This Will Be Fun Too!

The apostle Joseph Wirthlin said in a conference talk, “Come what may and love it.”  At the time I really didn’t get it. But since I truly believe that the Lord inspires his leaders to deliver messages that He wants us to hear, I figured that somehow I needed to learn this principle. 

So I began to think about it. 

After some thought I guessed I might be doing alright with “Come what may, grit your teeth and hang on,” or “Come what may, tolerate it and try to keep a smile on your face,” or “Come what may and pray hard that it goes away soon.”  But, love it?   All of it?   No.   And why love it?   What’s wrong with hating the rotten times anyway?

My mind went back to a “stone day.”  You know, the ones described in that old country song. How does it go? “Some days are diamonds and some days are stones.” Well, this day was one of the rocks.

It was just a few years ago. I was teaching high school. It was after I’d dismissed my kids with the last bell. I’d made an appointment with a colleague to come to my room to meet with my husband and myself. I’d asked her to come on a personal matter. 

She was the visually impaired teacher, a dear woman, with extremely limited sight herself. She arrived at school every day on the city bus, sometimes using her white cane to cross the street and get to her office. All of her students were blind or with severe vision issues. I didn’t know her well, except that she always seemed to be cheerful and smiling and was ready to go the extra mile with any of my kids and their teachers.

I’d asked her to come because my husband had lost his job. After a lifetime of doing work that he didn’t care about just to support his family, he’d finally found a job that he truly loved. And after eight years he’d lost it. He often said that he’d pay the company to let him work for them.  He spent 12 hours a day driving huge, 18 wheel, belly dump trucks. They were usually filled with steaming, smelly asphalt or tons of crushed rock. He hauled this stuff all over the city and state to build roads and freeways with it. I never understood why he loved it but he did. The man had been to college for Pete’s sake! I remember once driving up the mountain on Highway 260 through a construction zone. There was a long line of trucks waiting to dump their black goo.  State Patrolmen stopped traffic. Flaggers in their hard hats and orange vests waved cars through behind a pilot vehicle.  As we passed the line of waiting trucks one driver jumped out to stand on the step next to his seat. He waved wildly and yelled, “Hey Babe! It is Babe isn’t it?” It was Larry. As I waved back all I could think was, “I don’t understand it but there goes a happy man.”

Anyway, this happy truck driver was also a diabetic. And twenty-five years of diabetes had finally taken its toll. He came home from work one Friday and on Saturday his retinas hemoraged. That was it. He couldn’t see. Big trucks were gone. Income was gone. Even simply hopping in the car to go to the store was gone. Total blindness was a distinct and terrifying possibility. Surgery was soon scheduled but the doctor said driving was over.

We were both scared about so many things. The fact that our income had just been cut in half was the least of them.

Anyway I’d asked the vision teacher to come in to see if she knew of some resources or programs that might help. Larry and I waited in my classroom silently, both thinking of dark possibilities. As I sat there my heart was breaking for this man I’d loved for so long. 

In walks this bright and beaming blind lady carrying a huge suitcase. She started talking the minute she came through the door. “Wait til you see the goodies I have to show you!” she chirped. She pulled out all sorts of “gadgets for the blind” from devices to turn your TV into a huge print magnifying glass to pill bottles with braille markings. She kept pulling for a long time, chatting and explaining nonstop all the while. Then she informed us that she’d already made an appointment with a career counselor to start training for jobs that didn’t require sight. It would begin with aptitude testing and there were hundreds of career choices she assured us. I don’t think she stopped talking the whole hour that she was there. Seems there’s a whole world out there we knew nothing about. People who can’t see are actually working, going places, having families, living busy, happy and worthwhile lives. We hadn’t realized. 

Then she said something that’s stayed with me ever since. Larry was telling her about his beloved big trucks.  She put her hand gently on his arm and said brightly,  “I know, I know.  Driving big trucks was fun.  But this will be fun too!”

Yes, she really said that.  “This will be fun too.”  She couldn’t be serious, I thought! Being blind and all the loss that meant.  Being unemployed.  Starting over after 55.  That was going to be fun?  I looked hard at her. I could tell she meant it!

Later on the way home, I realized that when she said that short sentence something changed. What changed was that I began to feel better.

Maybe everything wasn’t ending. Maybe, even if the worst happened, life could still be good. Maybe we could still have fun together. It looked like the worst had happened to this sweet lady and we’d seldom seen anyone so upbeat.

