A Life That Touched For Good

I’ve been thinking about the words to that lovely hymn we sing called, “Each Life That Touches Ours For Good.” 
Those thoughts keep rolling through my mind because a man who lived an extraordinary life just completed his earthly mission a short while ago. 
I don’t usually name names in my scribblings, but this time I will. His name was President Lewis Tenney. He was a Stake President and later a Temple President but much more than that for those who knew him. In my case, I noticed right after meeting him that he had an amazing quality. 
Each and every time our paths crossed, even if only briefly, somehow I was blessed.

You see, I am a raggedy old convert, which President Tenney knew…. and he was…..well…..President Tenney. He was an honorable, stalwart, valiant leader in the Church and one of the most respected men in all of northern Arizona. He and his dear wife Mary raised a large and exemplary family. Yet somehow that great man managed to bless me every time we met.

May I share a little incident or two to show you what I mean?

Once I was asked to speak at a large meeting of Relief Society sisters in Show Low, Arizona. Now, you must understand that the mountain towns and their surroundings are full of amazing LDS women. Many of the sisters who live up there have ancestors who came west pulling handcarts and it was truly puzzling to me as to why they wanted to hear anything I might have to say. I was nervous and felt completely inadequate.

On the day of the conference I put on my best dress and my daughter and I headed for Show Low. As we proceeded along Highway 260 I noticed a spot on the very front of my white top, so we stopped at Circle K to get a wet napkin to try to clean it. I took the napkin and began to rub the spot, not noticing that I was rubbing the ink from “Circle K” which was printed on the napkin, right into the cloth. I ended up with a big purple stain on the front of my dress. Nothing could be done now.

I sat up front with the rest of the speakers, including President Tenney, and nervously waited my turn. When my turn came I felt I really needed to explain the spot, so I told them, and added my reservations about being included with the others who were speaking that day. I pointed out that every other woman on the stand was impeccably put together and, in addition, had a waist, unlike myself. Also, I said with special anxiety, there sits President Tenney. I then gave my talk.

When it was time for President Tenney to speak he began with the most remarkable words. He said,  “Sister Wagher has inspired me to tell you something that I don’t share with many people.” (Me? Inspire him? How could that be?) Then he continued as I remember, saying something like the following. “Once I was in a similar situation,” he began. “I had a day crammed full of important Church meetings and had to travel many miles between them. I hurried from one meeting  to the next and was rushing to get into my truck when I heard my pants rip. I couldn’t tell by the sound how bad the situation was and due to my tight schedule I started off without investigating the rip. While driving, I decided to lean over to try to see if I could “get away” with these pants or if I had to go home to change them. As I was leaning over I drove off the road and had a minor accident. To make matters worse, when someone asked me later what made me drive off the road, (was it an elk or a deer?),  I said due to embarrassment, 'I don’t know.' It was just too hard to admit the truth.”

The audience chuckled at this dear man but I was touched to my very soul. 
A person such as this with a rip in his pants and a fib to boot! Admitting it to the whole world! I couldn’t believe that someone so far along in the teachings of the gospel, someone with such a long list of accomplishments, could ever feel like I did. 
I felt blessed by President Tenney’s candor that day with something special. I’ve looked for the exact word to describe that blessing. I think I’ve found it. 
The word is encouraged.

Another memory involves a time we were at Girl’s Camp. I was called as a Mutual teacher but had never had the smallest experience with camp. I was not only a raggedy convert but also a city slicker. Here we were digging fire pits to bury vats of food to dig up hours later for dinner, rubbing sticks together to make a fire and doing all kinds of choppings of wood, and stirrings of cast iron spider pans and other weird things. I was out of my element and covered with poison oak on top of it all.

One afternoon,  President Tenney and I were left to tend several pots of meat and gravy while the girls and other leaders went off to do something. He was sitting on a table watching the fire carefully as I clumsily removed each cast iron lid and stirred the contents as I had been told to do. As I lifted one lid, a gust of wind brought a shower of ashes to land in the gravy bubbling in the pot.
I looked up in horror at President Tenney. 
What an idiot he must think I am! He can see that I know nothing about anything and now I’ve ruined dinner for half the girls! 
He looked at me with a smile and said “Sister Wagher, if you just stir those ashes right into the gravy no one will know and I won’t tell.” 
The look on his face was priceless. It said …..“You’re going to be alright. You can learn this. It’s OK to make mistakes.” 
 I gratefully began to stir and then to marvel. The Stake President wasn’t shocked at my ignorance! He somehow understood. I really could do better someday. I could do better with lots of things someday! There it was again. 
I was encouraged.

Encouraged. Strengthened. Understood. And accepted anyway. These were all blessings I received from knowing President Tenney. I know there must be thousands of other people who benefited from his remarkable life.

His dear, sweet wife Mary has a broken heart today. The only true comfort will come when she is able to hold him in her arms, alive and well, once more. Thanks to the atonement and resurrection of the Savior this will surely happen. Christ has blessed the Tenneys with unending love and the assurance that their family will endure beyond time. 
Only for now their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will miss their father and grandfather terribly, as will the rest of his wonderful family and many friends. Not forever. 
I hope they know that hundreds of prayers for peace and comfort are being sent to Father on their behalf, and that love comes to each of them from all over the state. 
How special they must be to be able to claim such a man as their own.

President Lewis Tenney’s life was surely one that touched others for good. Generations to come will bless his name as he blessed those he crossed paths with every day. I will always be grateful to have known him.

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.





　

Moments of Clarity

Here I sit, advancing age playing practical jokes on my face, surprised at how many things I still haven’t figured out.
Sometimes I look around in bewilderment and say to myself, “Look at you…and after a lifetime of trying too.”

One thing I've noticed though, as I look back, is that now and again life presents small moments which shape you.
Often these are little happenings which may seem insignificant at the time. But whatever they are, they define you, along with all the rest that the years bring.

One happened to me on the day I first saw my husband’s face.
I was then a girl of 15, oldest of four children of a widowed, alcoholic mother. I had very little experience with faith or religion of any kind and knew nothing about the pre-existence.

Well, on this day I was expecting some of my girlfriends who were meeting at my house. We were going to the movies with some boys we had just met at Slide Rock a few weeks before.
The doorbell rang and there stood a couple of the young men I knew and with them was a stranger.
He was tall and handsome.
But first I must explain that I wasn’t like my friends who were always going gaga over some boy at the mere sight of him. I never fainted over a rock star or fell “in love” fifteen times a year.
Yet, when my eyes fell on this young man's face I had the oddest feeling.
It wasn’t …..OOOOOO! What a hunk!  It was more like trying to remember the words to an old song and not being able to.
I wanted to say something but didn’t know what it was.
Time passed but I never forgot that strange feeling.

Cut to years later.
Larry (the good looking stranger who was at my door) and I are married, have kids and have recently joined the church.
Friends from the ward have invited us to a popular LDS play called “Saturday’s Warrior.”
Remember, we’re in our first, wobbly steps of living in the light and ignorant of just about everything.

Well, as this fictional play unfolds, I realized that the storyline involves a couple who knew and loved each other in the pre-existence and were now trying to find each other here on earth. This idea, that people may have a history together before being born, was totally new to me.
As that thought sunk in lights came on in my brain.
I actually remember grabbing the arm of my theater seat to keep from jumping up and shouting.
“I know what it was!  I finally know what it was!  What I wanted to say when I first saw Larry.
It was, “I didn’t expect you so soon!”

