Tuesday, January 20, 2015
A Special Place in Heaven
One of my favorite high school teachers once told me about a treasured "teaching moment."
It seems that Hector, a senior gangbanger in her 7th period class, had a problem. He was lying on the floor one day looking up at the ceiling waiting for the bell to ring. She went over to investigate.
"What's up, Hector?" she asked as she looked down at him.
"Well, Miss, I've been thinking about all the stuff you've been saying about life and s#*@. And I don't think it'll work for me. Because sometimes I just like to do bad things."
"I understand," she replied, nodding sympathetically. "But Hector, don't forget about the rule."
She continued patiently, "And remember that I had nothing to do with making that rule either. It just IS. It always has been."
"What rule?" Hector asked.
"You can't do bad things and feel good." she told him.
Hector paused for a minute and let out a long, sad, sigh.
Then he replied thoughtfully, "Damn."
That being said, I would like to express gratitude for two extraordinary women. One of them just mentioned.
They are both young teachers in their 30's, who have already given well over a decade each in service to young people. They've taught in barrio elementary schools, special education classes, and most recently as big city high school teachers. They labor tirelessly, year after year, for the welfare of hundreds, if not thousands of the rising generation. They use their amazing talents, endless love, not endless means, and every ounce of their energy to bless the lives of the young people who walk into their classrooms each day.
Beside their jobs in public school, both teach early morning seminary. They get out of bed in the wee hours before dawn to seek the truth. They study, pray, and fast for light. They know this is a sacred call from the Lord. They do everything in their power to help arm those most valiant spirits, the ones saved for the last days.
Their contribution to the sum total of good in this world simply cannot be measured.
I'd like to share just a bit of what I mean.
Once I ran across a little note on one of these teacher's desks and asked about it's cryptic message. In childish writing it said.
"Thank you very much for the chews." It was signed Fernando.
I asked about it and was told that the class was working on sounding out words for spelling and that's how it sounded to him.
"Okay," I said, "but what does it mean."
She reluctantly explained. "Well, you know that Track and Field Day is a big deal for the kids each spring. The day before ours Nando was obviously sad. I asked why. He said that when the coach was signing kids up for events he told them everybody had to wear real shoes to be in the meet. No flip flops or sandals. District insurance or something. Nando was all excited to sign up for the 100 yard dash and the relay which he was sure he could win. But he only had sandals. He didn't own any other shoes. He was so disappointed. So, that night I bought him some athletic shoes and socks. I had to guess on the size. I came to work a little early, parked on the side of the street I knew he would take to school, called him over when I spotted him, and gave him the shoes and socks. I did it on the down low so he wouldn't be embarassed. He wrote me a note. Isn't it sweet?"
I recall another time one of them was teaching a Special Ed high school class. The kids were trying to meet the requirements for graduation. One student needed credit for PE. The PE coach had made accomodations but a mile run was still required. This girl was often made fun of for her physical awkwardness. She'd given up the idea of being able to pass PE and graduate because she felt running a mile in the time allowed was impossible. She'd tried and there was no way it was going to happen.
Well, this teacher took the student in question and the rest of the class out to the track.
"You can do this," she told her. "It's not impossible! You just need to work hard. We'll all help."
At first the class sat grumbling on the bleachers and cheered halfheartedly at the teacher's insistance.
"She's a hopeless nerd," someone said.
But finally, after days of sweaty effort, the teacher, this girl, and all the other students were found back out on the track one last time. All of them were running beside and backwards in front of this young lady as she painfully plodded along.
Along the way they shouted, "You can do this! Don't you dare give up! Think about graduation! Just take one more step! One more step! JUST ONE MORE!
And when that student finally crossed the finish line her classmates didn't need to be told to cheer. She might still be a nerd but now she was "their" nerd. And maybe even, just a little, a friend.
She did something she thought was impossible.
And everybody learned lessons that will last a lifetime.
The nightly news is full of reports of tragedies involving lost teenagers.
But I know a whole bunch of "found" teens who've accomplished some extraordinary things. Big things.
How?
They've been taught.
For instance, some can singlehandedly organize and run a successful Red Cross blood drive. They can accomodate large organizations of 1000 people or more. I'm not kidding! I know where to find several seventeen-year-olds who can do this. Just imagine the skill set needed to pull this off.
A lot of them can direct every detail of a large and complicated talent show, from music cues to ticket sales. They can put on homecoming rallies and events that get televised on the nightly news. Scores of them know how to organize and execute parades, proms, dances, assemblies, ceremonies of all kinds, banquets, luncheons and charitable fund raisers.
Need to raise money fast? I know of teenagers who can round up a $1000 or so for charity in a couple of weeks. Legally too. Need a nice luncheon for the emergency faculty meeting day after tomorrow? 98 people? No problem. Call the kids in Student Council. Need popcorn to sell? Hot dogs, bottled water, or nachos for hundreds? Call the StuCo kids. The food will be there and the themed decorations will be color co-ordinated. They'll serve and clean up too if you ask them.
Do you suppose an employer might have a use for people who can do things like this?
Hundreds of these same Title I school kids also have been introduced to the doors that can open up in their lives if they attend college. They might be the first generation in their family born in this country, but somehow they now believe in amazing possibilities. They believe that if they work hard and never quit, even they have a real shot at the American dream. And the dream might start at a university.
You see, someone lit a spark in their lives.
They were taught that poverty isn't inevitable.
And they've also been taught how to fill out and send in college applications and scholarship forms. Sometimes the first step is the hardest, you know. Many have sent them in and been accepted. Sometimes the only ones in their families ever to have done so.
This is just a hint at the good accomplished at the hands and hearts of these remarkable young women.
Both of these extraordinary people are leaving teaching at the end of this year.
At least as a profession. And at least for a time.
The loss to their schools and to the education of children in their district isn't possible to calculate.
They are leaving for a good reason though.
They plan to seek renewal and growth. To explore, recharge, and sharpen the saw. They're leaving to see what other wonderful things Heavenly Father has in mind for them. And what other contributions they might make.
Well, I for one, pray that he has joy and happiness beyond their wildest dreams in mind.
I hope they get to see the world on a magic carpet. I hope they have the "Big Year" of a lifetime!
No one I've ever met deserves it more.
And may there be a special place in heaven reserved for them later.
A long, long, time later.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Many Hearts Died, Pierced Through With Deep Wounds
I must speak boldly.
Hard words are all I have because I'm angry.
There will be nothing lighthearted in this post. So if you need a lift today don't look for it here.
Please understand.
I'm angry because of a conversation I had with a woman about pornography. She actually laughed and made light of this horrendous problem with the offhand remark, "Boys will be boys."
Well, what are boys supposed to be anyway?
For one thing I believe that boys and men are supposed to be protectors and defenders of all that have been entrusted to them.
I remember seeing an old western movie once. In it there was a scene about a never to be broken Indian creed. A strong young brave explains to an outsider, "No warrior ever eats until he is certain that the pots of all the widows and orphans are full of meat."
I think of ranchers and farmers coming home after a day that began before dawn, tired and hungry. But they would never dream of food and rest for themselves until the animals in their care were safe and fed.
My mind goes to that legendary shout of a crew on a sinking ship, "Man the lifeboats! Women and children first!"
I believe that men, who are often physically stronger, are supposed to use that strength to protect what Heavenly Father has entrusted to them.
And men are supposed to teach their sons that the role of protector is one of the hallmarks of true manhood.
As a high school teacher I saw so many of my students, full of promise and possibility, fall prey to the countless lies Satan tells about pornography. One lie is that porn is victimless.
One boy actually said to me one day, "Aw, Mz Dub, lighten up. Nobody gets hurt."
Let me assure you, young man, everybody involved gets hurt.
Here's just a few TRUE things about porn.
Many of the women in this awful business were sexually abused as young girls. This was usually done by men who were supposed to defend and protect them from harm. Sometimes even by those who should have given their lives for them if necessary.
They suffered almost indescribable pain in body and spirit. Their childhood was stolen. What should have been a time of joy and growth became a hell of fear and betrayal.
Often these men, the ones who were supposed to protect them, were involved with pornography.
When these girls became young women they sometimes tried to deal with their pain by using drugs and alcohol. I saw some of them. This often led to more sexual abuse at the hands of their peers. Then they possibly had to deal with the health issues that come with this life. Herpes, genital warts, and syphillus, are still around today. And seeking treatment for these is something a 15 year old girl finds humiliating I can assure you.
And then there's unplanned pregnancy. And abortion.
"Aw, Mz Dub, nobody gets hurt," my young friend said.
Sure. Look into the eyes and broken heart of a 14 year old who's had an abortion and tell me nobody's hurt.
The porn industry recruits from broken young women like this. They're an easy target because they feel worthless. They believe themselves to be objects, "things," barely human, put on earth only to be used by selfish men.
Those same men who were put on earth to act as their protectors.
And make no mistake about it.
Anyone who consumes pornography in any of it's slick, disguised ugliness is one of those young girls' abusers.
He is there, standing by, watching, while a life is destroyed.
He makes no move to protect or defend.
He makes no move to act like a man.
If you or someone you love is involved in pornography, please know there is hope. It can stop. There is forgiveness.
Christ paid the price.
But you must want to change. You must want to be free.
I leave you with this thought from one of the apostles of the Lord.
Russell Ballard said in a recent conference.
"I testify to you, that your body, mind, and spirit can be transformed, cleansed, and made whole, and you will be freed."
Also from the scriptures.
Isaiah 1:18
Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red as crimson, they shall be as wool.
I would like to recommend the Addiction Recovery website of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Days Saints.
Truth is found there. It tells of the forgiveness made possible by Christ's Atonement.
Help is found there. Step by step, one day at a time help.
Please seek it if you or someone you care about suffers because of this terrible plague.
Hard words are all I have because I'm angry.
There will be nothing lighthearted in this post. So if you need a lift today don't look for it here.
Please understand.
I'm angry because of a conversation I had with a woman about pornography. She actually laughed and made light of this horrendous problem with the offhand remark, "Boys will be boys."
Well, what are boys supposed to be anyway?
For one thing I believe that boys and men are supposed to be protectors and defenders of all that have been entrusted to them.
I remember seeing an old western movie once. In it there was a scene about a never to be broken Indian creed. A strong young brave explains to an outsider, "No warrior ever eats until he is certain that the pots of all the widows and orphans are full of meat."
I think of ranchers and farmers coming home after a day that began before dawn, tired and hungry. But they would never dream of food and rest for themselves until the animals in their care were safe and fed.
My mind goes to that legendary shout of a crew on a sinking ship, "Man the lifeboats! Women and children first!"
