families get together the world is a better place when controversial topics like politics aren’t served up along with the turkey. To avoid post-election contention and indigestion you can play a lovely game called “Once I Saw.” It’s very simple and all ages can play. Everyone thinks of a special sight in their memory bank that has stayed with them for a long time because it was so beautiful or unexpected. Then they take turns sharing it. I’ll give you some examples.

The first winter that our desert dweller family lived in the mountains of Arizona was full of amazing new experiences. Those of you who’ve lived in cold climates perhaps would use a different word. We had moved from the almost always sunny city to a tiny fishing cabin in the woods of Forest Lakes. Everybody we knew thought we were nuts, by the way. Lots of snow was expected annually, about nine feet altogether. Some of us had never even seen snow actually falling before, only patches on daytrips. Our only heat was a wood stove. Anyhow, the snow thing brought me many “once I saws,” and I’m grateful for all of them. One time, after a storm left us over two feet of snow, I pulled on my new Wal-Mart moon and snow boots and began to trudge my way slowly to the road to see if the plow had been by. The clouds had broken up and were clearing, and the sky was that impossible cobalt mountain blue with sunshine so bright it made everything sparkle. Lots of little, puffy, white clouds were drifting by. My cheeks and nose stung with the cold but everywhere else I was wrapped up and warm. Then, I looked up to see that inside each cloud there was a rainbow floating along inside it! An actual, perfect, miniature rainbow in each and every cloud! I suppose the sun was shining through ice crystals or something but it was a beautiful miracle to see. I never saw it again in all the years we lived there.

Surprisingly, that wood stove heating thing brought a “once I saw.” It took some adjustment but it turned out that we were never cold if we kept a small fire burning. In fact we often had to open windows a bit to keep from getting too warm. I suppose it helped that the house was so tiny. Anyway, Larry’s and my bed was right under a window and one clear night as I got under the pile of comforters and put my feet on him to keep them warm, I opened the window just a ways for ventilation and high-tech temperature control. After a wonderful, snug night we awoke to the sight of powdery, white snow covering the blankets for about six inches just past our noses. A storm had come up while we slept and had blown snow in through the screen where it landed softly while we slept. That was something we’d never seen in the valley!

Icicles were also an intriguing novelty to desert rats. They grew longer, drip by drip throughout the winter, with all of us watching them finally go from roof to ground by February. Then one morning, after a wet snowfall, we made our way to the car to head the 17 miles to school, and there on all the low branches of the huge ponderosa pines which surrounded the house were perfect little icicles sparkling in the morning light. They were everywhere. It seemed as if elves had come to decorate the whole forest during the night!

Animals make great “Once I Saws” too. Once, while walking on a beach in Florida I looked back to see Larry standing on a bluff shouting and pointing out to sea. I turned just in time to see the huge black and white belly of a whale as it made a perfect semi-circle in the air and then crashed with a mighty splash back into the Atlantic.
Another time I was standing on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. We had just visited Cabrillo lighthouse near San Diego and had stopped to see the spectacular view. I stood on the bluff, a strong wind coming off the ocean. I turned my head to the right to find a seagull standing still in mid-air. It was right at my eye level, about four feet away, wings outstretched, not moving a feather, gliding on that sea breeze. Then it turned only its head to look straight at me. After several seconds it leaned to the right and flew off into the wind. A brief encounter that will last a lifetime.

Then again I’ll always remember a mama bear and two cubs as they took off in a lumbering run through a ravine as we drove down a dusty dirt road on our way to gather pinon nuts. A skunk eating cat food on the front porch while a kitten stood on its back legs taking playful swipes at his gorgeous, fluffy tail. Bald eagles roosting on a snag just off the highway next to the Circle K. The herd of mule deer that suddenly appeared out of nowhere when I turned in the yard with the hose to water the irises. They never made a sound. Or the bull elk with the huge antler rack who raised his majestic head from the flower bed just two feet outside the living room window causing a young daughter sitting inside to exclaim in alarm, “Holy schnickey!”

There are lots of desert “once I saws” too, and I even have one from my brother that I never actually witnessed. He told me about a time when his family was up at Lake Powell boating. He says it’s astonishingly beautiful. They sailed under a red rock arch where water was trickling in a sparkling shower down to the lake below. His boys jumped in to swim under the drops which he said looked like thousands of diamonds. Then they just starting laughing as they dog-paddled under the gems dropping on their heads. Words failed, I guess.