Again it's years later.
I’m reading a book by one of my favorite apostles, Neil Maxwell, called “Things As They Really Are,” I think.  This man is a major “brainiac” as one of my students called really smart people.
In his book Brother Maxwell says that one day, despite all the injustice we see in this world, everyone who has ever lived will be able to honestly declare that Heavenly Father treated them with perfect fairness.
We will all agree that there has been no injustice, no inequity.
All of Father’s children were equally loved and blessed no matter what we may see from here.
What a thought!  It was one of those small moments for me.
I can’t tell you how many times it’s helped me to deal with the pain we all see in this world. How often have I wondered how sometimes horrific things could happen.
But, Brother Maxwell says that one day we will know that sufferings, big and small, even agonies, have been reconciled.
Those who hurt so much now will one day say, “Father loved me too. He blessed and loved me perfectly.”

Again it's years later.
As I sit in sacrament meeting I see ahead of me a beautiful, talented, faithful, woman in her 30’s. This young woman is loved by all who know her and is a rock in our ward.
She’s single and childless and longs for an eternal companion and family.
I think of what a wonderful mother she would be.
Then I remember some of my high school students, who are having children while still children themselves. With no idea of how to live a happy and productive life they are parenting a new generation of the lost and neglected.
What’s fair and right about that, I wonder.

I think of other lovely, faithful, single women of Zion that I know.
One I remember especially.
She was returning from a “Singles” dance where she said she felt like a piece of meat at the market.
She opened up her heart a bit to me and began talking about her hopes and dreams.
She looked me straight in the eye and said, “I’m not going to settle. I deserve to be sealed to a man I love deeply. A man who is a worthy priesthood holder, valiant enough to be a stake president.”
There was such an amazing mixture of faith and pain in the tone of her voice that I’ll never forget it.
I think it was an example of what Brother Maxwell called in his book…..“perfect grit.”

Cut back to me sitting in sacrament meeting thinking about these things. These small moments that define.
“Heavenly Father, something mighty wonderful has to happen to these amazing sisters if someday I’ll be able to say that they’ve been fairly treated. Nobody deserves a husband and family more than they do. Their children would go on to bless generations forever just because they had such mothers.
They only want what’s right.  What's just about their situation?”

Strangely my thoughts went back to that theater so long ago and that feeling I wanted to shout.
“I finally know what it was! What I wanted to say when I saw Larry for the first time."
“I didn’t expect you so soon.”

Well, I thought, perhaps one day these precious, beautiful sisters will look up or turn a corner, and there will stand the most handsome, valiant priesthood holder she has ever seen.

She’ll look at him, at the love in his eyes and the tears streaming down his rugged face, and she'll say...
“What took you so long?”
He’ll take her in his arms and say something like...
“I was on my way. We were at a ward campout and there was this young boy in the river. He couldn’t swim. I went out to help and I was called home.  I’ve been up here every day of your life praying desperately to Heavenly Father that you’d wait for me.”

There are other amazing possibilities for these precious sisters of course, but I could begin to see that Heavenly Father may know more about them than I do.

Maybe I should trust Him.

Another Small Remembered Story (Let Go)

Thanks to the author, whoever it may be, for the help this little tale has been to me and others over the years. It’s another of the small remembered stories.

Let Go

There once was a learned man of faith who was growing old and approaching the end of his life. He had some things he wanted to do before he died which included seeing the ocean for the first time. He had lived all his days hundreds of miles from the sea and longed to experience the many things he’d read about. Seagulls and pelicans feeding on shellfish, waves crashing on rocky shores, sandy beaches and sunsets disappearing into the blue horizon among them. He arrived at the coast of Big Sur, one of the most beautiful places on earth. He stood at the edge of a cliff high above the waves and spray and was entranced with the sight.

Suddenly a strong gust of wind came from behind him and pushed him off the cliff! He tumbled over to certain death on the rocks and waves far below. But then a miracle occurred! As he fell he reached out toward the land and was able to grab on to a tangle of tree roots that stuck out the side of the cliff. He managed a desperate hold on the roots with both hands where he hung halfway to the jagged rocks below.

He began to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father I’m in terrible trouble! I need you to save me now! By some miracle, which I know you can provide, I need you to help me. Please!” He said these words and was silent while he hung there from the roots. Then the strangest thing happened. He heard a voice….a still small voice. It said, “My son, this is your Heavenly Father. We need to talk. Do you believe that I have the power to create all that you see here? The sea, waves, rocks, birds, sky, and even the root which you cling to so tightly. Do you?

“Yes! Yes! I do,” the man cried in surprise and gratitude, so relieved to hear from Heavenly Father. But then there was no response. So he began to pray again…even harder than before. Please! Please! Help me, Father! I know you have the power to rescue me.

Then again a still small voice. “Son, do you believe that I have the power to create even the winds which blow the clouds across the face of the earth? Even a wind strong enough to lift you from the root where you cling to the top of the cliff where you once stood in safety? Do you believe that? And son… most important of all……… Do you believe that I love you? Do you trust me?”

“Yes! Yes! Father I know that you have the power to create miracles. I know that you love me and all your children! I trust you. I promise that I trust in your wisdom and know that you’ll always do what’s best for me.”

Then there was silence for what seemed to the man like a very long time. He prayed again. Then, at last, he heard the still small voice once again.

It said………“Let Go.”

A Small Remembered Story

Over the years I’ve prepared many lessons for church classes. 
As most members do, we amateurs jump right in there, teaching preschoolers to eighty year olds, praying mightily all the while, convinced that everyone in the class knows more than the teacher, even the preschoolers. 
We do this because we believe that the Lord had a hand in our being asked to teach at this time and place. Then too, it always turns out that we learn a great deal more than anybody else from the experience.

At times, I’ve also been kindly asked to speak to various groups. Mostly firesides and the like, which is a little different, because there’s not a lesson manual prepared for the teacher to follow. 
In that case the praying gets even more desperately intense and this particular speaker looks frantically around for anything pertinent which may help and fit the topic at hand. A lot of my own writings came about in just these situations. 
In addition to my own thoughts, somewhere during the desperation I found several small helpful stories. I can’t recall whether I heard or read them somewhere, but over the years I’ve told them many times. I have no idea who the original authors were but I’m grateful for their thoughts. They helped me more than I can say, their little “moral of the story” sometimes coming to mind just when I needed it most. 
May Heavenly Father send blessings to fall gently on those who first wrote these small remembered stories. I include one of them here.

I CAN SLEEP WHEN THE WIND BLOWS

There once was a farmer who lived in an area where the family farm was disappearing. Huge corporations were taking over and a way of life was ending forever. This good man's own children had left to find work in the cities. He and his wife had survived many battles against drought, insects, flood, and a hundred other calamities but this seemed to be the hardest struggle of all.

Summer came. Crops must be planted and harvested and livestock must be cared for even with the children grown and gone. The man needed help but farmhands were nowhere to be found. He tried all the usual ways to hire someone with no luck. Finally a notice he’d put up in the local feed store brought a response.

Early one morning a knock came at the kitchen door. He opened it to find a skinny kid about 15 standing there. The farmer asked him in and they began to talk about the job and its requirements. The man thought dejectedly that this scruffy boy was going to be little help at all. Finally he asked him what his qualifications were. The boy answered “I can sleep when the wind blows.” The farmer asked for an explanation but the boy only repeated, “I can sleep when the wind blows.” 
The farmer quickly replied in an irritated tone, “There’s no time for joking around…..you’re hired. I’ll show you the bunkhouse and then let’s get to work.” He thought to himself….I have no choice.

Well, it turned out that this skinny kid was the hardest worker the farmer had seen in a long while. He was willing, stronger than he looked, and knew more about farming than most grown hands.