I believe that men, who are often physically stronger, are supposed to use that strength to protect what Heavenly Father has entrusted to them.
And men are supposed to teach their sons that the role of protector is one of the hallmarks of true manhood.
As a high school teacher I saw so many of my students, full of promise and possibility, fall prey to the countless lies Satan tells about pornography. One lie is that porn is victimless.
One boy actually said to me one day, "Aw, Mz Dub, lighten up. Nobody gets hurt."
Let me assure you, young man, everybody involved gets hurt.
Here's just a few TRUE things about porn.
Many of the women in this awful business were sexually abused as young girls. This was usually done by men who were supposed to defend and protect them from harm. Sometimes even by those who should have given their lives for them if necessary.
They suffered almost indescribable pain in body and spirit. Their childhood was stolen. What should have been a time of joy and growth became a hell of fear and betrayal.
Often these men, the ones who were supposed to protect them, were involved with pornography.
When these girls became young women they sometimes tried to deal with their pain by using drugs and alcohol. I saw some of them. This often led to more sexual abuse at the hands of their peers. Then they possibly had to deal with the health issues that come with this life. Herpes, genital warts, and syphillus, are still around today. And seeking treatment for these is something a 15 year old girl finds humiliating I can assure you.
And then there's unplanned pregnancy. And abortion.
"Aw, Mz Dub, nobody gets hurt," my young friend said.
Sure. Look into the eyes and broken heart of a 14 year old who's had an abortion and tell me nobody's hurt.
The porn industry recruits from broken young women like this. They're an easy target because they feel worthless. They believe themselves to be objects, "things," barely human, put on earth only to be used by selfish men.
Those same men who were put on earth to act as their protectors.
And make no mistake about it.
Anyone who consumes pornography in any of it's slick, disguised ugliness is one of those young girls' abusers.
He is there, standing by, watching, while a life is destroyed.
He makes no move to protect or defend.
He makes no move to act like a man.
If you or someone you love is involved in pornography, please know there is hope. It can stop. There is forgiveness.
Christ paid the price.
But you must want to change. You must want to be free.
I leave you with this thought from one of the apostles of the Lord.
Russell Ballard said in a recent conference.
"I testify to you, that your body, mind, and spirit can be transformed, cleansed, and made whole, and you will be freed."
Also from the scriptures.
Isaiah 1:18
Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red as crimson, they shall be as wool.
I would like to recommend the Addiction Recovery website of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Days Saints.
Truth is found there. It tells of the forgiveness made possible by Christ's Atonement.
Help is found there. Step by step, one day at a time help.
Please seek it if you or someone you care about suffers because of this terrible plague.
Monday, December 29, 2014
A Gift From Josh
Two of my Christmas weary daughters came by early Friday morning to collapse on the couch. They were heading out into the, "it's a jungle out there," store return lines. They said they needed to rest up beforehand.
Last Friday, the evening before school vacation, they had taken the whole gang of nieces and nephews on their annual trip to the Dollar store.
"The aunts" do this after they each teach early morning seminary and seven periods of high school classes. After lunch one directs the winter pep assembly and the other one the blood drive. Then they finish up 150 report cards before last bell, and on their way home pick up a carload of kids for an evening of fun.
"The aunts" are the go-to for this yearly sibling and parent gift purchase. It was their idea, even. Apparently everybody looks forward to this special holiday event. I think there's even a wrapping party held at the aunt's house afterwards.
First everyone is provided with enough money to buy a gift for everyone else in the family. Then all of them, from age six to seventeen, are turned loose in the store to buy 7 gifts each. (One sister's on a mission this Christmas so she's not on the list.) Still, that's close to 50 gifts and in many cases considerable guidance is needed.
It must be great fun and I'm very glad I'm not invited. Glad too that I'm not shopping at the Dollar Tree when they're all in there.
Anyway, we got to talking about the just passed holiday, reliving highlights and counting many blessings. We came to the subject of gifts and one daughter said brightly, "Oh look Ma. See what we got from Josh." I could tell from her tone and expression that the gift was special to them, whatever it was. The aunts aren't usually included in the dollar store gift extravaganza since they provide the funds for it. So Josh's gift was unexpected.
But before I can tell you about why his gift was special, I have to tell you a little about Josh.
You see, Joshua is in Jr. High. That means he's in the 12 to 14 year old age bracket. Boys in that group are also in a special and separate category of human being. Sometimes really special.
To give you an example, just recently these same daughters stopped by on their way home from school. We were talking about how their days went. Sometimes I get wistful and miss it. They kindly remind me of the hard parts.
Suddenly their father emerged from his man cave to excitedly interupt us with an amazing news story he thought we just couldn't miss and wouldn't believe.
Seems there was a 13 year old boy somewhere who was locked out of his house accidentally. This boy thought it would be a good idea to climb on the roof and go down the chimney to get inside. After all, it makes sense. He got stuck, naturally, but thank goodness was able to reach the cell phone in his pocket and manage a call to the fire department. The nice firemen couldn't pull him out either from above or below so had to demolish the entire chimney to extricate him. (Try to explain that to the homeowners insurance people.)
This whole episode made a big splash on the nightly news.
"Can you believe that crazy kid?" Larry exclaimed with a shake of his head.
The three of us, all veteran Jr. High teachers with many years in combat, just looked at each other.
Finally Kelley said what we were all thinking, "Sure Dad. We get it. What's so hard to believe?"
This made me remember a story about Christ when he was a young boy. I intended to think hard about that story someday, to search for the lesson, but I was always in the middle of dealing with some 14 year old kid when I remembered it. So I always put it off. I decided to think some now.
First let me testify of a truth of which I am absolutely sure.
Christ never committed a sin.
He was blameless every day of his life.
Second, the scriptures don't say much about Christ's childhood. We do know that he waxed strong. That he grew in stature and wisdom.
We know too that as a young boy he was found in the temple, teaching those who taught.
It's this story I meant to think hard about.
I meant to think about Jesus but ended up thinking mostly about Mary and Joseph and their parenting skills.
Jesus went to the temple. Seems his mother and earthly father didn't know this. They had been looking all over for him, sorrowing. Read Luke to get the whole story.
Well, we've been counseled to "liken the scriptures to our own lives." And I've looked for a few children myself, worried sick. After I finally found them safe and my heart settled down and my blood pressure returned to normal, boy did they get in big trouble too! I recall shouting stuff like, "What in the world were you thinking!!?? What have you got to say for yourself, mister!!? You're not allowed outside the door for the rest of your life!!!"
Was this Mary and Joseph's response? Did Mary ever shout? It doesn't say much in the scriptures about that. But the scripture makes it seem like Mary may have been perplexed a bit about what her response should be. I'm not sure. Read Luke for the whole story. See what you think.
Anyway, I know that Christ never sinned. But it sounds like he might have done a kid thing. I'm not sure again. His explanation was that he was about his father's business and they shouldn't have worried. Read Luke for the whole story. Does this mean something about the stuff 14 year old boys do not being sins? Are they about their father's business? Is growing up part of waxing strong? Are they growing in stature and wisdom? Should we take these things into consideration?
There's a lot to think about here. I plan to ponder.
Anyway, back to Josh's gift to his aunts. Kelley pulled 2 rumpled dollar bills from her wallet. "They're for 44 oz diet limeades at Sonic during "Happy Hour." Drinks are 89 cents then. Josh says he knows how we count on them when things get tough. He wanted to be sure we had the money for the next one when we needed it."
I could tell his gift truly meant a great deal to both of them. They were touched that he understood their lives and wanted to help.
Josh knew. It was one of the gifts they'll remember most this Christmas.
Do you think that boy might be gaining in wisdom as he grows in stature? Is he starting to show signs of waxing strong? I plan to ponder.
Merry Christmas, Josh.
Last Friday, the evening before school vacation, they had taken the whole gang of nieces and nephews on their annual trip to the Dollar store.
"The aunts" do this after they each teach early morning seminary and seven periods of high school classes. After lunch one directs the winter pep assembly and the other one the blood drive. Then they finish up 150 report cards before last bell, and on their way home pick up a carload of kids for an evening of fun.
"The aunts" are the go-to for this yearly sibling and parent gift purchase. It was their idea, even. Apparently everybody looks forward to this special holiday event. I think there's even a wrapping party held at the aunt's house afterwards.
First everyone is provided with enough money to buy a gift for everyone else in the family. Then all of them, from age six to seventeen, are turned loose in the store to buy 7 gifts each. (One sister's on a mission this Christmas so she's not on the list.) Still, that's close to 50 gifts and in many cases considerable guidance is needed.
It must be great fun and I'm very glad I'm not invited. Glad too that I'm not shopping at the Dollar Tree when they're all in there.
Anyway, we got to talking about the just passed holiday, reliving highlights and counting many blessings. We came to the subject of gifts and one daughter said brightly, "Oh look Ma. See what we got from Josh." I could tell from her tone and expression that the gift was special to them, whatever it was. The aunts aren't usually included in the dollar store gift extravaganza since they provide the funds for it. So Josh's gift was unexpected.
But before I can tell you about why his gift was special, I have to tell you a little about Josh.
You see, Joshua is in Jr. High. That means he's in the 12 to 14 year old age bracket. Boys in that group are also in a special and separate category of human being. Sometimes really special.
To give you an example, just recently these same daughters stopped by on their way home from school. We were talking about how their days went. Sometimes I get wistful and miss it. They kindly remind me of the hard parts.
Suddenly their father emerged from his man cave to excitedly interupt us with an amazing news story he thought we just couldn't miss and wouldn't believe.
Seems there was a 13 year old boy somewhere who was locked out of his house accidentally. This boy thought it would be a good idea to climb on the roof and go down the chimney to get inside. After all, it makes sense. He got stuck, naturally, but thank goodness was able to reach the cell phone in his pocket and manage a call to the fire department. The nice firemen couldn't pull him out either from above or below so had to demolish the entire chimney to extricate him. (Try to explain that to the homeowners insurance people.)
This whole episode made a big splash on the nightly news.
"Can you believe that crazy kid?" Larry exclaimed with a shake of his head.
The three of us, all veteran Jr. High teachers with many years in combat, just looked at each other.
Finally Kelley said what we were all thinking, "Sure Dad. We get it. What's so hard to believe?"
This made me remember a story about Christ when he was a young boy. I intended to think hard about that story someday, to search for the lesson, but I was always in the middle of dealing with some 14 year old kid when I remembered it. So I always put it off. I decided to think some now.
First let me testify of a truth of which I am absolutely sure.
Christ never committed a sin.
He was blameless every day of his life.
Second, the scriptures don't say much about Christ's childhood. We do know that he waxed strong. That he grew in stature and wisdom.
We know too that as a young boy he was found in the temple, teaching those who taught.