I’ve often wanted to go there to see for myself. But then I know that’s not possible. Moments like that are gifts that only happen once.

The scriptures teach us that Heavenly Father made the beautiful things of the world to gladden the eye and delight the heart of man. Father sends “once I saws” to each of us as reminders I think. Reminders that he’s there. That he loves us and wants us to be happy. That no matter how hard, life can sometimes be incredibly beautiful.

Yes, precious little gifts from God. That’s what a “once I saw” is. I think all of us have been given some of these, and sadly sometimes miss them for one reason or another. We need to appreciate what they truly are. Tender mercies. Love notes from Father.

Once I saw. Share some of yours with family and friends this holiday season. Listen to some of theirs. It will make for far better conversation than politics, I promise.

Mrs. Wagher's Door

My classes of high school students had been identified as having a learning disability of some kind. In addition, they usually had significant problems with reading. This didn’t mean that they weren’t smart, though. Many of them were very bright, even gifted in areas like mechanics, art, people skills, or athletics. But reading was usually a sore spot. This alone made succeeding in school a big problem. Why don’t you try passing history, government, English or science classes when you can’t read the textbook. It’s a challenge I can tell you.

Many of these students were my heroes for not giving up. They knew their future would be better if they had a high school diploma so they refused to drop out. They usually hated school with a passion but they hung in there anyway. I remember one wonderful kid, a big, strong football tackle, the kind of young man who put his body on the line for his team every week without fear. After struggling with a biology text all period long he put his head in his hands and said in near desperation……“Mrs. Wagher……I just can’t do it anymore! There’s too many words!” Words on a piece of paper were a far bigger challenge for him than any hulking football opponent. He stuck with it, though, and graduated with his class. Some of my students kept at it long after many less determined souls would have given up. I remember a sweet young woman who finally earned all her credits for graduation and walked proudly up on stage to get her diploma just after her 21st birthday. Her whole family stood up and cheered. So did I.

One thing I did to encourage them to read and process printed language was to post a quote on the outside of my classroom door every day. I gathered these from all over and listed the author when I knew it. The thoughts were in large print….in color…...with a border…… at eye level. They usually were about something we were learning in class. The kids would see them when they opened the door and they read them because they knew we’d be having a discussion as soon as the bell rang. Well, little did I know that some of the most important teaching moments of the school year came from those “Great Thoughts” as we came to call them. I remember a few that caused some interesting comments.

　

* Darkness can not drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hatred can not drive out hatred, only love can do that.

M.L. King

(Many of my students were well acquainted with gangs. Hatred can not drive out hatred was a hot topic for several days.)

* If You Have to Swallow a Frog It’s Best Not to Stare At Him Too Long First.

Mark Twain

(I asked a student some months after this one why he hadn’t turned in his English paper yet. He said he’d been busy staring at frogs.)



*No Success Can Compensate For Failure In the Home.



* We Have Met The Enemy And He Is Us.

*They Say That Money Can’t Buy Happiness. Another Thing Is True About Money. To Be Happy Buy At Least One Dollar Less Than You Make. To Be Miserable Buy One Dollar More.

* Work is love made visible.



* First we shape our homes and then our homes shape us.



* Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space lies our opportunity to choose. In the choice lies our destiny.

* Kindness Is Never a Mistake. Cruelty Always Is.

*No man is an island. Each is a piece of the continent a part of the main. Every man’s death diminishes me for I am involved in mankind. Therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls….it tolls for thee.

*The Best Way To Get Rid Of An Enemy Is To Make Him A Friend.



* Hold the door for everyone you meet. All are carrying a heavy load whether you can see it or not.



Once I posted this two pager after a 16 year old, unmarried student became a father……again.

On the top sheet it said….

*Sex is one of the most powerful forces known to mankind. When done properly sex can bring you the most complete joy that life has to offer. When done improperly sex may bring pain, misery and death not only to you but to innocent people around you.


Lift This Paper To See What Can Happen When Sex Is Done Properly

 
(Under the first paper was a picture of 10 of my grandchildren gathered together at a family celebration. At the bottom it said, “Your children and grandchildren will come into your life because of this powerful force. Are you ready for them now? If not……….it might be better to wait.”)


I’m telling you about my door because of the great discussions it started. Do you suppose it might do the same at a dinner table with your teenagers or in the car on the way to practice. I came to know what was in the hearts of many of my students because of their responses to those thoughts. I was often very surprised. Is there someone you’d like to know better? Ask them what they think about a great thought.