It was a long, hard summer but things were holding together. Then one hot night in August, long after everyone was asleep, a terrific storm began to blow up unexpectedly. Violent winds promised a coming deluge and the farmer jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes and ran to the bunkhouse to get the boy so they could get to work securing the place before the storm hit full force. He threw the door to the bunkhouse open and yelled, “Storm’s comin!! Let’s go! The kid rolled over in his bunk and said sleepily, “I can sleep when the wind blows.”

“What? Get up or you’re fired!” bellowed the farmer as he ran to the barn. He could hear a groggy, sleepy voice coming from the bunk….“I can sleep when the wind blows.” The farmer cursed as he opened the gate.

As he passed the wagon yard he noticed that all the tools had been put away. The haystack was covered with a tarp and tied down tight. Boxes with tack were shut and padlocked. He opened the barn door and ran to the stock. All were secured in their stalls…food and water close at hand. Loose items were tied or nailed tightly to the walls of the barn. He walked slowly from place to place in amazement…..everything had been made ready for a storm. Nothing was forgotten. He sat down on a bale of hay. “So the kid can sleep when the wind blows. I’ll be.”

The moral of this small story is that a storm is ALWAYS coming. 
No matter how bright the sun shines for you right now you can count on that. 
We’ve been told that “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” Whether it’s education, work, raising a family….. or spiritual, temporal, emotional, or physical needs……get ready for the wind. 
 Do something to get ready today. Then you can rest easy when the clouds roll in.

The Light

I have little experience with the current political hot topic of abortion. In fact, it’s hard for me to see how something so intensely personal has anything to do with politics at all. If ever there was a “moral” issue, one that must be checked out with Heavenly Father, this must surely be it. I’d like to share this incident with you though. It brought a certain clarity to my thinking that will last a lifetime.
I had been teaching at a large urban high school for just a couple of years when this happened. Our students of around 2000 kids included those from the middle class to those living in the barrio and projects. We had gangs, teen pregnancy, drugs, drop-outs, and all the other social problems common to every school in big American cities these days. And my particular students all had learning issues in addition to dealing with the usual angst of growing up. Even so, many of them were my heroes. School had never been easy or kind, but here they were, determined to graduate. Some people referred to my classes as “the usual suspects,” “the ones with the ankle bracelets,” or “Kathy’s thugs,” but many of my students were talented and exceptional in positive ways and I had nothing but admiration for most of my kids.

My 6th period class was a special group of 9 students….all boys except for one pretty, shy, freshman girl, just fourteen. The guys were all juniors or seniors, with girlfriends of their own, who sort of adopted this young lady, telling her what to watch out for, offering to “take care of anybody who caused her a problem” etc. She became everyone’s little sister. Well, one week Bernadette was absent on Thursday and Friday. This was unusual for her so I called the nurse to find that her mom had called in to say that she was sick. I was glad to see her back in class on Monday and as the kids began to settle in their seats I asked her if she was feeling better. She sat there quietly for a minute or so and then got out of her seat and came up to my desk.

She leaned over and whispered to me,

“They made me get an abortion.”

Then she collapsed in my arms and began to sob. I was stunned. The guys got really quiet. I looked at my most reliable senior over Bernadette’s shoulder and said, “Marcus, take the class over to the library for the rest of the period.” They all left while she still sobbed in my arms.

It was early in the school year and I knew just a little about this girl’s home life. She was the only child of a single mom and had devoted grandparents who would do anything for her. She was bright and beautiful. I had never heard her mention anything about religion.

As I held her in my arms and told her how sorry I was I began to understand some other things that broke my heart. I knew that this child was “pierced through with deep wounds.” I somehow could feel it through her racking sobs. I knew, without a doubt, religious or not, that what had happened to her was never, never, NEVER going to be alright. No matter what they told her…..it’s your body… you’re too young…no one will know…it’s best for both you and the baby….whatever…this wound would never completely heal. Every time she saw a baby or child of a certain age she’d think, “My son or daughter would be about that old.” “I wonder what he’d look like now…I wonder if she’d like to draw the way I do?” “Today would be her birthday,” “He’d be a teenager now.”

This would be a part of her forever. It didn’t matter what anyone else believed. She knew, deep inside, the truth about whether abortion was right or wrong. No one needed to tell her and no one would ever be able to change what she knew. I think it might be the “Light of Christ” that everyone’s born with. We have a built in guide, despite any of our circumstances. It tells us in no uncertain terms when something is wrong. It often tells us in a quiet, still, voice or feeling. I think we need to listen carefully for it throughout the din of the world. We are told in the scriptures that all of us can rely on this Light no matter what our religion. Thank God.

May He bless, comfort and teach the sweet child that I held in my arms that day. I’ll never forget her. I know that He loves her more deeply than any of us can comprehend.

There’s Power Here

We’ve been encouraged by one of the Lord’s modern day apostles to commit some favorite scriptures to memory. He said this would be a help to us throughout our lives.
I believe him.


In fact, I remember many, many, years ago hearing one of those things you hear sometimes. One of those “probably not true but everybody says it might be,” “Mormon legend” things. 
This legend was that the scriptures were so powerful that if you picked just one that was personally meaningful, you could “hang your whole life on it” and in the end, if you were true to that one scripture, your life would turn out alright. 
Seems too simple doesn’t it? 
Well, I’ve had some discussions over the years about this with lots of people and I’m not so sure. 
I’ve asked many people for favorite scriptures and we’ve thought about how well they would “hold up a life that was hung there.” 
The results are surprising.

These are just three of the scriptures that people said were favorites……

“Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.”
Matthew 6:33

“See that ye love one another; cease to be covetous; learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires.”
D&C 88:123

“Therefore, ask, and ye shall receive; knock, and it shall be opened unto you; for he that asketh, receiveth; and unto him that knocketh, it shall be opened.”
3 Nephi 27:29

There’s thousands more.

The deal is that in every situation in your life, no matter what it is, if you mentally pull out your scripture and apply it, you’ll do the right thing. Could that really be true? Is there that much power in a few words from Heavenly Father? It’s something to think about anyway…maybe even to try.

Well, I got myself into a little “situation” with this legend thing once, though, when our son was about 18. I was speaking at a youth activity and was very nervous because there were many people there, young people and leaders who were much more knowledgeable about the gospel than I was and decidedly more qualified than I to teach.
I always comforted myself at times like those by remembering what a favorite scripture of my own said. 
It went something like…...“The gospel will be preached by the weak and the feeble….” or something close. Well, I knew that if the Lord needed weak and feeble then I was ready. 
Anyway, we started to talk about this little “legend of the one scripture” and I decided to call on some young people to give an example of a scripture that was special to them. 
I looked over the large crowd and my eyes fell on one of my son’s best friends. He was a fine young man, approaching missionary age, and I felt he would have a favorite passage. “Scotty, would you share a scripture that has special meaning for you?” I asked hopefully. My son’s friend stood, and in a loud and confident voice declared…….


“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”
Matthew 5:14 "That’s wonderful," I replied with relief. "Let’s think about what might happen if you used that as a guide for your whole life." 

We discussed that for a bit, decided it might work, and then I took a chance and called on my son. “Brothers and sisters, I know my son won’t mind if I call on him to share his favorite scripture. Dane, would you please?” He stood hesitantly, looked nervous and uncomfortable and then said loudly……

“And they dwelt in a tent.”
1 Nephi 2:15

(This is a misquote from the actual scripture which says, “And my father dwelt in a tent,” but that’s what Dane said.)

Taken aback, I gazed at my son without speaking for a bit. Then with some mighty quick thinking I replied.