It's this story I meant to think hard about.
I meant to think about Jesus but ended up thinking mostly about Mary and Joseph and their parenting skills.
Jesus went to the temple. Seems his mother and earthly father didn't know this. They had been looking all over for him, sorrowing. Read Luke to get the whole story.
Well, we've been counseled to "liken the scriptures to our own lives." And I've looked for a few children myself, worried sick. After I finally found them safe and my heart settled down and my blood pressure returned to normal, boy did they get in big trouble too! I recall shouting stuff like, "What in the world were you thinking!!?? What have you got to say for yourself, mister!!? You're not allowed outside the door for the rest of your life!!!"
Was this Mary and Joseph's response? Did Mary ever shout? It doesn't say much in the scriptures about that. But the scripture makes it seem like Mary may have been perplexed a bit about what her response should be. I'm not sure. Read Luke for the whole story. See what you think.
Anyway, I know that Christ never sinned. But it sounds like he might have done a kid thing. I'm not sure again. His explanation was that he was about his father's business and they shouldn't have worried. Read Luke for the whole story. Does this mean something about the stuff 14 year old boys do not being sins? Are they about their father's business? Is growing up part of waxing strong? Are they growing in stature and wisdom? Should we take these things into consideration?
There's a lot to think about here. I plan to ponder.
Anyway, back to Josh's gift to his aunts. Kelley pulled 2 rumpled dollar bills from her wallet. "They're for 44 oz diet limeades at Sonic during "Happy Hour." Drinks are 89 cents then. Josh says he knows how we count on them when things get tough. He wanted to be sure we had the money for the next one when we needed it."
I could tell his gift truly meant a great deal to both of them. They were touched that he understood their lives and wanted to help.
Josh knew. It was one of the gifts they'll remember most this Christmas.
Do you think that boy might be gaining in wisdom as he grows in stature? Is he starting to show signs of waxing strong? I plan to ponder.
Merry Christmas, Josh.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
One Great Big Challenge
I was in a little spell of annoyance at my eternal companion a while ago.
It was one of those days when eternity seems like a really, really, long time.
You may know the ones.
Anyway, just by accident I ran across something Dr. Gerald Lund said.
He once commented very wisely,
"Chances are you either married your biggest challenge or gave birth to it."
That made me chuckle. So I went to share with Larry who by this time needed a smile.
Well, instead of smiling, he laughed out loud. Then he quipped, "I'll bet that guy's got a wife!"
He was dead serious. And for the life of me I can't understand why.
That got me to thinking of one of my favorite books written decades ago by Robert Fulghum. At around that same time there was a popular show called "The Loveboat" on network television.
Back in the day there were only four network channels and we called that TV. Can you imagine?
Well, this show was about a luxury oceanliner whose nickname came about because of all the perfect hair, always sunset, dozen roses romance that floated along with the ship. On every cruise.
Well, Mr. Fulghum had some wise counsel himself.
He said, "Don't forget. The love boat always leaks."
Indeed.
So here's to everybody out there rowing along life's way in a leaky boat.
Keep bailing.
After 50 years of being married there's at least one thing I know.
Tomorrow is a different day and I might like him better then.
It was one of those days when eternity seems like a really, really, long time.
You may know the ones.
Anyway, just by accident I ran across something Dr. Gerald Lund said.
He once commented very wisely,
"Chances are you either married your biggest challenge or gave birth to it."
That made me chuckle. So I went to share with Larry who by this time needed a smile.
Well, instead of smiling, he laughed out loud. Then he quipped, "I'll bet that guy's got a wife!"
He was dead serious. And for the life of me I can't understand why.
That got me to thinking of one of my favorite books written decades ago by Robert Fulghum. At around that same time there was a popular show called "The Loveboat" on network television.
Back in the day there were only four network channels and we called that TV. Can you imagine?
Well, this show was about a luxury oceanliner whose nickname came about because of all the perfect hair, always sunset, dozen roses romance that floated along with the ship. On every cruise.
Well, Mr. Fulghum had some wise counsel himself.
He said, "Don't forget. The love boat always leaks."
Indeed.
So here's to everybody out there rowing along life's way in a leaky boat.
Keep bailing.
After 50 years of being married there's at least one thing I know.
Tomorrow is a different day and I might like him better then.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Sending One Off
My oldest daughter Kim asked me the other day if having a missionary gone far away from home will get easier as the months go by. Will that heart wrenching worry for their safety and happiness ease up some?
She says she knows people in her ward who've sent sons and daughters off around the world. When she sees them in church on Sunday she asks how everyone's doing. She says a lot of them still start sniffling even after months have gone by. One friend's son was returning soon from Chile and Kim asked her when it got easier. The sister wiped a tear away and replied bravely, "Not yet."
I only had that experience once. Sending a missionary off to serve.
It was our shy, quiet, child. The one who always had trouble being comfortable around strangers. The one who got a stomach ache if she was ever too long gone from home. She went clear across the country to live with strangers, speak only Spanish, and try to find people looking for the truth. She didn't speak Spanish before she left.
Now, our son Dane and his wife Lisa have sent our granddaughter, born and raised in the desert, off to serve in the land of blizzards and twenty-below zero wind chills.
And, just this morning, Kim and Scott put their oldest on a plane for Salt Lake and then to Brazil.
They speak Portuguese in Brazil.
They won't see her again for a year and a half.
Kim wants to know if it will get easier.
First, before I answer, I want to thank some people I've never thanked before.
Thank you to the mothers and fathers of all those young missionaries who came to our house so many long years ago. We knew nothing of the truth until a bunch of goofy teenagers brought it to us. You see, we went through about eight sets of missionaries before we were finally baptized. Most of them were teenagers. One mom and dad sent their son all the way from Samoa to talk to us. He could eat 17 tacos for supper I recall. This kid was huge, well over six feet tall, who'd helped his dad on the family pig farm in Samoa before his mission. That boy could eat. And he liked my tacos.
He left his family by the ocean and came halfway around the world to live in a desert for two years just to talk to us about the most important thing there is. Well, and to talk to a few others too. And along the way he learned that he liked tacos. He and his mom and dad had been saving for years for his mission. Now he was flipping a chart over, explaining eternal truths and wiping hot sauce off his fingers.
Well, that young man changed our lives.
For eternity.
I'm reminded about eternity when my daughter, a child of raggedy old converts, tells me that she's had some of our ancestor's work done in the temple. Seems that eternity goes back in time as well as forward. Missionary work goes backwards too, I guess.
So, I'd like to thank that young man from Samoa's mom and dad.
In fact, I'd like to thank all the mom's and dads of missionaries.
You loved them. You taught them the truth. You saved and sacrificed for missions. Once, many years ago, one couple sent their boy off halfway around the world. You knew you wouldn't see him for two long years. You worried about his safety and happiness. You wondered how he could possibly survive in a desert. You missed him every single day.
I want you to know that he changed our lives forever. A whole lot of lives changed it seems. Forward and back.
He brought our family the truth. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And now, in part because of that young man and his parents from Samoa, we have two granddaughters off on missions. One to blizzards and one to Brazil.
And Kim wants to know if it gets any easier, having one gone on a mission. Will that wrench and worry ease up?
All I can say is that I'm eternally grateful to the parents of the ones that were sent to knock on our door, so many years ago. And I'm grateful to those goofy teenagers who came. They changed everything for our family. Changed it for us, our ancestors and our posterity. Forever.
I hope that makes it a little easier.
I think it was Jeffrey Holland who once said something like, "The gospel of Jesus Christ is rolling forth to fill the entire earth on the shoulders of an army of teenagers." And some just barely older than that, I might add.
May Heavenly Father bless and keep that beautiful army safe and well. May he inspire them to work hard and lead them to those seeking truth. May he bless them all the rest of their lives for their missions.
And may he bless and comfort their parents too.
She says she knows people in her ward who've sent sons and daughters off around the world. When she sees them in church on Sunday she asks how everyone's doing. She says a lot of them still start sniffling even after months have gone by. One friend's son was returning soon from Chile and Kim asked her when it got easier. The sister wiped a tear away and replied bravely, "Not yet."
I only had that experience once. Sending a missionary off to serve.
It was our shy, quiet, child. The one who always had trouble being comfortable around strangers. The one who got a stomach ache if she was ever too long gone from home. She went clear across the country to live with strangers, speak only Spanish, and try to find people looking for the truth. She didn't speak Spanish before she left.
Now, our son Dane and his wife Lisa have sent our granddaughter, born and raised in the desert, off to serve in the land of blizzards and twenty-below zero wind chills.
They speak Portuguese in Brazil.
They won't see her again for a year and a half.
Kim wants to know if it will get easier.
First, before I answer, I want to thank some people I've never thanked before.
Thank you to the mothers and fathers of all those young missionaries who came to our house so many long years ago. We knew nothing of the truth until a bunch of goofy teenagers brought it to us. You see, we went through about eight sets of missionaries before we were finally baptized. Most of them were teenagers. One mom and dad sent their son all the way from Samoa to talk to us. He could eat 17 tacos for supper I recall. This kid was huge, well over six feet tall, who'd helped his dad on the family pig farm in Samoa before his mission. That boy could eat. And he liked my tacos.
He left his family by the ocean and came halfway around the world to live in a desert for two years just to talk to us about the most important thing there is. Well, and to talk to a few others too. And along the way he learned that he liked tacos. He and his mom and dad had been saving for years for his mission. Now he was flipping a chart over, explaining eternal truths and wiping hot sauce off his fingers.
Well, that young man changed our lives.
For eternity.
I'm reminded about eternity when my daughter, a child of raggedy old converts, tells me that she's had some of our ancestor's work done in the temple. Seems that eternity goes back in time as well as forward. Missionary work goes backwards too, I guess.
So, I'd like to thank that young man from Samoa's mom and dad.
In fact, I'd like to thank all the mom's and dads of missionaries.
You loved them. You taught them the truth. You saved and sacrificed for missions. Once, many years ago, one couple sent their boy off halfway around the world. You knew you wouldn't see him for two long years. You worried about his safety and happiness. You wondered how he could possibly survive in a desert. You missed him every single day.
I want you to know that he changed our lives forever. A whole lot of lives changed it seems. Forward and back.
He brought our family the truth. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
And now, in part because of that young man and his parents from Samoa, we have two granddaughters off on missions. One to blizzards and one to Brazil.
And Kim wants to know if it gets any easier, having one gone on a mission. Will that wrench and worry ease up?
All I can say is that I'm eternally grateful to the parents of the ones that were sent to knock on our door, so many years ago. And I'm grateful to those goofy teenagers who came. They changed everything for our family. Changed it for us, our ancestors and our posterity. Forever.