Peach Trees

There’s this thing about obedience. I learned about it because of some peach trees. It’s kind of a long story but I’ll share it because it’s stayed with me over the years.

Way back in the day, our young family bought a new house. It was only a tract home, but in a new subdivision, and we were all excited to have a bigger place. This new house was on a cul-de-sac and had the biggest backyard in the whole neighborhood. It was huge. We thought this was a good thing because we were planning to plant lots of fruit trees. The Prophet had recently encouraged the members of the church to grow gardens, berries, and fruit trees wherever possible. We were especially anxious to be obedient as converts often are.

I thought this was wonderful counsel by the way. Just think what a difference it would make if everyone who could grew some kind of food. Why, even city dwellers could grow tomatoes and herbs in pots on a windowsill. Church members were being encouraged to produce what the world needed not just consume it. This was an example of the “great things coming about through small means” principle. I loved our Prophet. His counsel was inspired.

So, we moved to our new house in September. In the desert southwest where we live, December is bare root tree planting time. This was what we would plant. Our yard was now a barren wasteland but we could see a green orchard in our mind’s eye.

At last the time came when the trees went on sale. If you’re not familiar with them, bare root trees and bushes look a bit like large sticks. At the nursery one gets carried away because they’re so small and are so cheap compared to trees that come in containers. In a frenzy of obedient enthusiasm, we bought 27 fruit trees and berry bushes even though the nursery guy said large sized holes were needed for each of them. “Soil prep is the most important thing,” he cautioned. Well, we weren’t afraid of work. The Prophet had said we were to grow things after all. 27 holes……. that was a lot of digging for sure…….. but it was the right thing. We’d be blessed.

So we hauled the trees home and soaked the roots in wheelbarrows, buckets and tubs as instructed. Then we headed out into the wasteland to start digging.

Larry is a big, strong man and he started in the corner of the yard on the first hole. After a little while, I looked up to see that there was some kind of trouble. He wasn’t pushing the shovel into the ground as he usually did when digging. He was teetering on the top edge with both feet, kind of bouncing around a bit. The blade was about an inch into the ground. I called out to him, “What’s wrong, Hon?” He called back, “They must have spilled cement over here when they were building. I’ll have to try a new spot.” He moved to a place at the end of the fence. After a minute or so I looked up to see that same, strange, bouncing with both feet on the shovel thing. He moved again. Same bounce. He tried all over that great big yard. The shovel wouldn’t penetrate more than an inch anywhere. He tried soaking with the hose. After the water finally soaked in, the shovel went an inch to the dry part and hit “cement” again. He came over to me and said, “Call someone. This isn’t right.”

I called the builder. He said that no cement had been dumped in our yard. I called the nursery guy who’d told us to dig large holes. He was no help. Finally I called the University of Arizona Agricultural Extension Department. A very nice and knowledgeable man said he knew exactly what our problem was.

“What?” I asked gratefully.

He said, “Caliche.”

“Caliche…. What’s that? I asked.

“It’s a type of soil mineral common in some areas of the desert.” he replied. “Sometimes it’s called “calcrete.” That’s your problem.”

“What’s the solution?” I asked.

“Move,” he replied. (I swear he really said that!)

Of course we couldn’t move so we bought some soil additives which he said might help. This was very expensive. Then we headed out into the wasteland armed with picks, shovels and the hose. We developed a system. Use the pick to create a hole about an inch deep. Fill it with water and expensive additives. Wait for it to soak in while working on the next hole. Use the shovel to dig out the inch of mud. Use the pick again, repeat.

Several days later we were still out in the wasteland digging holes. Every spare minute was spent with a pick or a shovel in our blistered hands. We were now trying to get these dang trees and bushes planted before the soaking roots rotted. I stood up to rub my aching back and wipe the sweat that was running into my eyes…… in December……when I had an experience that’s stayed with me since. As I stood up my eyes went over our fence to the horizon. The next block of houses were still in construction so I could see a long way off. I noticed that I could even see the top of our new ward’s meeting house clear over on Thunderbird Road. That must be miles away, I guessed. As I saw the church I began to think heavy thoughts. “We’re trying to be obedient to the Lord. Why is this so hard? This shouldn’t be so hard! We’re only trying to do what’s right. We’re only trying to do what the prophet asked us to do. When people are trying to do a good thing it shouldn’t be this hard! Every time I try to do something just because the Lord wants me to, it’s just plain too hard! It’s just not worth all this trouble. People shouldn’t have sweat running in their eyes in December! All of us would rather go in the house and watch a movie instead of digging these dumb holes!” The heavy thoughts in my head grew to a loud wail that I could almost hear.