“Thank you so much. Well, let’s see what would happen if a life were hung on that. What is this scripture about? Lehi and his family had been told by the Lord to leave their homes and possessions, their money and comfort, and to flee out of the city where they dwelt in tents for many years. Lehi was willing to do some really difficult things because of his faith in the Lord. It couldn’t have been easy but Lehi and his family did what Heavenly Father told them to do. Incalculable blessings followed for generations because they did this. Could you hang a life there? Yes, dwelling in a tent could become a metaphor for obedience to the Lord, I think."

Gotcha son.

The Curse

When you teach high school kids with special needs, classes tend to be small. Twelve students each period was about average for my caseload. 

In this environment the teacher and students work together on every subject, figuring out ways to complete difficult assignments in their regular classes despite reading or math problems. 
We learned “how to learn,” in addition to a “Lifeskills” curriculum. “Lifeskills,” included everything from sex ed to how to buy a used car. 

Well, in that kind of close knit situation we all got to know each others’ personal stories pretty well. 
This often was a huge worry for me because so many of my kids didn’t have a clue concerning the principles involved in building a happy life. 
Some had strong families, but many others had never been taught even basic values. 
Often these kids lived with really negative role models, including mothers, fathers, and other family members in prison. 
This made for some interesting views on topics like honesty, work, alcohol use, drugs, and sex I can tell you.

I remember a student commenting one time upon hearing that I’d been married over 40 years to the same man.
“Geez, Mrs. W….. my dad has six different kids with six different women! He never married any of them. I don’t even know some of my brothers’ last names. What's wrong with your husband?”
My only answer to that loaded question was to say sincerely, “Well, I hope your dad and family have found genuine happiness.”
I'll never forget his reply. He just stood by my desk looking thoughtfully out our only tiny window for a minute, and then went to his seat without a word.

I remember another discussion with an 18 year old. 
He was messing around with a really “wrong” girl. Everybody in the class could see this except him. All he could see was that she had really big "boobs." (Sorry…. his words.) 
Well, one day he shared with us a little about his background. 
He had a low opinion of women in general. He told a classmate that his life was ruined when his mother had run off with a man, not his father, when he was just two weeks old. She hadn’t been a part of his life since. 
After saying how sorry I was to hear this, I asked him who was responsible for all the pain that had come to so many people because of her actions.  
He said, “My mom, of course.”

I quickly replied, “No, not entirely. I think it was mostly your dad.”

“How can that be?” he said indignantly, “My dad stuck around.”

“Well, your dad picked her, didn't he?" I continued, "Tell me how your parents met.”

“I think my dad said they met playing pool at a bar. My mom was there with her boyfriend, and my dad got her to slip him her phone number when the other guy wasn’t looking.”

“I rest my case.” was all I said, truly astonished at how easily my point had been made! Sometimes things just fall into place don't they?  I’d expected to have to dig around at least a little.

This led to some lively class discussion about what you can know about a person just based on where you meet them. Also about being a good judge of character and being responsible for our own decisions. 
And about the “fallout” those decisions sometimes have on innocents. 

There were lots of opinions, but one thing we decided was that if you meet someone at work, or school, or church, it might mean that they work, go to school, or attend church. 
This could be important information. 
And if you meet them on a barstool while they’re cheating on someone, then you may know some other important things. 
We decided that keeping this in mind could be a useful lifeskill.

Another young man I had in class that same year especially frustrated me. 
He was generally bright but not a good judge of character. He was about to graduate and be turned loose on the world so this caused me some worry. 

The class he was in had already decided that choosing an appropriate person to marry was a decision that would likely have a significant impact on one’s future happiness and possibly others as well. 

Despite this, every day this kid walked into the room with the latest report on the “hottest body" he’d seen since yesterday. Once again focusing mainly on bra size as the ultimate factor. 
Nothing else mattered but looks to this kid….not kindness, sensitivity, intelligence, modesty, work ethic or even being lovely. "Big boobs and a great butt” were all he cared about. (I apologize again…his words. It seems that isolated body parts hold a special place in the hearts of a lot of teenaged boys.)

Well, it was getting well into May and I was sick of this kid’s lack of progress. 
In fact, I was sick of this kid entirely.

So one day I said to him, “David, I’m sick of you."
I went on, "I’ve tried to explain that “hot body parts” aren’t the most important qualities in a woman and you won’t listen. So now I have to take drastic measures. You’re about to graduate and go out into the world to build your own life. So, I’m washing my hands of you with the terrible “Mrs. W. Curse.” 
I only use it in very rare cases, I explained. 

So, right here, in front of this class as witnesses, I curse you that you will meet, fall in love with, and marry the girl of your dreams. 
She will be the “hottest” girl around, with gigantic “boobs” and a "great butt," as you so often say. No movie star will be able to hold a candle to her.
She’ll also be lazy, cold hearted, mean, stupid, selfish, wasteful and vain. She won’t care about anybody’s happiness but her own. She'll spend hours each day just doing her hair and make-up. She won’t lift a finger to help you, take care of your children, or build a happy home. And even though she cheats on you, she and her amazing body will never leave you.” 
I then wiggled my fingers at him and told him to sit down and be quiet.

The last week of school, David came to see me late one afternoon. 
He stood in front of my desk and said simply, “Mrs. W., You gotta remove the curse.”

I looked at him a second and saw real worry on his face. 
I waggled my fingers at him and made a funny noise. “It’s removed.”

He turned and left the classroom.

I smiled. Maybe there was hope.

What is it about gratitude?

Tis the season!  Here's a leftover thought I tweaked to go with that turkey sandwich.


There must be something about gratitude.

When I was new in the gospel I remember being puzzled a bit by the scriptural story of Christ’s healing of the lepers.  You know the one…….ten were healed but only one of them came back to express his gratitude.
Jesus made it a point to inquire of the one grateful man about those who hadn’t returned to thank him.

What puzzled me at first was that Jesus even mentioned this.

It seemed out of character to me.
Jesus never wanted anything for himself.   Certainly not public praise.  Why would he be concerned about those who were ungrateful?
Was he offended?
Did he want credit for the good he did?
He saved ten people from a fate worse than death.   That was what he wanted to do wasn't it?
Why did he care that most of them never even looked back?
After thinking hard for a while I decided this.

There must be something about gratitude.

There must be something in it for those who feel it and express it.
Maybe there's even a little something in it for those who receive it.
Something important must be involved here. Something essential even.

I thought some more.

One thing that came to mind was a recollection of a Friday many years ago when I was given a very special gift.  As far as presents go it surely wasn’t fancy or expensive, but I’ve never forgotten how it made me feel.

I remember I was leaving my classroom after a really difficult week.  I can’t recall exactly what made that week so hard, but I know I was exhausted.
Among other things, I think it involved several days of state testing for my poor kids. Report cards and parent conferences went late into several nights.  Irate colleagues were upset about something.  Irate parents were upset about the colleagues.  More kids than usual were in trouble.  And the always endless faculty meetings actually became scary when you realized that everyone battling it out in the current argument about lunch duty had a college degree.

Anyway,  I was leaving my classroom…..late again.
As I locked the door I remember thinking that I hope my family didn’t need anything from me this weekend.  Things like patience, energy, or kindness.  Or an interest in any of their problems.
All that remotely resembled a functioning human being was left in a puddle on that classroom floor.  I had nothing left.

As I turned the key I decided to cross the hall to check my mailbox before heading home. I flipped on the light in the dark mailroom and there in the wall of cubbies was the gift I've remembered all these years. In fact, in every mailbox there was a gift.  In every mailbox there was a bright red apple and an envelope.
I went to mine and opened the note.
I read….“Thank you so much for all you do for our kids. We know it’s sometimes hard. You make a difference to them and to us.” It was signed… Grateful Parents.   
Well, I’ve been given many gifts over the years, some expensive even, I’m sure. Most of them I can’t recall. But I’ll never forget that apple and the way it made me feel. As I opened the door to leave the mailroom the doom and gloom I’d been wallowing in began to lift a little.