I hope that makes it a little easier.
I think it was Jeffrey Holland who once said something like, "The gospel of Jesus Christ is rolling forth to fill the entire earth on the shoulders of an army of teenagers." And some just barely older than that, I might add.
May Heavenly Father bless and keep that beautiful army safe and well. May he inspire them to work hard and lead them to those seeking truth. May he bless them all the rest of their lives for their missions.
And may he bless and comfort their parents too.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Trick or treat. Smell my feet.
October.
No matter where you live it's one of the most glorious months of the year, isn't it?
Here in the Sonoran desert October not only brings relief from scorching summer heat, it begins the promise of seven months of lovely and good report. Weather reports that is.
We don't have to go off to the beach seeking after them either. Just open the door.
(All that's a reference to a Mormon thing which I'll explain later.)
October once brought me gold aspen leaves shimmering against a blue sky.
It's one of my most treasured mountain memories.
Then too, the smell of fall in the high country woods is something I'm so grateful not to have missed in my lifetime. That mixture of cool wet earth, leaves underfoot and far off wood smoke is one of the best smells in life.
Like a mountain creek in summer or the ocean any time.
That line of thinking brought my wandering mind to other good smells.
Life's full of them if you notice.
Like pine branches or any freshly cut wood.
At Christmas I always go to my local tree lot to buy or beg the trimmings from their trees to put in vases and decorate around the punch bowl. Our house is so little that the cuttings send fresh pine smell to fill even the back bedroom.
And one of the most comforting smells has to be supper cooking in the oven when you walk in the door hungry after a long day. Especially pot roast, barbequed chicken, or baked ham. Or loaves of bread baking. Or pans of rolls. Does anything on earth smell better than that?
Well, brownies maybe.
Or cupcakes.
No, bread wins.
Isn't it amazing how just a pot roast smell can make life seem so much better?
I remember a crockpot being a big help creating that "Welcome home, dinner's ready," smell when I was teaching.
And what about a clean baby?
My oldest daughter once took her children to a pediatrician she'll always remember fondly. She said whenever she brought a newborn in for a checkup he would never fail to sneak a sniff of the baby's head during the exam.
She saw him do just that. Grandma's do too.
They say that smell is one of the most powerful triggers of memories. I think that might be true.
I'm going to admit something crazy about one of my favorite smell memories. Even weird. Don't tell anybody.
When I was 17 and dating my now husband of fifty years, I stole one of his shirts and slept with it because it smelled like him. It was glorious.
Remember I was very young.
For some reason though, now that I'm sleeping with the actual man, the smells have changed.
It's not the same, I can tell you.
But other great smells come to mind.
Campfires when you're sitting around them with a stick and a burning marshmallow on the end.
Or laundry, dryer sheet fresh, warm from the dryer.
Even better, as I recall from back in the day, fresh and sun warm from a clothesline.
Soap smell on a clean fifth grader when he comes to your desk to get help with math is great. This happens only before recess. Then the clean kid smell changes to sweaty kid.
Then too there's the hopeful, heady, aroma of too much aftershave on a gangly teenager.
Larry says, "A new car," is the best smell, but I think cars just smell like machines and oil.
He likes bacon frying too. Especially early in the morning if he's still in bed and someone else is cooking. Usually he's the only early riser now.
And, I remember that he's always loved the smell of perfume on a beautiful woman. Never fails to notice and make a comment. And, if asked, he swears the smell he's looking so wistful about is me. The man may be a liar but he's not stupid.
He also recalls fondly the morning smell of coffee. That was before he joined the church. He says he's grateful it never tasted as good as it smelled since he had to give it up when he was baptized.
Rain just as it starts to fall is glorious.
And the smell of desert mesquite after one of our summer gully washers.
That one's best in the cool of dawn, but it'll make you roll the car windows down no matter what the time or temperature.
Or a salty, sea-weedy ocean breeze. Or grass being cut.
Or Larry's barbecue chicken when he's out on the patio grilling. That one can drive the whole block crazy.
Then there's popcorn popping, which always makes me want to put a Disney movie on the TV.
And come December slicing a lemon or lime fresh from our trees will fill the whole kitchen with one of my favorite smells.
If it's winter and there's snow outside you'll still think of lemonade.
Cucumbers will do that too. Only then it's summer salads you'll remember.
Flowers like petunias or alyssum are winter smells down here in the lowland. Up in the mountains at that time of year I would hear people say "Smells like snow." I never did get that.
But mint, basil, and tomatoes on the vine fill my patio pots in January if you happen to crush some leaves while watering.
And come March, orange blossoms send their sweet scent into the night with every breeze.
What are some of your favorite smells?
The Articles of Faith were written when the Prophet was asked what Mormons believe. The last one is my favorite. It ends with, "If there is anything virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." At the very least I think that means we should notice and appreciate them.
Well, the wonderful smells of life are lovely and of good report. Praiseworthy too. They make me grateful for beauty, home, comfort and family. I think I should seek after some.
So I'm going to try to create some good smells today. Give Heavenly Father a hand so to speak.
First I'll plant a patio pot with allysum and then I'll put a pot roast in the oven.
And I won't forget to thank God for blessing me with both of them.
* PS
A daughter called to say that I forgot a very important smell.
She remembers telling me once when she was young that she was embarrassed to go to church with her father because he smelled like cigarette smoke. I shared with her that a bishop once told me that tobacco smell in a Mormon church was the most beautiful scent of all.
It was the smell of someone trying to repent, trying to live the truths Father taught.
If any of you are struggling to live those truths you now know, come to Sacrament meeting. Sit by me and Larry. It took him a while but he finally conquered a 4 pack a day habit. He hasn't smoked in nearly 40 years. But it's only been 20 years since he quit reaching up to his empty shirt pocket for a cigarette. Seems habit is a very powerful force.
After winning that valiant fight he took his family to the temple.
All of his now grown children go there regularly. Two of his granddaughters are now on missions.
Hang in there. Father loves you. He'll help.
No matter where you live it's one of the most glorious months of the year, isn't it?
Here in the Sonoran desert October not only brings relief from scorching summer heat, it begins the promise of seven months of lovely and good report. Weather reports that is.
We don't have to go off to the beach seeking after them either. Just open the door.
(All that's a reference to a Mormon thing which I'll explain later.)
October once brought me gold aspen leaves shimmering against a blue sky.
It's one of my most treasured mountain memories.
Then too, the smell of fall in the high country woods is something I'm so grateful not to have missed in my lifetime. That mixture of cool wet earth, leaves underfoot and far off wood smoke is one of the best smells in life.
Like a mountain creek in summer or the ocean any time.
That line of thinking brought my wandering mind to other good smells.
Life's full of them if you notice.
Like pine branches or any freshly cut wood.
At Christmas I always go to my local tree lot to buy or beg the trimmings from their trees to put in vases and decorate around the punch bowl. Our house is so little that the cuttings send fresh pine smell to fill even the back bedroom.
And one of the most comforting smells has to be supper cooking in the oven when you walk in the door hungry after a long day. Especially pot roast, barbequed chicken, or baked ham. Or loaves of bread baking. Or pans of rolls. Does anything on earth smell better than that?
Well, brownies maybe.
Or cupcakes.
No, bread wins.
Isn't it amazing how just a pot roast smell can make life seem so much better?
I remember a crockpot being a big help creating that "Welcome home, dinner's ready," smell when I was teaching.
And what about a clean baby?
My oldest daughter once took her children to a pediatrician she'll always remember fondly. She said whenever she brought a newborn in for a checkup he would never fail to sneak a sniff of the baby's head during the exam.
She saw him do just that. Grandma's do too.
They say that smell is one of the most powerful triggers of memories. I think that might be true.
I'm going to admit something crazy about one of my favorite smell memories. Even weird. Don't tell anybody.
When I was 17 and dating my now husband of fifty years, I stole one of his shirts and slept with it because it smelled like him. It was glorious.
Remember I was very young.
For some reason though, now that I'm sleeping with the actual man, the smells have changed.
It's not the same, I can tell you.
But other great smells come to mind.
Campfires when you're sitting around them with a stick and a burning marshmallow on the end.
Or laundry, dryer sheet fresh, warm from the dryer.
Even better, as I recall from back in the day, fresh and sun warm from a clothesline.
Soap smell on a clean fifth grader when he comes to your desk to get help with math is great. This happens only before recess. Then the clean kid smell changes to sweaty kid.
Then too there's the hopeful, heady, aroma of too much aftershave on a gangly teenager.
Larry says, "A new car," is the best smell, but I think cars just smell like machines and oil.
He likes bacon frying too. Especially early in the morning if he's still in bed and someone else is cooking. Usually he's the only early riser now.
And, I remember that he's always loved the smell of perfume on a beautiful woman. Never fails to notice and make a comment. And, if asked, he swears the smell he's looking so wistful about is me. The man may be a liar but he's not stupid.
He also recalls fondly the morning smell of coffee. That was before he joined the church. He says he's grateful it never tasted as good as it smelled since he had to give it up when he was baptized.
Rain just as it starts to fall is glorious.
And the smell of desert mesquite after one of our summer gully washers.
That one's best in the cool of dawn, but it'll make you roll the car windows down no matter what the time or temperature.
Or a salty, sea-weedy ocean breeze. Or grass being cut.
Or Larry's barbecue chicken when he's out on the patio grilling. That one can drive the whole block crazy.
Then there's popcorn popping, which always makes me want to put a Disney movie on the TV.
And come December slicing a lemon or lime fresh from our trees will fill the whole kitchen with one of my favorite smells.
If it's winter and there's snow outside you'll still think of lemonade.
Cucumbers will do that too. Only then it's summer salads you'll remember.
Flowers like petunias or alyssum are winter smells down here in the lowland. Up in the mountains at that time of year I would hear people say "Smells like snow." I never did get that.
But mint, basil, and tomatoes on the vine fill my patio pots in January if you happen to crush some leaves while watering.
And come March, orange blossoms send their sweet scent into the night with every breeze.
What are some of your favorite smells?
The Articles of Faith were written when the Prophet was asked what Mormons believe. The last one is my favorite. It ends with, "If there is anything virtuous, lovely or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things." At the very least I think that means we should notice and appreciate them.
Well, the wonderful smells of life are lovely and of good report. Praiseworthy too. They make me grateful for beauty, home, comfort and family. I think I should seek after some.
So I'm going to try to create some good smells today. Give Heavenly Father a hand so to speak.
First I'll plant a patio pot with allysum and then I'll put a pot roast in the oven.
And I won't forget to thank God for blessing me with both of them.
* PS
A daughter called to say that I forgot a very important smell.