That’s when it happened. As I looked across to the church it seemed as if a little white cloud came drifting across the desert. It came right over to our fence and just hung there. In the cloud there was a scripture written like words are written in a comic strip. It said, “Cursed is the ground for thy sake.”

Cursed is the ground for thy sake? What in blazes is that supposed to mean? Why did that come floating over the desert to hang in the air over our wasteland? Why now? Where had I read that in the scriptures anyway? I began to recall…for one thing I thought this was something that was said to Adam after he had disobeyed in the Garden. “Cursed is the ground for thy sake.” That’s an interesting way to put it for sure. Adam was in trouble for not obeying Father as I remembered. He could have been told……..You never listen! Now you’re going to be punished…….. or……..You’re bad! You’ll be sorry now…….or…. When will you ever learn! This’ll teach you! Adam could have been told any of those things but instead he was told that the ground was cursed for his sake. For his sake.

Usually when something is done for a person’s sake it’s to help them, isn’t it? How could ground cursing help anybody? I thought hard……. leaning on my shovel…… over the 18th miserable hole of my patch of cursed ground.

Well, maybe the right thing isn’t supposed to be easy, I thought. Could that be it? These darn holes had sure developed the muscles in my arms, anyway. And I wasn’t giving up. I was determined to plant the dang things. So was Larry. Our resolve to do something hard was strengthening. Now it was partly because we couldn’t waste the money, but nevertheless. Our kids had been out here helping. They knew we were trying to follow the Prophet. That was a good thing for them to know. I guess I had to admit there were some positives in this miserable situation.

The right thing isn’t always supposed to be easy? Really? Could that be important? Maybe we develop strength or empathy or patience or some other thing we need when we have to struggle. Maybe obedience and those other qualities are skills that grow with practice, like playing the piano. Was that part of the ground cursing thing? Could this be Heavenly Father’s plan? I know He loves us….He wants us to be strong and determined to do right……could cursed ground help? It was something for a raggedy old convert to think more about. Ponder even.

Well, many of those bare root trees and bushes didn’t survive in our caliche infested soil. But a few peach trees did. I remember some years later working in our backyard and having to devise a support for one branch of a peach tree because it was so heavy with peaches that it threatened to break. That was the year that I made my first jar of peach jam. The peaches for that jam came from our own tree.

New blessings from old obedience.

Who knew? Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy. Ponder on it.

Tips for Working Teens

Sometimes I really miss the classroom. Now is one of those times. All the grandkids are back in school, two daughters are again teaching teenagers, and I don’t get to go. Just when I have some really great ideas that would revolutionize modern education my body poops out on me and I don’t get to go. What’s the deal? I feel left out, like the last lonely child in a large family who sits waving goodbye as the school bus pulls out with all the brothers and sisters inside. I actually saw that happen once. A poor, despondent 5 year old perched all alone on a little, front yard fence. Mom was on the porch watching, as the laughing gang of kids pulled away on that magic yellow bus. The sad slumping shoulders on that little one is an image that’s stayed with me.

One class I used to teach was my favorite. It was called “Lifeskills” and was directed to teenagers with learning disabilities. Topics included everything from job interviews to driver safety, preparing for disasters and parenting to how to manage credit and basic cooking. In one lesson we even went over the importance of not mixing bleach and ammonia when cleaning a bathroom. This was a little lifeskill which none of my male students knew. Since we also learned that “Housework is the work for the people who live in the house,” it may come in handy for them someday. This was the most relevant high school class I’ve ever seen. These were things that really mattered. I was in favor of making it a requirement for all students. This was knowledge I wish someone had passed on to me when I was 18. Who knew that I’d be rich today if I’d faithfully saved just $20 a week in a savings account and never touched it until now. Why didn’t somebody pound that into my head instead of some of the other useless stuff we all had to learn?

Anyway, one of the things we studied in our Lifeskills class made an immediate impact on the life of a student. This young man got a raise at his first job because of something he learned in Lifeskills. He was excited to tell us all about it and great for a teacher to hear. (Made a difference with that one. Yeah!)

The lesson was this. When on the job always do three things when given any task.