Lifted.  By an apple and a thank you note.  From way down in the dumps I was lifted.
There’s something about gratitude expressed that lifts people, isn’t there?

I walked down the hallway heading to the parking lot and there outside the office door stood our dear principal talking to one of the staff.  I knew his week had been even tougher than mine.

I called, “Hey Sarge, have a good weekend,” as I passed.

He looked up and with a big grin said,  “Well, it's Friday. And the boat we been a'rowin's taken on a load of water. But, by gum, we’re still afloat.”
I chuckled, waved, and went out the door.

The last time we’d had such a terrible week he’d said with a big smile, “Well, here we’ve been shot at every day now and we ain't dead yet.”
Sarge was well known for his wise and pithy counsel.

But as I walked to my car I realized something important.

Even though he was joking I’d heard a note of genuine gratitude in the tone of his voice.
He was only half kidding.
He really was grateful to have made it through a tough week.
He seemed tired but hopeful.  He was looking forward to the weekend, to his family, and to his fishing pole probably.  He wasn’t running on fumes…..he was ready to rest, fill up and have a great weekend.
Yes ….there’s something about gratitude that changes your outlook. That puts your life in a clearer, more positive light.  It seems that gratitude and attitude are related.
There's that lift again. There must be something about gratitude that lifts whether your giving it or feeling it.

As I drove home I began to think.  I remembered a story that I’d heard once in some church meeting.
It was about a woman who’d been invited to a very special banquet held in her honor.  She’d been given an elaborately engraved invitation.  It explained that at this banquet all kinds of wonderful dishes were being prepared for her.  All of her special favorites would be served from lobster to strawberry shortcake.
But there was a rule.
She could take as much as she wanted from any of the dishes offered but she had to take at least one`bite from all of them.

On that special night she entered the beautiful banquet hall, gazed in amazement at all the dishes and then did the strangest thing.
She took a crystal plate, placed it on a silver tray, and walked slowly up and down that laden banquet table. She passed by the lobster, strawberries, and all the luscious desserts that she adored and went straight to a covered dish at the end of the table.
She lifted the lid.  Inside was liver and onions.  She detested liver and onions but she knew the rule.  At least one bite from everything offered.
She began to cry……“ Liver and onions! I hate liver and onions!

Then she did the strangest thing.

She pulled up a chair in front of that loathsome dish and sat down. She filled her plate with a huge helping of the detested liver and holding her head in her hands cried louder and louder……Oh no, I can’t bear it!  Oh no…..I hate liver and onions!
Then she picked up her fork and began to eat, wailing all the while. 

The banquet workers couldn’t believe their eyes!  She had passed by all of the wondrous things offered without seeming to notice.  All their careful, loving preparation of those exquisite dishes had gone unnoticed.
Instead, she sat in front of the one thing she hated and wept.

Well, I guess there must be something about ingratitude too.
Something essential.
It somehow distorts your vision, I think.
It makes the blessings surrounding every one of us seem to disappear.
It puts a magnifying glass on the negative and robs us of happiness and the ability to deal with life.

I know that woman.

I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been to that same banquet a time or two in my life. Maybe even this week a little.
And I can tell you that she’s not happy eating only liver.
Now I want to shake her and say “Look at all the beautiful strawberries!  Be grateful!”
Because there's definitely something about gratitude.

Almost to the turnoff to home now I began to think about tests. We'd been knee deep in state testing all week. Oh well, that's just the way things are, I guessed. The kids better get used to it.

After all, life itself gives the hardest tests.  You know the ones.

Then I began to think of those really hard "Life" tests.  And I began to think about gratitude and what a difference it made on the really tough questions.

In the years when we lived in our small mountain community two young people from wonderful families were called home to Father unexpectedly.
One was an amazing and beautiful young woman in her first year away at college. She was the oldest daughter and a light to everyone who knew her.
She was killed in a highway accident.
Another was a shining, bright, precious little boy.  A toddler not much more than a year old.  He went home after a drowning accident.
Both young people had large and loving families left with broken hearts.
And now all of them must take the test.
Then I remembered back to my own childhhod.  I was eleven, oldest of four. My father, then only 38 years old, husband and father, was killed in a car accident on his way home from work.
My brokenhearted family had to take the test too.

All had been given the same test.
They must take it in the darkest hour of their lives.
The answers they gave would make a difference for an eternity.

There were tears on every face. There was almost unbearable sadness at this parting.
But on some faces there was something else too.
For those who knew the truths of the gospel there was hope.
And gratitude.
In their darkest hour some answered with gratitude!   I could see it through the tears.
I saw those who knew the truth giving that answer to life's hardest question.

I saw gratitude that those beautiful young people were a part of their families and would be forever.

I saw gratitude for the mission of Jesus Christ, who conquered death and made it posssible for all of us to do the same.

I saw gratitude for the Temple and the sealing ordinances performed there that bind families together forever.

I saw gratitude for the certain knowlege that they would see their dear ones alive and well someday. They would hold them in their arms again. Not one hair on their heads would be lost.  So that the day told about in the scriptures, "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," would surely come.  For that's the only way they truly would be comforted.
I saw gratitude for the peace and comfort of Father's love.

My own family didn't have the light of the gospel when our loved one died. There were the same tears and broken hearts. But despair was the answer my mother gave. Life gave her an incredibly hard burden to bear. Surely one of life's most difficult tests. But she felt only despair.
She seemed to answer with with every breath, "This can't be happening to me!  I can't go on!  I can't bear this pain!  Stop this pain!"
And so she tried to stop the pain with alcohol.  She tried every day.
And the beautiful life she and her children had known ended when their loved one died.

Yes, there certainly is something essential about gratitude.
It seems to be the right answer on some of the really hard questions that life gives you. It seems to go hand in hand with hope. It seems to be a key to survival. It might be an important part of happiness even.

It seems to be an eternal truth.

Christ may have been thinking of this when he asked about the nine who didn't return to give thanks.
He never cared about himself. He was always thinking of the happiness of others.
Maybe he was worried about the nine.

Because there's something about gratitude, isn't there?

Hello Again...

Hello Again,
I know it’s been a long time since I scribbled one of my stories. I’d like to explain.

My husband Larry is an only child. His dear mom, in her eighties, has been in the gentle care of our two youngest daughters for the last 6 years. Recently her health began to fail and it’s been every family members’ "hands on deck" for several months.
She passed away in November and her funeral was the day before Thanksgiving. We miss her and think of her every day.

One quick story about Gramma.
Katie wasn’t a member of the Church but we had her surrounded by her “All Mormon” posterity. Every single one of her descendants is an active Latter Day Saint. When needed, Larry or grandsons would give her a Priesthood blessing.                         
Well, Gramma loved the holidays. She was known far and wide for her decorations. From before Thanksgiving to New Year's they filled every room of her house, including the bathrooms!  She looked forward to these special days all year long and this year would be the first time in her life that she wouldn’t be able to spend them with her family. She was in the hospice and unable to travel. All of us were heartbroken about it.
Well, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving Larry gave her a blessing. In it she was blessed that she would be able to spend the holidays with her family and friends.
“How in the world is that going to happen?” I wondered. Then I started looking into having an ambulance transport her to our holiday celebrations.
Instead, a few days after placing his hands on his mother’s head, Larry came out of her room and said to me, “Mom’s gone.”
The very first thought that came to my mind was that the blessing had been fulfilled.
Indeed, she would be home with cherished family and friends to share all those special things she loved about the holidays.