She remembers telling me once when she was young that she was embarrassed to go to church with her father because he smelled like cigarette smoke. I shared with her that a bishop once told me that tobacco smell in a Mormon church was the most beautiful scent of all.
It was the smell of someone trying to repent, trying to live the truths Father taught.
If any of you are struggling to live those truths you now know, come to Sacrament meeting. Sit by me and Larry. It took him a while but he finally conquered a 4 pack a day habit. He hasn't smoked in nearly 40 years. But it's only been 20 years since he quit reaching up to his empty shirt pocket for a cigarette. Seems habit is a very powerful force.
After winning that valiant fight he took his family to the temple.
All of his now grown children go there regularly. Two of his granddaughters are now on missions.
Hang in there. Father loves you. He'll help.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Kim's Hyacinth
My oldest daughter lifted my spirits today.
It made up for some of the trouble she caused when she was a child.
Her family recently returned from a long awaited and much anticipated trip to Disneyland. Their oldest of seven, Mackenzie, leaves for her mission to Brazil in just a couple of weeks. While she's away serving, the next oldest, Malachi, will graduate high school and turn 18. He plans a mission also. It's the last time their entire family will be together for several years.
Disneyland holds a special place in all their hearts. But a trip for such a big group requires clever budgeting. There's not much money for being frivolous when you have to multiply frivolity by 9. One Dole Whip or Mickey ice cream may not be much, but the expense looms large if the whole family wants one.
Anyway, knowing this, Larry and I made up a bag with a poem and a little card with $10 in it for each of them. The poem is one of my favorite great thoughts. A misquote goes something like this...
Each was instructed to buy a hyacinth on the trip. It was explained that hyacinths are flowers but theirs might look like a churro or Minnie Mouse key chain. Kim said it was great for each kid to have a little to spend without having to ask. Yea!
Mission accomplished.
Then today she told me about her "chrysanthemum" as she called it. It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about.
It seems they had stopped at the beach on the day before they were to go to the parks. The kids all ran out to the ocean while she stayed at the van to make sandwiches. Hard at work she looked up to see a bedraggled woman pass by on the sidewalk. She looked worn down and possibly homeless. Kim thought of her $10 and ran with it to give to the woman. She actually had to chase her. The lady was so grateful it broke Kim's heart. So she touched the woman gently and asked her if she was hungry. Kim explained that she was making sandwiches and she had turkey and cheese or peanut butter and jelly. Would she like one? The lady said she'd like peanut butter and jelly.
Kim went back to make it.
While she was spreading peanut butter and jelly she said something very special happened. It was almost like a voice actually spoke to her.
She heard, "You're making that sandwich for me."
She started to cry.
She didn't know what else to do.
So, still crying, she put more peanut butter.
Then she made up a little bag of "kid treats" to go with it. Raisins, Vienna sausages, and the like. She took it and the sandwich to the lady.
I'm so grateful for my children.
They're all trying to live the truths of the gospel.
Larry and I may be raggedy old converts but our kids are covering up a multitude of our sins.
Sometimes with peanut butter and jelly.
May Heavenly Father always bless and protect them while they do what they can.
May He always bless and protect you and your efforts too.
It made up for some of the trouble she caused when she was a child.
Her family recently returned from a long awaited and much anticipated trip to Disneyland. Their oldest of seven, Mackenzie, leaves for her mission to Brazil in just a couple of weeks. While she's away serving, the next oldest, Malachi, will graduate high school and turn 18. He plans a mission also. It's the last time their entire family will be together for several years.
Disneyland holds a special place in all their hearts. But a trip for such a big group requires clever budgeting. There's not much money for being frivolous when you have to multiply frivolity by 9. One Dole Whip or Mickey ice cream may not be much, but the expense looms large if the whole family wants one.
Anyway, knowing this, Larry and I made up a bag with a poem and a little card with $10 in it for each of them. The poem is one of my favorite great thoughts. A misquote goes something like this...
If of all the world's goods thou art bereft,
And to thee alone but two loaves of bread are left,
Sell one, and with the dole,
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.
Each was instructed to buy a hyacinth on the trip. It was explained that hyacinths are flowers but theirs might look like a churro or Minnie Mouse key chain. Kim said it was great for each kid to have a little to spend without having to ask. Yea!
Mission accomplished.
Then today she told me about her "chrysanthemum" as she called it. It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about.
It seems they had stopped at the beach on the day before they were to go to the parks. The kids all ran out to the ocean while she stayed at the van to make sandwiches. Hard at work she looked up to see a bedraggled woman pass by on the sidewalk. She looked worn down and possibly homeless. Kim thought of her $10 and ran with it to give to the woman. She actually had to chase her. The lady was so grateful it broke Kim's heart. So she touched the woman gently and asked her if she was hungry. Kim explained that she was making sandwiches and she had turkey and cheese or peanut butter and jelly. Would she like one? The lady said she'd like peanut butter and jelly.
Kim went back to make it.
While she was spreading peanut butter and jelly she said something very special happened. It was almost like a voice actually spoke to her.
She heard, "You're making that sandwich for me."
She started to cry.
She didn't know what else to do.
So, still crying, she put more peanut butter.
Then she made up a little bag of "kid treats" to go with it. Raisins, Vienna sausages, and the like. She took it and the sandwich to the lady.
I'm so grateful for my children.
They're all trying to live the truths of the gospel.
Larry and I may be raggedy old converts but our kids are covering up a multitude of our sins.
Sometimes with peanut butter and jelly.
May Heavenly Father always bless and protect them while they do what they can.
May He always bless and protect you and your efforts too.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Ma's Crackpot Ideas
Sometimes I get ideas.
This has been going on for years.
I remember a conversation/argument I had one time with my husband and a nearly grown child. Another, almost done offspring walked in and said, "What are you guys talking about?" The first one said, "Just another one of Ma's crackpot ideas." "Oh those," was his bored reply as the refrigerator door opened for closer inspection.
Well, I get these ideas about all kinds of things. Things like how to run the government, education reform, municipal landscaping, better bottle caps, where to put benches at Disneyland or tags on sheets etc. Some of these just might be good ideas too. Some might be so good that they're already out there and I just haven't heard about it. I don't get around as much as I used to.
Didn't Father teach us that we should always be anxiously engaged in a good cause. That we should do many good things of our own free will and bring to pass much righteousness? Historically some crackpot ideas have brought about a whole bunch of righteousness, so that's great advice.
Well, now that I'm old I'm afraid that I might die and any of my gems that may be new will die with me. So I've decided to send a few out there into cyberspace every now and then. You all are welcome to them. If someone happens to take one and make a zillion dollars with it, more power to you.
On second thought, do the right thing and send me a little. I promise to use it for a wise purpose.
Didn't Father teach us that we should always be anxiously engaged in a good cause. That we should do many good things of our own free will and bring to pass much righteousness? Historically some crackpot ideas have brought about a whole bunch of righteousness, so that's great advice.
Well, now that I'm old I'm afraid that I might die and any of my gems that may be new will die with me. So I've decided to send a few out there into cyberspace every now and then. You all are welcome to them. If someone happens to take one and make a zillion dollars with it, more power to you.
On second thought, do the right thing and send me a little. I promise to use it for a wise purpose.
Idea #1
Computer Site or Softwhatever for Volunteer Projects
When I was teaching high school I would regularly get calls from probation officers or others asking for help finding community service projects for kids who needed to serve hours as part of their sentence. Most of the time these kids ended up picking up trash from the schoolyard or something similar. While this is helpful I knew these kids had the power to make a bigger contribution, which would help them as well as the community. They had energy to burn, new knees, and bright minds that could really make a difference. I also knew of school clubs and Eagle scout candidates looking for ideas for their service projects too. They only needed some direction to unleash their youthful talents.
Couldn't there be a computer clearing house where people who needed help could list a project and kids of all kinds who wanted to help could find one? For instance, could the "lookees" say their club had 15 teens with 4 Saturdays and they liked animals, the outdoors, music or old people? Could the "lookers" say they needed a crew of 20 for outdoor digging or indoor painting and post sign up sheets for projects that were genuinely needed but lacked funds for manpower.
Those scouts, Key Clubs, or the new kid in school who wants to make friends could go there and find real work. Suppose that their city had potholes on a street but no money to pay workers to fill them. The city could send out a foreman and materials to supervise. A mini class in pothole filling would then make it possible for a bunch of teenagers to point with pride at a real civic accomplishment.
I'm here to tell you that kids can plant trees in parks, paint anything, build benches, teach guitar, push or fix wheelchairs and/or cars, and help the Game and Fish people. We always hear that there's no money to pay for things. Well I'm here to tell you that there's an army of kids, including the ones on probation, who can help out more than a little. They need good stuff to do. We need to quit underestimating them and provide a place where they can easily find important work.
You can't fool kids though. They know the difference between busywork and a real contribution. If we're willing to teach and trust them they can do real work.
You can't fool kids though. They know the difference between busywork and a real contribution. If we're willing to teach and trust them they can do real work.
Idea #2
Little Forgotten Spaces
Don't forget the oft forgotten.
When we moved back to the desert from the mountains we bought a tiny "spec" house. It was supposed to be just a roof, mainly to get us out of Grandma's house and hair. We both had new jobs and no time. We'd settle permanently later.
Well, we've been here 12 years now. You see, Larry got comfortable, says it's big enough for just us two and he doesn't want to move furniture. And I think living in that tiny fishing cabin in the woods for so long did strange things to the both of us. Somehow bigger's just bigger now and little seems right.
Anyway, two of this teeny house's teeny bedrooms had windows looking out over 10 feet of side yard right to a 7 foot block fence. My idea was to knock out the window in one of them and put french doors, which I love. My family thought I was nuts of course. "French doors to where, for Pete's sake?" was the many times repeated reaction.
Well, my doors created the sweetest little courtyard, visible from the living room, because I knocked out the wall on the other side to put an archway. It made one of those unused bedrooms into a lovely library that looks out to a little fountain on the now honeysuckle covered wall. Bougainvillea filled pots spill flowers onto the brick pavers and butterflies and hummingbirds regularly visit.
"What a great idea!" is the usual response.
See.
Forgotten spaces are all around. Just look. Potential may be hidden away in surprising places. Maybe even in ourselves. Maybe there's a little, tiny, unused skill hidden away somewhere there. Maybe with some bold action it could be developed into a full blown talent.
So sing, paint, play, invent, dance, design, create, think, study, sign-up, write, reupolster or even knock out a wall. You never know.
One of the greatest compliments of my life was about this very thing. I was tiptoeing down the hall outside a room where some of my children were talking. I accidentally heard one say to the others, "Oh, just let her do it. Once in a while Ma's crackpot ideas work out."