1. Check first impressions.

2. Go the extra mile.

3. Don’t stand around.

Check first impressions means always check your work before anybody sees it, from where they’ll see it. Actually stand in the exact place that your boss will stand when she first sees the job you’ve done. Look hard. Look under stuff. Look in corners. Is it perfect? If it’s a paper or a report what does the cover and title page look like? Are there peanut butter or onion dip stains anywhere? If so, do it over! First impressions need to be impressive.

Go the extra mile means that you do something that you weren’t told to do. If you were to bring the office supplies into the back room it means that you put them on the shelf and straighten the one below them. If you’re the hostess at the greasy spoon it means that you have a crayon and paper ready for little kids and that you ask all adults their names and say “Hope to see you again soon, Mr. Newspickle,” when they leave.

Don’t stand around means just that. Never wait to be told what to do next. Find something until you’re told. If you’re clearing tables and finish, go wipe the fingerprints off the front door until the next table needs bussing. If there’s a lull in your line at the bank start wrapping coins in between customers. Whatever seems needed to help the cause of your employer.

Back when I was teaching this class I remember a conversation I had at a big family gathering. I was talking with three relatives who were all bosses at the time. I asked them what they thought was the most important skill that teens needed to succeed on a first job. I was half expecting to hear “math skills” or the like. All three of them said virtually the same thing……“We need kids who know how to work! We can teach them how to do the specifics of the job but none of these kids know how to work!” My son-in-law, a restaurant manager, said he’d just promoted a busboy for doing the window cleaning thing, as a matter of fact. Other busboys who’d been there longer protested to him, saying that cleaning fingerprints off the front door wasn’t their job. Scott just told them, “My point exactly.” Son Dane said he longed for employees who didn’t think they had 10 absent days allowed each semester like they had in school. Show up. Everyday. On time. That’s what he longed for. The others agreed. They said I should add that to our list. So we made that number four.

4. Show up. Everyday. On time.

This means If you have a headache, cramps, or your girlfriend invited you to the lake and you’re scheduled to work…..Go To Work! No matter what. And be there on time. On time means 10 minutes early not 10 minutes late.

So teenagers, remember these four simple steps to success in the workplace. Make them all habits and you’ll go far in life. I promise.

A last word to parents. Unfortunately, unless your child has a disability, he probably won’t learn about these important principles in school. Since they could be the difference between success and failure in every job your child ever holds, you might have to teach him yourself.

I think teaching “Lifeskills” is actually in the parent job description, by the way, so get going.

A Burp Can Be Forever

Even though it pains me I have to admit that television can be a blessing. I usually think it’s a waste of time, at best. But Conference is coming up and yesterday I watched that wonderful old musical “Fiddler On the Roof.” You know the one……..about Tevye…….. the Jewish milkman in Russia, during the cruel days of czarist persecution. He explains how he and his people survive all their hardships through an inspiring song called “Tradition.” It reminded me of a Relief Society lesson I once taught on that same subject. The lesson urged us to develop traditions in our families as they may become ties that bind us together for eternity. I agree. I remember using a spool of thread to wind, over and over again, around the clasped hands of a sister. This was to show how something as small as a thread, if wound enough times, is as strong as any rope in holding things together.

Nowadays though, holding things together isn’t as easy as it used to be. Most of our lives are very different from that of a milkman living in a small village centuries ago. Not simple for sure. In fact complicated and stressed might be more accurate. Everybody in the family is on a demanding schedule, even the kids. What with work, school, church, sports, scouts, etc. who has time for tradition? Well, the relief society lesson said we should make time if we want to be linked to each other forever. And with a little pondering, as the Good Book says, we can see opportunities all around us.

The key here is to think small and to remember the thread. It’s just not true that meaningful family traditions have to be elaborate or expensive rituals reserved for holidays or vacations. Sometimes the most everyday occasions become the most remembered.

One sister told me about a simple tradition that’s become the favorite of her whole family. It came about quite by accident. It seems that one day while shopping she ran across some bright lime green plastic plates and tumblers on clearance for 50 cents each. She bought a bunch of them thinking they’d be good for barbeques and picnics. Instead, it turned out that in a moment of divine inspiration, she brought those bright dishes out one night when someone in the family did something worth a little celebration. She served root beer in the green tumblers and proposed a toast to the honoree. After that if anybody in the family won a race, or earned an “A” or got a first job or a long awaited promotion, or learned to tie their shoes, whatever……. those lime green plastic plates came out. When the family came home and saw the “green” table they knew somebody had a little victory of some kind. This smart mom also made it a habit to keep a few bottles of root beer hidden away for just these occasions. The family gathered for dinner and after the prayer someone was chosen to lead the toast. One time, the eight year old son was to do the toasting. He had sneaked a couple of swallows of root beer before the prayer.