I’m so grateful for the ties that bind us. They continue forever, connecting past, present, and future.
By the way, on the other side of the veil, Gramma may be surprised to find that she’s still surrounded by a family of Mormons. For years, her grandaughters have been busily doing temple work.

I hope many blessings were yours during this special time of year. May you especially have felt the love of our Heavenly Father when He sent His Son.
Happy New Year to all of you.

By Small Means

I love this church. I love it for a million reasons but right now I’m remembering some special members who reached out to me and mine when help was needed. They lifted and strengthened by doing little things. Just little things. But then you know what the Lord has to say about that, don’t you? Something about by small means great things are brought to pass.

I remember when we were working to get our raggedy old converted family to the temple for the first time. You know, I think the adversary must really hate forever families because the closer we got to that special day the harder life became. Since joining the Church it had been line upon line, precept upon precept, one foot in front of the other, a day at a time, working steadily to become truly Latter Day Saints. Turns out that getting baptized was just the first step for us. Becoming Mormon was a long process. Larry had finally conquered a heavy cigarette habit which had tortured him for years, we were full tithe payers, trying to hold regular family home evenings, attend our meetings, read scriptures and all the rest. I was the ward Primary President if you can believe that, never having been to primary as a child. We had four children by then, the youngest a preschooler and our oldest daughter fifteen or so. This teenaged daughter and I had a strained relationship at the time, becoming difficult as she started high school. Nothing I said or did was right and Larry often had to run interference, sometimes literally standing between us so I couldn’t resort to blows. I once shouted in anger at her about how hard it was to be the mother of a rude, complaining, unreasonable, teenager and she shot back that it was no picnic being the daughter of a bossy, critical, thirty three year old either. You get the picture. She needed to interview with the bishop before going to the temple and I was terrified because I knew that while not exactly breaking any major commandments she was “dancing around the pit,” so to speak, just seeing how close she could get without falling in. She was hanging out with some member kids who had lost their way. She was trying to “help them,” she said. It had never occurred to me that one of our children might not be ready for the temple after Larry and I finally were. My heart was breaking. The next Sunday was fast Sunday and I was very emotional. I stood in Relief Society and bore my testimony. I very briefly mentioned my concerns about this daughter and the temple. That was all. Later that week this beloved, exasperating, child came in from school and as she walked down the hall to her room she turned to me and said in an irritated tone, “What did you do? Am I charity case number 62 or something?” I looked at her completely dumbfounded. I had no idea what she was talking about. “Huh?” I said. (Brevity was usually the safest path to take with her.) She continued accusingly, “This week my seminary teacher asked to take me out to get a root beer, the Mutual president and my teacher want to go to a movie on Saturday, and Bishop’s first counselor and his wife want to go get ice cream after school tomorrow. Did you call them? “No way,” I answered truthfully, “I certainly did not call them.” She sniffed and flounced off to her room.

Funny thing happened though. There was a miraculous change in her attitude. It was as if the care and concern of people other than her annoying mother made all the difference. She seemed to pull back from the edge of the pit. People she respected and admired cared for her, went out of their way for her, wanted the best for her. It changed something. We all made it to the temple.

Ice cream cones and movie tickets? Small means. Love and service? Eternal influence. Anyway, I know great things came to pass and I’m grateful.

Angels

I’ve had a few dealings with angels. Or at least their assistants.
Right now I’m thinking of a time over 20 years ago when two of them came to give me a message.
It was close to midnight in a hospital parking lot. In my mind, I can still see the pools of light cast by the streetlamps glowing on the blacktop beneath my feet.

I’d better explain.
Larry was in that hospital. He’d been there for about three weeks at that point. There had been a terrible car wreck. He had major injuries and was still a long, long, way from recovery.
By now we’d come past the panicked, can’t breathe point of “Will he live or die?”
That and “Can he survive surgery?” had been dealt with in the first week with major help from Heavenly Father. “Will he ever walk again?” was still somewhere up ahead.

Now we were at a different stage. We’d now moved to the, “Will any of us make it through this?” stage.

We owned a family business at the time, both of us working unbelievably long hours to keep it going. It was the start of the busy season. Our kids were part of that too, all of us working together.
Now, the “Can I keep the family business going all by myself, Are our four kids okay without either of us, because I’ve only seen them in passing for weeks now, and the What in the world will we ever do about money?” concerns were crashing in.

Keeping the business going seemed to be Larry’s main concern despite his many injuries. It was our only income and it weighed heavily on his mind. Every time I walked into his room he had a hundred questions and instructions. Even on that first terrible day in the emergency room, bones crushed and bleeding, the first thing he said to me was, “It’s payday. You have to get the payroll out to our employees!”

Well, while in this precarious state of mind, at about 11:30 at night the angels came.
I was leaving the hospital to go home to take a shower, check on the kids and then come back to sleep in my chair by Larry’s bed until I had to leave for work at 6:00 am. I’d slept there so many nights it was now, “my chair.”
As I walked down the halls I could smell antiseptic hospital smells, so unlike someone’s home, I thought.
A wave of self pity, exhaustion and despair started to wash over me. The past awful weeks and the uncertain and bleak future came crashing in. The doctors still had no idea when Larry would get out of the hospital. The only thing they knew for sure was that after that, if all went well, it would be at least 6 months of wheelchairs and rehab. This for a man who worked 60 hour weeks a month ago.
Suddenly it was all like a choking blackness. I can’t do this anymore, my mind shouted. It’s too much. I can’t be out of my mind with worry about my husband, run our business by myself, be the sole breadwinner, be there for my scared and anxious kids who needed me and not have a breakdown.
In fact, I’m having a breakdown right now!
I walked out to my car in a spiral of despair. "This is too much….you’ve given me more than I can handle, Heavenly Father….why me?" You get the picture.

As I neared my car I saw two women coming toward me.
When they got closer I could see it was our ward Relief Society president and one of her counselors, who was a good friend of mine.
I wasn’t surprised at the late hour because my friend was a notorious night owl, often doing her weekly grocery shopping at the 24 hour grocery in the wee hours of the morning. Her habits must be rubbing off, I thought.
I called to them, they came to me, we hugged.
They said they had just left my house and our son had sent them here.
They wanted to know how Larry was doing today. They wanted to know how the kids were. They wanted to know how I was.

Then they delivered the message. The one from angels.

One of them said “Kathy, Sister Jones called today. She wants to help you in any way she can. What can she do for you? I promised her I would find something she could do.”
Before I could reply my other friend said, “Yes, Kathy, I promised somebody too. Sister Brown called and wants to help you and your family. How can she help?” (Names have been changed)

I didn’t hear anything else they said after that.
Because it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face.
I could almost hear a voice saying sternly, “Stop whining! You can handle what you’ve been given. It’s not too much for you. You are not alone. ”

You see, that ice water sensation came for a reason.

Sister Jones, who wanted to help me, was a sweet sister, and a friend.
She had just given birth to a baby with multiple physical defects and most probably profound, lifelong mental problems.
She also had several other children, a home and husband to care for while seeing to the needs of this new, special spirit.

I knew Sister Brown who also wanted to help me, less well, but we had worked together in Relief Society for a short time.
I knew she was a wonderful, faithful woman with a lovely home and family. She, too, had just given birth to another beautiful daughter. All were well and healthy, thank God.
But, her husband who was an active member, out of the blue had recently decided to leave her and his kids for a married woman he had met at work.
No one who knew the family could believe it. Everyone was stunned.