After she finished I offered to drive her home. She refused, saying that the city bus ride was very important to her. (Having to depend on public transportation was one of the bitterest possibilities for Larry, who had loved cars since he was 16.)  She explained that being so busy it was the only time she had to listen to the audio books she got from the library. She was almost finished with one and couldn’t wait to see how it turned out. That was also when she studied audios for her ASU class.

So.  Come what may and love it.  Why is that important enough for Heavenly Father to have one of his apostles speak to the world about it?

Why?   I thought hard.   Well, I decided, maybe it’s because if you can do that you’ll be happy. And I know Father wants his children to be happy.

Every one of us will surely have some “stone” days coming our way. That’s a given. Those stones may even turn into weeks or years. Somehow this dear lady actually found joy in hers. What does the scripture say?  “Man is that he might have joy.”  I don’t think there’s a footnote that says, *This applies only when everything’s going well and you don’t have any really hard problems.

My colleague wasn’t a member of the Church. But she sure knew what Joseph Wirthlin was talking about. Think about it.

The Prophet Promised

A few years ago President Hinckley made a promise to the members of the church. 
Come to think of it, I suppose this promise applied to non-members too. 
In a nutshell, he said that anyone who read The Book of Mormon by the end of that year would be blessed with a special blessing from Heavenly Father. 
Well, since he was the Prophet after all, I figured that he must know what he was talking about. So, along with most of the others in my family, I committed to finish reading by year’s end. 

For one thing I felt I really needed blessings. I knew that if I did what the President asked, the Lord had to give me something wonderful.
He would be bound by His Prophet’s promise. It was a rule.

As the weeks went by, everyone in the family was making good progress except my son-in-law and me. We were procrastinating and falling behind as year’s end approached. 
I rationalized that Christmas break when school was out would give me a chance to devote myself to finishing. I don’t know what Scott was figuring since he still had to work.

But Christmas break turned out to be a really busy time even though I wasn't teaching. (What was I thinking?) Thankfully my family came to the rescue.

My grown daughters relieved me of much Christmas shopping, wrapping, and cooking.
Books of Mormon were stashed in every conceivable place that I might sit down. Travel sized copies were put in my purse and in the car. I still remember the honking at intersections after red lights turned green and I was still reading.
Scott had to manage on his own. I think because people had more confidence in his ability to get the job done.

Just as soon as vacation began I started to read in earnest. Every spare minute was spent with a book in my hands. 
Still, it turned out that even with help from my daughters those spare minutes were pretty hard to come by. 

Every now and then I’d get a call from one of them asking what I was doing. If my answer wasn’t, “Reading,” I’d hear a stern, “Ma!”  
So with the help, and despite the procrastination and the Christmas rush I managed to finish. 
It was late in the evening on December 31st but I finished!

A few weeks later, our oldest daughter asked me one day, “What’d you get?”

“Huh?” I replied. What are you talking about?

“Do you know what blessing you got for reading?”

 I pondered a bit.
“Well,” I told her, “Now I know for sure that Heavenly Father loves me.  Everybody always says that He loves us and I suspected that He did. But now I know for sure. He knows me and still loves me. Actually, he loves me a lot.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” she said.

I’m still ashamed of what I said next. 
I can’t believe it but I told my own daughter that I was disappointed. Even though what I got was nice I really wanted something else from Heavenly Father. 
I said that what I really wanted was to be thin. That's what I'd been hoping I'd get.

How could I have said such a thing! To my own daughter! 
The sin of ingratitude is one of life's biggest mistakes!  It's a sure path that leads away from happiness. 
I still shudder.

But life often doesn't turn out the way you expect it will, does it? 
And as it turns out, since that year of the prophet’s promise, Larry and I have been blessed with some pretty significant adversity. 
We both had to leave jobs we loved because of health issues. 
Larry’s eyesight is now very poor. He can no longer drive at all, much less his beloved 18 wheelers.
I can no longer walk. I’ve become a student of that great teacher named pain. 

But through every trial that wonderful blessing promised by the prophet and given by our Father has been a comfort. 
Every single day I’ve been grateful for it. 
Absolutely knowing that Heavenly Father loves me has made the difference between hope or despair, hanging on or giving up. 
I wouldn’t trade that sure knowledge of His love for anything in this world. 
Not even to be thin.

I’m so very sorry for what I said to my daughter that day.  I hope that Father will forgive me. 
I’m really trying to work on letting go and trusting Him to do the right thing for me, even when it hurts.

So even though it seems that every time I pray for strength I get a new set of barbells, I’m going to try to be grateful and get to lifting. 
Then the strength will come, right?

Scott finished his reading too. 
I never asked him what he got but whatever it was I’m sure it was exactly what he needed.