I was so touched I cried.
Don't forget the oft forgotten.
When we moved back to the desert from the mountains we bought a tiny "spec" house. It was supposed to be just a roof, mainly to get us out of Grandma's house and hair. We both had new jobs and no time. We'd settle permanently later.
Well, we've been here 12 years now. You see, Larry got comfortable, says it's big enough for just us two and he doesn't want to move furniture. And I think living in that tiny fishing cabin in the woods for so long did strange things to the both of us. Somehow bigger's just bigger now and little seems right.
Anyway, two of this teeny house's teeny bedrooms had windows looking out over 10 feet of side yard right to a 7 foot block fence. My idea was to knock out the window in one of them and put french doors, which I love. My family thought I was nuts of course. "French doors to where, for Pete's sake?" was the many times repeated reaction.
Well, my doors created the sweetest little courtyard, visible from the living room, because I knocked out the wall on the other side to put an archway. It made one of those unused bedrooms into a lovely library that looks out to a little fountain on the now honeysuckle covered wall. Bougainvillea filled pots spill flowers onto the brick pavers and butterflies and hummingbirds regularly visit.
"What a great idea!" is the usual response.
See.
Forgotten spaces are all around. Just look. Potential may be hidden away in surprising places. Maybe even in ourselves. Maybe there's a little, tiny, unused skill hidden away somewhere there. Maybe with some bold action it could be developed into a full blown talent.
So sing, paint, play, invent, dance, design, create, think, study, sign-up, write, reupolster or even knock out a wall. You never know.
One of the greatest compliments of my life was about this very thing. I was tiptoeing down the hall outside a room where some of my children were talking. I accidentally heard one say to the others, "Oh, just let her do it. Once in a while Ma's crackpot ideas work out."
I was so touched I cried.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
A Woman’s Got To Do What A Woman’s Got To Do Too
*Something reminded me of this old story just the
other day.
I think it was our grandson, who is now a man.
I've been married a long time.
I don’t know why but for some reason this makes people think I know certain things.
Let me assure you, they are mistaken.
I know nothing.
Still, just the other day a young woman asked me about the secret of a long marriage.
I thought hard and replied, “Just don’t get a divorce.”
One of the Prophets said something like that I think. Maybe President Kimball.
Anyway, even if he didn't, it’s true.
Tomorrow is often a different day.
I thought about this some more and then remembered that I did know one important thing.
“Oh wait!" I said to my young friend, "I almost forgot. You’ll be needing a strong defense if you marry a man.”
She said, “A strong defense? Why?”
To give just one example, the man that I’m currently married to tries to injure himself just so that I’ll get upset and worry about him.
I’m not joking. I think it’s one of those guy things.
I've noticed that women seldom do this because it’s dumb and just doesn't make sense.
I especially remember one little scenario that happened regularly in the winter when we were living in the mountains.
Husband’s age at the time was 50ish. He’d been diabetic for years, with high blood pressure and cholesterol to boot.
Heavy snowfall was a regular occurrence in our area from October through March.
Now I admit that big piles of snow created issues around our place. Some kind of action was indeed required. All of us had to get out of the house and to the road leading to the highway so we could get to work and school.
Something did have to be done with all that snow.
So, husband thought about it hard.
He considered all factors carefully. Safety first, of course. Then he conducted time, expense, and feasibilty studies.
Being a man he finally decided the most sensible solution was to buy a used 500 lb snow-blower, which cost several hundreds of dollars, which he'd heard was for sale from the school district in town. The only flaw was that it kept coming apart when in heavy use.
This way he could go out in frigid weather and wrestle with it and tons of cold, wet, snow every time we had a storm.
This machine was a behemoth. I tried to move it once and it nearly gave me a hernia. It took four men to load it in the truck when he bought it.
I mentioned to Larry that I thought it was way too much exertion for a man his age and with his medical history to mess around with that heavy machine in freezing weather. Especially since we lived 40 miles from the nearest hospital. With icy roads it might take a long time to get there.
“We have young men with snow blades on their trucks who’ll come out and move our snow for just 20 dollars,” I explained in my most reasonable tone. “It’s not worth the risk dear.”
Well, this comment triggered the old, passionate, “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do!” lecture.
This same dusty speech was repeated every time he wanted to do something dangerous, expensive, and unnecessary.
Right away I knew that talking sense was useless.
So I did what a woman has to do when a man has to do those things that a man does.
Defense.
Here's just an example.
One early morning right after the next 2 foot snowfall, husband stood in front of the living room window looking out with a glint in his eye. He was holding a cup of hot chocolate.
I was making the bed in the other room but I could see that he was all ready for a big fight with tons of cold, wet precipitation. He was wearing full combat gear. Snow-boots to the knees, wool hat pulled down, ears muffed, gloved to the elbows. He stood looking out the window sipping happily.
After a bit he called out loudly.
“Okay, I’m going out there now. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to give myself a heart attack. Don’t try to stop me. A man has responsibilities. A man’s got to do….. bla, bla, bla.”
Then there was a rather lengthy pause after which I heard growling.
That was followed by a string of not so nice words.
“What the bleep! Bleepity bleep! What’s that kid doing? Will you look at that Clint! Bleep him! He’s out there moving my snow!
I came to stand quietly at his side.
“Well, isn’t that the nicest thing,” I chirped. “Young Clint’s come out to be a good neighbor with his truck and snowblade. You better go out to thank him. Now you be especially friendly. We want him to feel that his kindness is appreciated.”
Husband heads out with a forced smile and a reluctant wave at Clint.
I could hear snippets of “Don’t trouble yourself next storm young man. I've got a machine right here that’ll take care of a 5 foot snowfall. Want to take a look?”
Clint got out of his truck.
They both stood hovering over that thing. They crowed about how it was the deluxe, super duper model.
Big enough to throw a mountain of snow. Bigger than all the other guys blowers for sure.
I was a little worried about young Clint at this point, but he had a busy morning lined up with his truck and plow. He left right after he finished moving our snow.
But, lo and behold, and much to my husband's dismay, that “Dang, bleepity, do-gooder kid!” showed up after every storm with his truck and blade.
He moved all of Larry’s snow before he could even get his combat gear on.
What a shame, huh?
*I always made sure the $35 I’d promised Clint was in his mailbox as soon as the roads were cleared to the post office.
The extra $15 was for coming to our place first, and for keeping his mouth shut.
Yep.
Just one case of, “If a woman’s going to be married for a long time she’ll need a good, strong, defense.”
I think it was our grandson, who is now a man.
I've been married a long time.
I don’t know why but for some reason this makes people think I know certain things.
Let me assure you, they are mistaken.
I know nothing.
Still, just the other day a young woman asked me about the secret of a long marriage.
I thought hard and replied, “Just don’t get a divorce.”
One of the Prophets said something like that I think. Maybe President Kimball.
Anyway, even if he didn't, it’s true.
Tomorrow is often a different day.
I thought about this some more and then remembered that I did know one important thing.
“Oh wait!" I said to my young friend, "I almost forgot. You’ll be needing a strong defense if you marry a man.”
She said, “A strong defense? Why?”
“For
use when a man’s just got to do what a man’s got to do.” I replied.
To give just one example, the man that I’m currently married to tries to injure himself just so that I’ll get upset and worry about him.
I’m not joking. I think it’s one of those guy things.
I've noticed that women seldom do this because it’s dumb and just doesn't make sense.
I especially remember one little scenario that happened regularly in the winter when we were living in the mountains.
Husband’s age at the time was 50ish. He’d been diabetic for years, with high blood pressure and cholesterol to boot.
Heavy snowfall was a regular occurrence in our area from October through March.
Now I admit that big piles of snow created issues around our place. Some kind of action was indeed required. All of us had to get out of the house and to the road leading to the highway so we could get to work and school.
Something did have to be done with all that snow.
So, husband thought about it hard.
He considered all factors carefully. Safety first, of course. Then he conducted time, expense, and feasibilty studies.
Being a man he finally decided the most sensible solution was to buy a used 500 lb snow-blower, which cost several hundreds of dollars, which he'd heard was for sale from the school district in town. The only flaw was that it kept coming apart when in heavy use.
This way he could go out in frigid weather and wrestle with it and tons of cold, wet, snow every time we had a storm.
This machine was a behemoth. I tried to move it once and it nearly gave me a hernia. It took four men to load it in the truck when he bought it.
I mentioned to Larry that I thought it was way too much exertion for a man his age and with his medical history to mess around with that heavy machine in freezing weather. Especially since we lived 40 miles from the nearest hospital. With icy roads it might take a long time to get there.
“We have young men with snow blades on their trucks who’ll come out and move our snow for just 20 dollars,” I explained in my most reasonable tone. “It’s not worth the risk dear.”
Well, this comment triggered the old, passionate, “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do!” lecture.
This same dusty speech was repeated every time he wanted to do something dangerous, expensive, and unnecessary.
Right away I knew that talking sense was useless.
So I did what a woman has to do when a man has to do those things that a man does.
Defense.
Here's just an example.
One early morning right after the next 2 foot snowfall, husband stood in front of the living room window looking out with a glint in his eye. He was holding a cup of hot chocolate.
I was making the bed in the other room but I could see that he was all ready for a big fight with tons of cold, wet precipitation. He was wearing full combat gear. Snow-boots to the knees, wool hat pulled down, ears muffed, gloved to the elbows. He stood looking out the window sipping happily.
After a bit he called out loudly.
“Okay, I’m going out there now. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to give myself a heart attack. Don’t try to stop me. A man has responsibilities. A man’s got to do….. bla, bla, bla.”
Then there was a rather lengthy pause after which I heard growling.
That was followed by a string of not so nice words.
“What the bleep! Bleepity bleep! What’s that kid doing? Will you look at that Clint! Bleep him! He’s out there moving my snow!
I came to stand quietly at his side.
“Well, isn’t that the nicest thing,” I chirped. “Young Clint’s come out to be a good neighbor with his truck and snowblade. You better go out to thank him. Now you be especially friendly. We want him to feel that his kindness is appreciated.”
Husband heads out with a forced smile and a reluctant wave at Clint.
I could hear snippets of “Don’t trouble yourself next storm young man. I've got a machine right here that’ll take care of a 5 foot snowfall. Want to take a look?”
Clint got out of his truck.
They both stood hovering over that thing. They crowed about how it was the deluxe, super duper model.
Big enough to throw a mountain of snow. Bigger than all the other guys blowers for sure.
I was a little worried about young Clint at this point, but he had a busy morning lined up with his truck and plow. He left right after he finished moving our snow.
But, lo and behold, and much to my husband's dismay, that “Dang, bleepity, do-gooder kid!” showed up after every storm with his truck and blade.