Yes, both of these sisters wanted to help me. Both had contacted the Relief society to see what they could do.
Maybe they were angels too, because the cloud of despair began to lift from my mind as I stood there in that pool of lamplight next to them.
I knew that I would be able to do whatever was needed.
My burdens were no heavier than others bore. In fact, I wouldn’t trade.

I also knew that a message had been deliberately sent to me that night.
I was on the verge of losing it and Heavenly Father had sent word of his care and concern.

I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Him. Then I asked Him to help those dear sisters instead of myself.  For the first time in weeks I was thinking of others.

Yes, I’ve had some dealings with angels.

Smoking Hot and Beautiful Are Different

It's spring in the desert.
That sweet smell of orange blossoms drifting around our Valley puts me in mind of lots of springy things.
And being a retired high school teacher that includes countless proms and graduations.

I remembered once when Larry and I were sitting in a dark parking lot at our nearby high school at 1:00 in the morning. We were waiting for our two youngest daughters who teach there to finish closing up the school after a dance.
Teaching is only one of the many things they do. They sponsor a very active student council so there's always tons of extra duties. Like organizing and locking up after dances.

Well, Larry gets nervous when daughters, even adult ones, must be alone in a dark parking lot that late at night. He says it’s a jungle out there.
So, as long as we were able, after dances we'd drive over to sit and wait for them.
Our daughters thought we were silly, even ridiculous as I recall one of them observing.
They're right of course. Two broken down geezers wouldn't be much help in a crisis, but we can watch their backs, and it makes their dad feel better.

Anyway, we had arrived way early, just in time for the huge traffic mess, and pulled into a space up front to get out of the way.
We sat there and watched as hundreds of students left the dance.
This was a semi-formal so everyone was all dressed up. Lots of the kids looked very nice in their best dancing duds. We noticed that this year there seemed to be a great deal of “sparkly” going on, which I really love.
We wished we’d invested in a sequin factory or a “Bedazzler” store or something.

It became obvious after a while, however, that quite a few of the girls were having some really serious wardrobe malfunctions.
Actually the problem seemed to be more of a "lack" than a malfunction.
In way too many cases there simply wasn’t enough wardrobe to completely cover the child in question.

It was late and dark and Larry can’t see very well now, but when I looked over and saw him shaking his head I knew he could see well enough. Once I was afraid he was going to jump out of the car to angrily cover up some little girl with a raincoat we had thrown in the back of the car.

All I could think as this parade passed by was something my daughter-in-law once said to me in a similar situation.
“Kathy,” she cried, “What in the world is wrong with that child’s mother!”
That’s a good question for sure. Something’s definitely wrong somewhere.

Don’t misunderstand.  Even though I’m old I know what motivates these young ladies. They want to be noticed and liked by boys. Most teenaged girls do.
Then this "fashion parade" sent me back to another spring about four years earlier at the high school where I was teaching.

It was graduation.
I was sitting at a table just inside the huge auditorium that our district rented for all these ceremonies, one of several teachers signing kids in and giving them name cards to hand to the announcer.
After check-in they formed a line directly behind us to wait for the ceremony to start.

Nervous, excited kids kept coming through the glass doors carrying caps and gowns over their arms.
The group behind me was getting big and we teachers often had to turn to shush them a bit.

There were six boys standing directly behind me, one of them a student of mine.
They all looked so young. One foot still in childhood while a wispy mustache grew on their faces.
Tomorrow would take them to college or work or war. I hoped God would bless them all.
We spoke a few words and then I got busy. The boys went back to talking and joking the way kids do.

The crowd in front of me began to thin out as it grew closer to the time to begin.

Then two girls came in wobbling precariously on the highest heels I’d ever seen. They stopped and gave me their names and I looked for their cards.
Both had elaborate hair, streaked and piled high. It must have taken hours. Makeup included gargantuan eyelashes and lips. Bling was everywhere.
Then there was the wardrobe.
One girl’s tight top was cut so low it was truly a worry. I heard her say to the teacher next to me, “Dress code doesn’t matter because of the cap and gown. We’re going to party after.”
The other girl wore a skirt so short that she couldn’t possibly sit down and still remain dressed, but we teachers let it pass. We were too late. They were 18 and it was graduation after all.
Thank goodness for those caps and gowns. They’d be covered from neck to ankle for a while at least.

As they leaned over to sign in I noticed one of the young ladies glance provocatively over my head to the boys behind me.
I turned to say something to my co-worker and noticed the guys.
All of them were still talking and laughing, but now they were sort of leering in the general direction of the cleavage and bare thighs in front of them. I saw one elbow his neighbor in the ribs in case he’d missed it. Alerted, he looked and then leered with the rest of them.
The girls left, I shook my head and forgot them.
The crowd coming in dwindled to a few latecomers.

Then the door opened and another girl rushed in, hurrying to the table.
First I noticed a sweet smile. Then her hair. It was simple and shiny, swaying gently just above her shoulders.
She had on a dressy, cream colored knit top. It might have been silk. It had small cap sleeves and a neckline curving just below her collarbone.
Her skirt was dark, fitting close to her waist and hips and then swinging out to fall in soft folds ending just above her knees.
Her simple, dark heels looked about three inches high.
Her makeup was light.
I caught a glimpse of a pair of small pearl earrings, a simple necklace, and a thin jeweled watch on her wrist.
When she moved a slight scent of some wonderful fragrance moved with her.
This girl was absolutely lovely. The only other word that came to mind when you saw her was “beautiful.”
It felt like a fresh breeze had just drifted into that now stuffy auditorium.

I turned around then to say some last words to the kids behind me when I noticed those six boys again.
It actually startled me.

Because now none of them were talking, joking, laughing or leering.
All were standing and silently staring.
They were looking at the face of that girl.
I knew it was her face. I could see their eyes.
No crude remarks….no jabs to the ribs.
Just respectful, silent, deep appreciation.

One boy had a wistful look on his face. Two of them had their mouths open. One kid looked like he’d just seen a new car or something.
It was a totally different response to someone of the opposite sex than I’d seen from them just minutes before.

It was then that I realized that I hadn’t given those boys enough credit.
They might be young but they already knew one of the most important lessons in life.

That lesson is that smokin’ hot and beautiful are not the same thing.
Nope, not the same thing at all.

Beautiful, lovely and of good report.
Those are the qualities to look for. That's what it says in the Articles of Faith. Seek after them.

I think those six guys are going to be all right.
I hope somehow the message gets through to those first two girls before it’s too late.

Pornography Is A Lie

I had an interesting discussion one time with a bunch of teenagers about the subject of pornography.
The teenagers were students of mine, most of them seniors, in a Lifeskills class for kids with disabilities.
The text we were using covered everything from how to write a check, rent an apartment, get a job, fix your car, shop for groceries, and avoid arrest, tornadoes, flash floods and sexual diseases. We learned how to stay healthy, choose a mate, and plan for parenthood.
Well, we were in the middle of the chapter covering sexual matters, knee deep in STD’s, when the subject of pornography came up.
None of these kids were LDS and when someone mentioned porn, 100% of them said they viewed it regularly.
I kept quiet about the subject until the next day when I posted my regular discussion starter in its usual place on the door. It said……

                             
                                   PORNOGRAPHY IS A LIE

As the kids entered the room there were a lot of comments like, “Wazup? Ms Dub (W)?   How can pictures be lies?”   and   “ Ms Dub, we knew you’d be against porn cause you’re really old and all “churchy.”
That sort of thing.