Well, after he made his little congratulatory speech he stood and raised his green plastic tumbler. Just as he proudly declared, “To Sally….for finally getting an “A” in science…..a long, loud, root beer burp came rolling out. Everybody laughed of course but sadly for our dear sister a family tradition had been born. Now, at every celebration, the one giving the toast says…… “To blank…….Loud, rolling burp…..for doing a wonderful thing!”

The whole family always roars with laughter. The first child who went away to college said this was the thing she missed most about her family. Her younger brother said that whenever he hears someone burp, no matter where he is, he thinks about home and feels honored.

Traditions……ties that bind…….threads in the tapestry of family. Sometimes the simplest things can mean the most. Pancakes on Saturday mornings, watching the college game with Dad and giving that special, goofy cheer at every touchdown. Notes of encouragement in a shirt pocket or backpack, popcorn and a Disney flick on Friday nights, a special song for cheering up, reading books aloud in the car on long trips, a wife’s secret code of a handful of Starburst candies placed in a husband’s briefcase, a hundred other small, everyday traditions. The trick is to repeat them, like the thread, until they have the power to bind.

Traditions. A single, simple thread, wound over and over again. Strong stuff.

Who knew that a burp could be forever?

Just Two Syllables

This incident happened over twenty years ago but I’ll never forget what it taught me. One of our daughters told me about something that happened at her school right around the time of General Conference. Well, I remembered that conference, the Prophet’s counsel, and my raggedy old convert questions about it. One of the main points of his message was this. He said that we should all be nice. He said we needed to be friendly.

When I heard his words I was a little taken aback. I thought, “Nice and friendly are good things but are they really of eternal importance.” I believed that the prophet spoke for Heavenly Father, being inspired by Him to tell us what we needed to do. Here we were, in this crazy world, all kinds of problems everywhere and what Heavenly Father wants from his children is for them to “Be nice?” How could that be of eternal importance? How could that make any real change in peoples’ lives. Millions were listening all over the world. I expected something a little more monumental.

Thankfully, by now I’d had enough experience as a member of the church to know that if I questioned what the Prophet or an apostle taught us, there was something I was missing. So I sat down to think. Then I got up and tried to be nicer and waited for understanding. It came that very week as I was picking up our daughter after school.

As she got in the car I could tell she was upset about something. It was 17 miles home from the high school so there was plenty of time to talk. She wanted to talk. It seems there was a new girl at school. Kelley was showing her around. This girl had moved from the big city. She was not a member of the church in a small town where many of the kids were, and was shy and introverted by nature. She was sweet and trying to adjust to her new life. Kell and some of the other girls were trying to make her feel at home and welcome.

Just about all of the Mormon kids went to seminary in a small building across the high school parking lot. After a few days, her new friend started to wait for Kelley after the period when she had seminary. They both had math next so she waited on the sidewalk so they could walk together. The new girl had questions. What was this little building where so many kids took classes? What’s seminary? What do they teach in seminary? Then, “What church is this?” And then, “What do Mormons believe?” Kelley was excited because she felt this young woman was a special spirit and may be searching for the truth. She began to explain things to her and was getting ready to invite her to Mutual.

Well, one day as she was coming down the steps of the seminary building, a group of guys were walking just ahead of her. These were among the most popular guys in school. Most of them football and basketball stars, they were the “hunkiest jocks” of all. Half the girls in school were crazy over them. Great kids too, each one active in the church, from fine families, headed for missions most probably.

The guys proceeded across the way, laughing and joking the way boys do. They came to the sidewalk by the school where the new girl was waiting. The most handsome jock of all, the most popular guy at school was at the front and as he approached this sweet, shy, girl he said laughingly,

“Move Ho!”

All the other guys laughed as they went on their way to class.

Our daughter was still on the steps of the seminary and could see her friend’s face as the boys passed. She saw the blush of embarrassment and hurt. She said she’ll never forget it because she knew right then that there would not be any more questions about what all the kids were learning in that little building, or what do Mormons believe.

Just two syllables of “not nice.” Could something that small be important? Could it be of eternal significance even? Could it change somebody’s life? Could one person finding the truth make the world a different place? Think about it.