He moved all of Larry’s snow before he could even get his combat gear on.
What a shame, huh?
*I always made sure the $35 I’d promised Clint was in his mailbox as soon as the roads were cleared to the post office.
The extra $15 was for coming to our place first, and for keeping his mouth shut.
Yep.
Just one case of, “If a woman’s going to be married for a long time she’ll need a good, strong, defense.”
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Many Sheep Cross the Sky
*Note
Two of the Lord's finest souls were called home this week. This post is dedicated to them.
Frank Greer, my boss and principal of the school where I taught for 12 years, known fondly as "Sarge" to me. I can't think of him and not smile.
And Chester Crandell, who taught my own children, and who's dear wife Alice worked alongside me in my classroom. He later became a state senator and flags fly at half mast in his honor this week.
May Father bless you both and keep those you love in his tender care.
“To gladden the eye and delight the heart of man.” That’s what the scriptures say. That’s why Heavenly Father’s creations are so beautiful. He made them that way on purpose just for us. How grateful I am for that love. The love that created beauty.
Well, may we never pass by God’s creations without noticing how lovely they are. And I hope He’s pleased to see the joy in our eyes.
Years ago, when our family first moved to the mountains from the city, we were suddenly surrounded by awesome natural scenery every day and night. It was impossible to ignore and often stopped us in our tracks.
One day at lunch recess I remember standing on the grassy school playground where I was supposed to be watching kids. Instead I was turning in circles as I looked up into that impossibly bluest of blue skies. Enormous, puffy, white clouds raced on the high winds. Clouds never looked like that or moved that fast in the city. I was fascinated by them.
One of my students was standing nearby, a Navajo boy. He looked up intently at my face with a puzzled expression and said kindly, “Many sheep cross the sky. It will rain soon.” I guess he thought I was looking for an explanation.
Truly, living on the mountain, each day, each season, brought beauties….some that took your breath away.
Well, all good things must end, they say, and that dreaded day came after more than 12 years. Our nest emptied and our selfish children refused to give us any of the grandkids to keep in our little house in the big woods. They were all down in the nasty old city, our posterity were. We couldn’t talk them into letting us keep even one sticky little grandbaby or annoying teenager even though they had plenty. They were all lowlanders again, as the mountain folks called them. If we wanted to be near kids and grandkids we had to move. A wrench in so many ways, it wasn't only the beauty around us but the mountain people we'd miss. Some of the finest folks on earth lived in this high country.
Sadly we both found jobs and moved back.
We had grown so close to nature up here that I was sure that trading Ponderosa forests and mountain lakes for traffic jams and dust storms would be really hard. It was, but I was surprised at a lesson I learned.
We bought a tiny little “spec” house right at first. It was just a place for temporary shelter while we settled back after years of mountain life. School had already started and we'd look for something permanent later. The house was built for someone else who decided against it, but was ready for move-in right away. Both of us were adjusting to new jobs and the house had its good points…..the kids and grandkids were nearby, stores were right around the corner, (Not a 50 mile drive over sometimes snow covered, winding, mountain roads), and best of all every kind of restaurant my husband could think of could be found somewhere in the city. (That didn’t stop him from driving us 400 miles to another state for a burrito as big as your head because Sunset magazine had an article about one though.) Despite its good points there was a downside. The house was one of those “ticky, tacky boxes all in a row,” with the red tile roofs that sprawl all over the southwest. You have to count your way down the block to find where you live because every one’s the same, sort of thing. In this suburban neighborhood I certainly didn’t see any hope of finding any connection with the land or animals that had become such a big part of our lives in the woods. This was the city…… albeit the outskirts….. there’s no nature here, I thought.
Well, I was wrong. There is nature here….though a different, smaller kind. Sometimes you have to be very still to experience it, but it calms the soul, nevertheless.
For instance, a small yellow bird with green feathers shading its head comes every day to the palo verde tree just off the back patio. It hops among the green branches, lime colored leaves, and yellow flowers. A vine hangs down from the arbor that I had Guillermo build for me, dangling a purple flower right in the open doorway to the little library we made from the spare bedroom. We knocked out the windows and put a French door that opens onto a tiny courtyard we built there between the house and block wall. Hummingbirds never fail to stop to drink nectar from the blossoms while I sit next to the little fountain that Larry hung on the wall for me. The honeysuckle we planted just months ago now almost covers the whole thing. The tiny courtyard’s only 10 feet wide but is filled with old pots of bright fuscia bouganvillia and hearts and flowers spilling onto the brick pavers. The doors to the little library are usually wide open if the AC's not running. One hummer even ventured inside once, standing still in mid-air…… pausing….. I think, to listen to the music we had playing while we sat on the loveseat next to the shelves filled with my books. Bees and butterflies flit to the potted Mexican lime tree that always has some blossoms no matter the season. Its little limes are the most flavorful I’ve ever tasted……the fresh, limey smell fills the kitchen whenever you slice one to put in your ice water. Two lizards visit daily, doing pushups on the wall…their blue bellies showing bright under their tan scales. I see them so often I’ve named them Lucky and Lucy though I’ve no idea of their gender.
On restless nights when sleep doesn’t come easily I go and sit on the bench outside our bedroom, a soft breeze moving the leaves on the trees now as tall as the house after only a few months. In March that breeze brings the heady scent of orange and lemon blossoms which perfumes the air across the entire desert Valley. I look up to see a few familiar stars visible above. Even in the light of the city I can find the dippers and the North star. Orion is often there, too, guarding those below with his sword at the ready. Certainly not the clouds of stars we could see in the white swath of the Milky Way on moonless nights on the mountain, but somehow comforting, nevertheless. It turns out that we made a trade of sorts when we moved back to the desert……stars for sunsets it was. Sunsets are often spectacular here, of course. Reds, oranges, and purples paint the darkening western sky almost every night. We had to drive to the Rim overlook to see sunsets on the mountain. Too many huge ponderosa pines blocked the view. But whenever we returned home after being out after dark it was always someone’s job to run and turn off the porch light. Then we could all stand and stare up at the millions of stars so dense that they made a dusty white path across the black night sky. The Milky Way for sunsets…that was the trade.
There are other small pleasures here, too…….soft night breezes and the sounds and smells of freshly cut grass even in winter ….that sort of thing.
So we stayed in the little “spec” house…… longer than we intended.....husband now saying, “It’s big enough for just us two and I don’t want to move furniture.” Now years have passed in this temporary, just until we get settled again place.
Even though we miss the spectacular beauties of the mountains I now believe it’s true what the old hymn says….“there is beauty all around.”
Wherever you are, look for it and be gladdened and delighted. I think it will make Heavenly Father happy.
Two of the Lord's finest souls were called home this week. This post is dedicated to them.
Frank Greer, my boss and principal of the school where I taught for 12 years, known fondly as "Sarge" to me. I can't think of him and not smile.
And Chester Crandell, who taught my own children, and who's dear wife Alice worked alongside me in my classroom. He later became a state senator and flags fly at half mast in his honor this week.
May Father bless you both and keep those you love in his tender care.
“To gladden the eye and delight the heart of man.” That’s what the scriptures say. That’s why Heavenly Father’s creations are so beautiful. He made them that way on purpose just for us. How grateful I am for that love. The love that created beauty.
Well, may we never pass by God’s creations without noticing how lovely they are. And I hope He’s pleased to see the joy in our eyes.
Years ago, when our family first moved to the mountains from the city, we were suddenly surrounded by awesome natural scenery every day and night. It was impossible to ignore and often stopped us in our tracks.
One day at lunch recess I remember standing on the grassy school playground where I was supposed to be watching kids. Instead I was turning in circles as I looked up into that impossibly bluest of blue skies. Enormous, puffy, white clouds raced on the high winds. Clouds never looked like that or moved that fast in the city. I was fascinated by them.
One of my students was standing nearby, a Navajo boy. He looked up intently at my face with a puzzled expression and said kindly, “Many sheep cross the sky. It will rain soon.” I guess he thought I was looking for an explanation.
Truly, living on the mountain, each day, each season, brought beauties….some that took your breath away.
Well, all good things must end, they say, and that dreaded day came after more than 12 years. Our nest emptied and our selfish children refused to give us any of the grandkids to keep in our little house in the big woods. They were all down in the nasty old city, our posterity were. We couldn’t talk them into letting us keep even one sticky little grandbaby or annoying teenager even though they had plenty. They were all lowlanders again, as the mountain folks called them. If we wanted to be near kids and grandkids we had to move. A wrench in so many ways, it wasn't only the beauty around us but the mountain people we'd miss. Some of the finest folks on earth lived in this high country.
Sadly we both found jobs and moved back.
We had grown so close to nature up here that I was sure that trading Ponderosa forests and mountain lakes for traffic jams and dust storms would be really hard. It was, but I was surprised at a lesson I learned.
We bought a tiny little “spec” house right at first. It was just a place for temporary shelter while we settled back after years of mountain life. School had already started and we'd look for something permanent later. The house was built for someone else who decided against it, but was ready for move-in right away. Both of us were adjusting to new jobs and the house had its good points…..the kids and grandkids were nearby, stores were right around the corner, (Not a 50 mile drive over sometimes snow covered, winding, mountain roads), and best of all every kind of restaurant my husband could think of could be found somewhere in the city. (That didn’t stop him from driving us 400 miles to another state for a burrito as big as your head because Sunset magazine had an article about one though.) Despite its good points there was a downside. The house was one of those “ticky, tacky boxes all in a row,” with the red tile roofs that sprawl all over the southwest. You have to count your way down the block to find where you live because every one’s the same, sort of thing. In this suburban neighborhood I certainly didn’t see any hope of finding any connection with the land or animals that had become such a big part of our lives in the woods. This was the city…… albeit the outskirts….. there’s no nature here, I thought.
Well, I was wrong. There is nature here….though a different, smaller kind. Sometimes you have to be very still to experience it, but it calms the soul, nevertheless.
For instance, a small yellow bird with green feathers shading its head comes every day to the palo verde tree just off the back patio. It hops among the green branches, lime colored leaves, and yellow flowers. A vine hangs down from the arbor that I had Guillermo build for me, dangling a purple flower right in the open doorway to the little library we made from the spare bedroom. We knocked out the windows and put a French door that opens onto a tiny courtyard we built there between the house and block wall. Hummingbirds never fail to stop to drink nectar from the blossoms while I sit next to the little fountain that Larry hung on the wall for me. The honeysuckle we planted just months ago now almost covers the whole thing. The tiny courtyard’s only 10 feet wide but is filled with old pots of bright fuscia bouganvillia and hearts and flowers spilling onto the brick pavers. The doors to the little library are usually wide open if the AC's not running. One hummer even ventured inside once, standing still in mid-air…… pausing….. I think, to listen to the music we had playing while we sat on the loveseat next to the shelves filled with my books. Bees and butterflies flit to the potted Mexican lime tree that always has some blossoms no matter the season. Its little limes are the most flavorful I’ve ever tasted……the fresh, limey smell fills the kitchen whenever you slice one to put in your ice water. Two lizards visit daily, doing pushups on the wall…their blue bellies showing bright under their tan scales. I see them so often I’ve named them Lucky and Lucy though I’ve no idea of their gender.