After everyone was seated I began my explanation.
I told them that this class was all about learning to live full and rewarding lives despite any handicaps a person might have and that basing your life on the truth was an important part of that.
We were trying to learn true principles in lots of different areas from finances to parenting skills and apply them to our lives.
Sex was no different. Principles were involved.
I told them that indeed I was “old and churchy” but that didn’t necessarily make me wrong.
Sex, I explained, was one of the most powerful forces known to mankind and one that can bring happiness or misery into people’s lives depending on how its handled.
I asked them to think hard and see if they knew of someone who was now miserable because of messing up with sex.
They didn’t have to think hard at all…. everybody knew someone. Often that someone was in their own family.

I continued….  “Understanding the truth about something as important to happiness as sex is would be necessary to living a fulfilling life, wouldn’t it?”

“Yea, Yea, Yea……why’s porn a lie? someone  said.

 “Because” I went on, “Porn tells its viewers that great sex is something it’s not."

Porn tells people that great sex is something people do with strangers, or do for money, or pay money for. That it’s a group activity, a spectator sport, an exhibition, or something you do in front of a camera. That it’s all about the size of certain body parts, or how a person looks.
Porn tells people that it’s OK for sex to be a weapon, a crime, a game, a joke, a job, a contest, a bribe, a payoff, or something you do because you want to be popular.  
Porn tells people that sex is only about sensations in bodies and that it has nothing to do with the human spirit. That it doesn’t change you, that it means nothing, that feelings don’t matter.
Porn says that a condom is all you need to be protected from harm.
Well, each and every one of those things is a lie. If you want to build a life of misery, build it on a pack of lies.”

“Furthermore,” I added emphatically, “all of you know that porn is not only a lie but that it’s wrong.”

“Wait up, Ms Dub….no way,” said one of the students. Then a chorus of “Nobody makes those people do those things…we’re just looking…. Besides it looks like they’re having a real good time….Everybody watches porn”…etc.

“Stop. I can prove that you know the truth,” I said.
“Get out paper and pencil….we’re taking the “Porn Test.”

"A test?” more than one kid whined.

“Stop complaining,” I said, “There’s only one question.

The kids looked up from their seats expectantly.
I could see all of their faces and the whites of their eyes.
I told them that on second thought they could put their pencils away, they only had to “Think” the answer to the test question.
But they had to promise to be honest with that one answer.

Agreed.

I didn’t tell them the most important thing I knew about them at this point.
I couldn’t tell them because we had kids of all faiths in our student body.
It wouldn’t be appropriate to mention Christ in this situation as much as I wanted to.

Nevertheless, I knew that each of them, no matter what their faith, was born with the light of Christ.
The scriptures taught us that.
That light helps all Heavenly Father’s children to know right from wrong, good from bad.
They all had that light to see by whether they knew it or not.

So I gave them the test.            
Counting on that light I asked the question.

“Pretend you’re looking at pornography as you usually do. Pretend that the images are right there in front of you now.
Now, look deep down in your own heart, mind, and spirit.
Be still and listen.
Be honest.
Isn’t something saying...

This is wrong. What those people are doing isn’t good. It’s wrong. It’s wrong for them and I shouldn’t be watching because I know it’s wrong for me too.                                                                                        
Isn’t something saying that to you? Look at me so I can see the answer in your eyes.”

My students looked up at me. I could read their answers plainly.
Every single face in that class…. every one…. told the truth about pornography.
THEY ALL KNEW.

There was a kind of sheepish shuffling of feet and desks at that point and then one kid said, “Okay, Ms W…. Then what is great sex?”

“You’re asking an “old, churchy” lady a question like that?
Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Yea, sure…why not?” someone said.

“Well then, I have to tell the truth even though you probably won’t like it.
Sex is a precious, divine gift given to a man and a woman who are MARRIED.

Some of  life’s greatest blessings come to people through sex.
You can become one with another human being through sex. You can get closer to them and connect with them more fully than in any other way.
And the greatest love you will ever feel will come into your life through sex because your children and grandchildren will come into being because of it.

Probably most important of all, sex can never be great unless first there is love.
It has to be the mature, unselfish, building a life together kind of love.
The, "Your happiness is more important to me than my own," kind of love.
Only if there’s love like that can sex be all it was designed to be.”

Pornography is a big, fat, lie. 
It hurts people. 
Don’t live a life filled with lies.

His Mother Wasn't Home

School will be out for the summer soon.
This is an old post reprinted as a caution to mothers with sons.
******


Teenage boys aren’t known for their sound judgment.
In fact, scientific studies show that the portion of their brains that control this skill isn’t fully developed yet.
Having taught high school for many years I can testify to the truth of that science.

Because of this developmental delay a great deal of the world’s mischief has been invented at the hands of teenaged boys.
But in my opinion they didn’t do this alone.
Their mothers have to share in the blame.
They weren’t home at the time to put a stop to said mischief before it got out of hand.

I know this is true because nobody but a teenaged boy would think of some things. And because no woman I know would have let their son be the first kid to do the crazy stuff we have to deal with today.

For example…….

Two teenaged boys stand outside a pasture leaning on the fence. Inside, peacefully grazing is the biggest, meanest, Brahma bull for miles around. Cyclone is it’s name. One kid says to the other…

“Hey, I know what let’s do! Let’s go in there and one of us climb on the back of old Cyclone. Then we'll kick him in the sides until he throws us off, stomps us into the dirt, and breaks both of our legs!  We can get some of  our friends to time us with a stopwatch. The one that stays on longest and is still alive will win a new belt buckle!”

“Great! says the other kid. Me first!”  

Both of those kids had mothers who weren’t home that day. I guarantee it.

Or ……

It’s summer…no school…everybody’s bored. One teenaged friend says to the other as they finish putting rubber bands on the newspapers they’re about to deliver.

“What do you want to do today…go to the movies?"                                                                                  
“Nah…I have a better idea,” his friend says as he bands the last paper. “Lets hike up to 5 mile bridge and tie big rubber bands to our feet.  Then we'll dive off the bridge headfirst into the rocky river and see if we survive!  It’ll be cool!”

“That sounds like it might be dangerous,” says the other guy. “I better ask my mom first…Oh, I forgot…she’s not home today. OK, I’m sure she won’t mind. Let’s go!”

And then there’s…..

Best friends…Saturday afternoon….looking for something fun to do.

“Hey, I know what…..Let’s build a big playpen in your backyard and put pads on our hands.  Then we'll get in the playpen and beat each other in the head until we’re senseless and one of us falls down with brain damage!  Our friends can throw water on us to keep us conscious and the last one standing will win a new belt!” (Belts must be really important to teenagers)

“Okay……cool!”

And don’t forget…….

“Hey….my friend says he’ll take us for a ride in his new airplane on Saturday. Let’s have some real fun! We’ll take big tarps and hook them to our backs somehow. Then when the plane’s really up there we’ll open the door and jump out!  I’ll bet the tarps will fill up with air and we’ll just float down to the ground.”

“That might not work,” says his friend in an excess of caution.  “Let’s stuff the tarps into our backpacks first. We can figure out some way to get them out on the way down. Maybe we could hook a string on the zipper and pull it open that way.”

“COOL!” Should we ask our moms first?”

“Nah, my mom always has to go shopping on Saturday. She won’t mind.”

Then there’s…..

“Hey Dude, I just got my driver’s license!”

“Me too!”

“I know what! Let’s get all our friends with licenses and make a big road in a circle. We’ll all get in our cars and drive 100 miles an hour around and around in the circle. Then everybody'll tries to pass and get in front without slowing down until somebody gets in an accident and maybe gets killed!”

“Cool!”

“Did you ask your mom if it’s OK?”

“Nah, Dude, she’s not home today.”

There’s more, but you get the picture.

The moral of this story is…..Moms need to keep a sharp eye out for mischief.  

Also, another moral is…. adults should be patient with teenaged boys….their brains aren’t done yet.