I’m sure those boys meant no harm. They were fine, valiant, sons of Heavenly Father. They were just fooling around being boys. I’ve done the same thoughtless kind of thing myself I’m sure. But what they said on that day wasn’t nice. It wasn’t friendly. And maybe it was important.

So……a Prophet said that Heavenly Father wants us to be nice to each other…..to be friendly. Well, what if, for just one day even, everyone in the entire world were nice to everyone else. No unkindness, no rudeness, no cruelty, no selfishness, no “me first.” Just “Let me help you with that,” and “Wait, I’ll hold the door for you.” Everyone….everywhere….all over the planet……nice to each other…….smiling and friendly. What would that do? Could something that simple possibly be of eternal importance?

Think about a world like that.

Remember the Important Thing

Remember the Important Thing

My very first year of teaching brought me a lesson that became valuable to me as a parent. I was teaching 7th and 8th grade math and was part of a group of eight junior high teachers and four “Specials,” as we called them, who taught art, PE, etc. It was conference time. Parent teacher conferences were held in the gym with the teachers at tables around the edge of the basketball court and chairs for parents lined up in the middle. There were no set appointments because each student had a different teacher for every subject. Parents waited for an opening with the person they wanted to talk to and then could move on to another. It was all very efficient.

Well, the evening was winding down and I’d had no parents for about 15 minutes. One of the moms sitting and waiting for another teacher came over and sat down to chat. I introduced myself and it turned out that I didn’t have her son in my class. I’d heard about him though.

Mom began to open up about her son’s teachers and the school. She expressed in no uncertain terms her displeasure. All involved with her child were idiots who were trying to push her kid around. They’d done the same thing with her older boy. All the things her son had been accused of were someone else’s fault. She’d been down to see the principal several times this year already to make sure he knew about his teachers’ stupidity. Next, she was planning to go to the school board to tell them of the principal’s stupidity. They should all be fired. Her husband felt the same way.

Well, I was new at this parent teacher conference thing, but I was very glad that I didn’t have this particular boy in my class. I tried to make small talk on a more neutral topic and said that I had a child starting at the same high school where her older boy must be attending. I asked about her older son to see if he might know mine or be trying out for the same teams. Anything to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. I’ll never forget her answer.

She glanced over to see if there was an opening at the next “idiot” teacher’s table and said, “Oh, he wouldn’t know him. My son quit. He doesn’t go to school anymore.”

I was speechless for a bit then grateful as she left to see the next idiot. Food for thought, to be sure. So I began to think. This poor young man had been taught powerful lessons about education by his parents. His entire life will be affected by what he learned from them. How he spends a huge chunk of his time each day, the people he associates with, the type of home he lives in, the car he drives, where he goes on vacation, what he can provide for his own family will all be influenced. As I sadly thought about this young man I began to get concerned about my own family. What should my husband’s and my attitude be on this subject with our kids? Well, I finally decided our attitude should be that the teacher and the school are always right. Now, being a teacher myself I knew very well that the teacher and the school are certainly not always right. I myself, was usually wrong at least once before lunch every day. But I decided that it was important to our children’s future that they think that their parents were solidly behind the school….pretty much no matter what.

Education would be a top priority in our family. If we had issues with teachers or the school they would be dealt with without the kids knowing about it. I wanted them to believe that even though some teachers will be more skilled than others, they could learn something from all of them. In fact, it was their job to do exactly that. It was their responsibility to complete all requirements and to get credit for every class. If there were problems they should deal with it. A while later I got some feedback on how we were doing with this policy. On the way home from school one afternoon two daughters were complaining about a teacher and the unfair policies in his class. One child asked me if I agreed and before I could answer, the other said, “Never mind…with her the teacher is always right!” Now I knew perfectly well that the teacher isn’t always right, but my heart went “Woo Hoo!” anyway.

I think it’s crucial for parents to remember something here. It’s the old, “It’s important to keep the important thing the important thing,” principle that’s at the heart of this parenting issue. You see, I don’t have an eternal relationship with the teacher, the school or the principal. It’s not important for me to be “right” when dealing with them. They’ll come and go as the years pass. I do care about my child eternally, however. I know that an education and completing school will make a difference in his life in countless ways. The prophets have told us how important this issue is to all of us. I believe them. I also believe a parent’s attitude toward school is one thing that may make a difference, maybe even for generations to come.