　

You Get to Be the Mom

Note

Someone mentioned to me that they had read a story similar to “You Get to be the Mom” in one of the “Chicken Soup” books. I was surprised to say the least. Though I often use outside sources in my teaching, I always acknowledge them. I have many favorite authors which I like to share. Most of my stories, though, are things that actually happened in my life, but I also make stuff up, change names, invent characters, emphasize creatively, etc. My husband says he remembers being much stronger, braver and more handsome than he’s often made out to be in my scribblings for example. The only iron clad criteria I have is that what I write or teach must be the truth. I even explain to youth groups that I always tell the truth in church. Even if something never actually happened it’s the truth. Once after saying this and then telling a story with a talking fish in it a kid came up to me afterward and said “Did that really happen?” Well, the story was about drugs and alcohol and how kids sometimes lose their lives or worse when making poor choices about these things. I’d told him that I never lied in church so I looked him in the eye and said “Yea, kid……. sadly it happens every day.” (Read the introduction to this blog for more details on this subject.)

However in this case I am perplexed. Even though I’m a geezer now, with a memory like a sieve, this incident actually happened to me over 48 years ago when I was a young teen. Many years later after joining the Church and filling calls involving teaching I expect that I’ve probably told this story to hundreds of people over more than 25 years. I was helped by this lady’s comment and hope that others have been also. I don’t know how the “Chicken Soup” thing happened but I hope people are helped by it too. Maybe someone heard my story, remembered it and passed along the inspiration that was given to me. That would be wonderful. My goal is to help and it’s the only reason I write. I don’t make any money from my writings and don’t expect I ever will. May blessings fall on you and yours.


Looking back over decades to one’s youth isn’t always a happy experience for everyone...depending on a lot of variables. But sometimes great blessings come at dark times. I remember an incident that was a pivotal point for me as a young teenager. A few words, spoken to me in passing by the mother of an acquaintance, changed my perspective and focus forever. You need some background to understand why this was so important for me.

I grew up in a loving home with 3 younger siblings and wonderful parents. There was great love between my mother and father and they were devoted to our family. My parents believed in God but didn’t raise us in any organized religion. I had never heard of Mormons and knew little except the snippets of the Catholic faith my grandmother brought with her when she visited.

Then one terrible day in early spring when I was 11, my 39 year old father was killed in a car accident on his way home from work. I remember my mother being completely devastated……put on sedatives by our doctor….and then after the haze of those first terrible days…sedated almost always by alcohol. I don’t remember seeing my mother as she had been before ever again. It seemed truly as if both of our parents had died in that awful crash.

Then, day by day, alcohol slowly killed my mother. I learned a frightening lesson watching her during my teenage years…drinking can end your life years before it actually kills you. And your life is not all that’s at stake.

Dad had thankfully provided well for us financially but things were not good in our home during my teenage years. I was the oldest of 4 kids….my youngest sister just a toddler when our father was killed…2 brothers who needed a dad…an alcoholic mom…you get the picture. It’s important to remember too that this was the early 60’s…a different time as far as accepted moral standards go. This was back in the day of the sit-com mom who supposedly cleaned house in heels and a string of pearls and was the picture of propriety and proper conduct.

Well, one Saturday I remember being picked up by the girls on my high school softball team to head to 6 AM practice. I came out the door at the first honk to a station wagon full of my teammates….someone’s mom driving the lot of us to the school field. Some of these girls were the most popular at school and I longed to feel a part of their circle. Nice girls, they were, from nice families, like ours used to be, with moms who did wear pearls while cleaning house, I just knew. As I opened the door one of them asked loudly…”Isn’t that your mom’s boyfriend’s car? What is it doing here so early in the morning? Did he spend the night?”

There was suddenly a deafening silence in the car while everyone began to think of the answer to that question and my face began to burn in shame. The mom who was driving quickly changed the subject and headed to the school. As we all were piling out of the car lugging bats and gloves, girls chattering all at once, the mother, a lady I barely knew, called me over to her car window. When the others had gone she said, “I just wanted you to know something very important. I wanted you to know that you can have a wonderful, loving family again. One with a mother and father. Parents who are happy and whole together…who love and take care of their children. It’s important that you know that.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at her. I barely knew this lady. How did she know about me? You don’t know us, I said. You don’t know how things are. How? How can that possibly be?

“You get to be the mom,” she said gently.

She was right. Of course she was right. We each build our own lives. There was little I could do about my present situation but the future is what we each make of it. I never forgot what she said. It’s given me hope, comfort, and a kick in the pants many times since. I’ll always be grateful that she took the time to speak them.