Self-Esteem and the Broken Plug

The new school year is starting soon. My daughters are busy getting their classrooms ready and my thoughts have turned to the many years when I was in their shoes. I miss it. Well, most of it anyway. Faculty meetings are one thing I don’t miss. They can become truly scary on several levels. But the kids, the wonderful staff, the anticipation, the new possibilities…….those things I miss.

Our daughter Kim is busy getting her 7 kids ready for the new year and has a conference scheduled for her pre-schooler. Good old parent teacher conferences. I must have been part of hundreds of these. One thing I’ve been thinking about as I look back is the concern so many parents expressed during conference over their child’s “self esteem.” They agonized and worried that their offspring would be scarred for life by the horrific effects of low self esteem. And while, to quote a line from a popular movie, low self esteem in some cases is just good common sense, there is something a parent can do to help. Let me tell you about an incident in my childhood.

I was in fourth grade or thereabouts. I had a lamp in my bedroom that wouldn’t work because of a damaged plug. I really needed that lamp so I asked my dad if he would fix it. He said he would and that weekend bought a little plug repair kit at the local hardware store. (There were no big box stores back then.) Well, he got busy with work and such and didn’t get to fixing my lamp. So one day I went to the garage and brought the repair kit to my room. I read the directions carefully, gathered the tools it said were needed, and replaced that plug myself. When I was done the lamp worked perfectly! “Look at that! Fixed by a 4th  grade girl!’ I thought proudly.

I’m an old lady now and yet when I think of that plug repair I still feel a little more confident as a human being. I can do something useful! I may not be much as anything else but I can fix a plug if you need one! There are other little competencies I have but I’ll spare you the details. (Okay……. I can make a heart cake without special pans and I can fix your jacket zipper with a razor blade.)

The point is this. Success…….. true success…… in any area builds confidence. Success doesn’t mean lavish praise for a mediocre job, or fake celebrations for a consolation prize. Kids know. They’re not stupid. Any of them. They know when they’ve done something valuable. And when they do something of worth it builds confidence in every area of their lives.

So, here are a couple of ideas for concerned parents who have a kid who needs a confidence boost.

Quietly and without sharing with anyone in the family, invest in 3 boxes of brownie mix. (About $1 each on sale) Brownies are about the easiest baked treat on the planet. Get that 8 year old boy with no confidence and head to the kitchen. You sit in a chair ON your hands. Direct the boy in great detail in making the first box of brownies. Start with, “Get a bowl, wooden spoon, the pan we make brownies in.” Then, step by step explain how to do this while you WATCH only. Do not, under any circumstances, step in! Instead say, “Get a paper towel, wet it a little, wipe up the egg on the floor.” Continue until the brownies are done, cooled, cut, and on a plate neatly. If these are not really good looking, great tasting brownies repeat teaching procedure with boxes 2 and 3. DISCARD any inferior brownies without a comment. (It’s only a $1!) Do not give them to the family to try to be frugal! Repeat this procedure a week or so later if needed. When you are confident that this kid can be successful, casually say in front of the whole family that you are too busy to make treats for Family Home Evening but brownies will be provided. Send the kid into the kitchen by himself while you do the “busy thing.” After that, keep a good supply of boxed mixes on hand and sometimes “forget” those treats that other family members need for the class party, or cub scouts, etc. Tell them to ask their brother nicely and maybe he’ll rescue them with his baking skill. This may take some time but you’ll see a change in his confidence level soon. This will spill over to school I promise.

Then, according to Kim, one of our young granddaughters who needed a boost was helped when it turned out that she could really clean a bathroom well. She was able to do this because Kim’s knee hurt and she had company coming, so she sat on the edge of the bathtub and patiently explained exactly how to do every task to this child. It was desperation not inspiration that was at work here. It took a long time but that bathroom looked good enough for company and was cleaned entirely by this small child who never seemed to be able to do much right. Well, the rest of the family was impressed! Now, when older brothers or sisters have the bathroom assigned to them, she must sign off on the quality of their work and has even been asked to teach them how to do the job right. What a boost!

There point is that there are countless ways to help a kid who needs to believe in himself. Any success, no matter how small, as long as it’s real will contribute to the cause. You may have to think a bit and patiently teach until true excellence is achieved but your kid is worth it, I promise. The Boy Scout manuals are full of ideas by the way. So teach someone you love to change a bike tire, or make a meatloaf, or paint a room. Better yet, teach her to do all three. You may soon be the parent of someone who feels that he can do things, he can contribute, he’s needed. She’s not a loser after all, because at least she can fix a broken lamp plug.