On restless nights when sleep doesn’t come easily I go and sit on the bench outside our bedroom, a soft breeze moving the leaves on the trees now as tall as the house after only a few months. In March that breeze brings the heady scent of orange and lemon blossoms which perfumes the air across the entire desert Valley. I look up to see a few familiar stars visible above. Even in the light of the city I can find the dippers and the North star. Orion is often there, too, guarding those below with his sword at the ready. Certainly not the clouds of stars we could see in the white swath of the Milky Way on moonless nights on the mountain, but somehow comforting, nevertheless. It turns out that we made a trade of sorts when we moved back to the desert……stars for sunsets it was. Sunsets are often spectacular here, of course. Reds, oranges, and purples paint the darkening western sky almost every night. We had to drive to the Rim overlook to see sunsets on the mountain. Too many huge ponderosa pines blocked the view. But whenever we returned home after being out after dark it was always someone’s job to run and turn off the porch light. Then we could all stand and stare up at the millions of stars so dense that they made a dusty white path across the black night sky. The Milky Way for sunsets…that was the trade.
There are other small pleasures here, too…….soft night breezes and the sounds and smells of freshly cut grass even in winter ….that sort of thing.
So we stayed in the little “spec” house…… longer than we intended.....husband now saying, “It’s big enough for just us two and I don’t want to move furniture.” Now years have passed in this temporary, just until we get settled again place.
Even though we miss the spectacular beauties of the mountains I now believe it’s true what the old hymn says….“there is beauty all around.”
Wherever you are, look for it and be gladdened and delighted. I think it will make Heavenly Father happy.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Alarm Clock of Youth
Why, oh why, must children remember the very things about their childhood that you wish them to forget? And why, oh why, don't they recall the many wonderful things, (I'm sure there must have been many), that are worth remembering?
My kids are all grown. One day, I was feeling uncharacteristically wistful about those long, lost days when they were newer. I asked one who turned out well to tell me about a childhood memory. I was looking for validation that I'd been a good mother, that I'd been a light in little childish lives.
Take my advice. Don't do this. You may be sorry.
Dear daughter cheerfully replied that one of her most vivid memories as a young girl was being awakened every morning by the ringing sounds of pots and pans clanging together. This was coming from the kitchen. Then every so often, after a particularly loud crash, the shrill voice of her lovely mother would cry out in exasperation, "Damnation!"
She doesn't recall that I was all alone out there, in the dawn's early light, making breakfast and packing lunches for the rest of the still sleeping members of the family. No, of course not. All this before I had to get ready for work too. Never mind that I wasn't cussing AT anybody for Pete's sake! Plus, I didn't think anyone was listening, but that doesn't matter either. She just remembers what she calls, "The alarm clock of my youth." 5:00 AM she said. It never failed. For years she awoke to the sound of pots and pans crashing loudly and "Damnation!" ringing out from the kitchen of our "little house in the big woods." Now whenever she hears anybody shout, "Damnation!" she thinks of me. Great. Happy mother's day.
After this distressing little tale I asked her to tell about something nice. A beautiful memory. Something precious that we'd shared as mother and daughter.
She thought hard and said with a bright smile, "Nothing comes to mind off the top of my head."
If you still have kids at home think about this. Let it be a lesson to you. Children have very selective memories and good hearing. And regret has a bitter taste in old age.
Watch yourself.
My kids are all grown. One day, I was feeling uncharacteristically wistful about those long, lost days when they were newer. I asked one who turned out well to tell me about a childhood memory. I was looking for validation that I'd been a good mother, that I'd been a light in little childish lives.
Take my advice. Don't do this. You may be sorry.
Dear daughter cheerfully replied that one of her most vivid memories as a young girl was being awakened every morning by the ringing sounds of pots and pans clanging together. This was coming from the kitchen. Then every so often, after a particularly loud crash, the shrill voice of her lovely mother would cry out in exasperation, "Damnation!"
She doesn't recall that I was all alone out there, in the dawn's early light, making breakfast and packing lunches for the rest of the still sleeping members of the family. No, of course not. All this before I had to get ready for work too. Never mind that I wasn't cussing AT anybody for Pete's sake! Plus, I didn't think anyone was listening, but that doesn't matter either. She just remembers what she calls, "The alarm clock of my youth." 5:00 AM she said. It never failed. For years she awoke to the sound of pots and pans crashing loudly and "Damnation!" ringing out from the kitchen of our "little house in the big woods." Now whenever she hears anybody shout, "Damnation!" she thinks of me. Great. Happy mother's day.
After this distressing little tale I asked her to tell about something nice. A beautiful memory. Something precious that we'd shared as mother and daughter.
She thought hard and said with a bright smile, "Nothing comes to mind off the top of my head."
If you still have kids at home think about this. Let it be a lesson to you. Children have very selective memories and good hearing. And regret has a bitter taste in old age.
Watch yourself.
Monday, July 7, 2014
What Goes Around Keeps Coming Around
Since I retired from teaching three years ago I've given up on keeping up.
With local and national news broadcasts that is.
I used to watch every night. You know....mindless, habitual viewing.....6:00 news with dinner, 10:00 news before bed. But now that I've had time to think about it, I decided that as far as knowing what's going on, ignorance can indeed be bliss.
This began when I really paid attention to what was being put out there. It was negative, biased, incorrect, and usually depressing. Almost always. What's more, nearly all of it was outside my area of influence. There was never a thing I could do to help those poor souls involved in the latest shooting or drug bust, but still my stomach churned and my heart ached for the victims. The despair never made my life any better. And "knowing the news" never helped me to be a more effective person either. In fact, I began to look suspiciously on more of my neighbors than deserved it. And to make unkind judgments on whole categories of people. Like media folks. I'm sure some of them must mean well.
So now I pray hard and help whomever I can around me. And then I donate to organizations who may be able to make a difference to the rest. When being informed in order to be a good citizen seems important, I find other sources.
It was truly amazing how much peace came into my life with this one simple, "No news is good news" change. The sun rose a little brighter. A positive viewpoint was easier to find. It actually reduced the number of little pills I had to swallow for stomach and blood pressure problems!
In any case it seems like there's nothing ever really new anyway. The same old issues just keep coming around again and again. It makes me feel like we're not learning from our mistakes, which is depressing in itself, and one of the biggest mistakes of all.
Now my daughters tell me that an old issue is making headlines again involving the church. It's about women and the priesthood. I remember when this was part of the news cycle decades ago, back when I was a young woman new to the gospel. It concerned me then because, as a Mormon, I was being taught that God is perfectly just. I learned that we may not be able to see it now, but one day we'll all say, "Father was fair with me." It was distressing to hear that some felt the church to be discriminatory. I needed to know. So I read church teachings about this very thing. I studied scriptures. What's more I tried to live the life of a Latter Day Saint woman. Somebody said that was the real test of the truth.
One day when I was trying to live that life something happened. I was asked to substitute in a Sunday school class. It was for kids around 9 years old and called "Valiants" I think. Ordinarily I'd try to get out of this kind of thing but as I said I was trying to walk the LDS walk to "see for myself" as a test. So I said yes. Some frantic sister with sick kids dropped off a manual and gave me the lesson number. Late Saturday night I finally opened it to see what I was supposed to try to teach a bunch of rowdy 9 year olds in the morning.
I've remembered that lesson for decades now.
It was about what you can know for sure when you see any human being on earth. No matter what the circumstances you can know this is true. I remember three main points.
First, everybody you see is a child of God. The literal offspring of deity. (Think about that for a long time before going on to the next thing. It's deep.)
Second, since they're here on earth, everybody you see chose the Lord's plan once. In the pre-existence they voted with Father. So, no matter what they're doing now they chose right then. Too, since these are the last days and many valiant spirits have been saved for this time because of the great need, it's possible that they may be one of them.
Last, we know what Father said in the scriptures, "Thou shall not esteem one flesh above another."
Not "All men are created equal." No mention of male/female, rich/poor, black/ white, broken/whole or any other categories. Just flesh. And esteem.
So.
This is what Mormons are teaching their children. All the little LDS kids around the world were being taught this same lesson. Not just word of mouth either, but published right there in all the manuals printed in every language. Many of them would go home to families and be asked, "What did you learn in church today? Then a bunch of nine year olds would share eternal truths all over the world. Millions of people being taught these things in every country and culture.
So.
But what about those sisters in the news, the ones upset because only men were given the priesthood in the church? If Father loves all flesh equally can this be fair?
Then something else happened to me personally that I believe was a heaven sent blessing and message. It was a sacred experience and I share it only in the hope that it may help someone else. It's not part of church teachings.
I had a baby.
And while giving birth I had a special experience. Though I've had several children, this only happened one time.
Right in the middle of the last stages of labor my thought processes turned to eternal things. I seemed to be an observer of what was going on around me. I remember thinking and feeling, "There's another person, not just a baby, but a person with a past and a future, who is coming THROUGH ME, right at this moment. God is using my body to send someone to earth." I began to think of how special the physical connections of childbirth were. A bond between mother, child and God. A special blessing reserved only for women. A sacred experience that men cannot share. Suddenly I was sorry for my husband who could never feel what I was feeling! Yes, while in labor I felt sorry for men! They were missing out on one of life's greatest gifts. Then the pain came back and my attention was directed elsewhere.
That was all. That was the experience. Strange for sure.
I didn't know it then but that was only half of it.
Sometime later I was witness to a priesthood blessing, certainly not unusual and something I'd done before. I believe a little child was sick and was receiving a blessing of healing. As the men with the Holy Priesthood placed their hands on the girl's head I glanced up.
Then the oddest thing happened. Thoughts came rushing back to me from the delivery room!
There it is! I thought. Those men are putting their hands on a child's head and physically blessing her to be healed. Surely one of life's greatest gifts! Something reserved only for men. The laying on of hands. A sacred bond between them, the child, and God. Blessings of comfort, courage, healing, and sometimes miracles given by Father's faithful sons.
So I needn't have felt sorry for my brothers. I knew then in my heart and soul that Father is indeed perfectly fair to his children.
Just a note about a related subject.
Once I heard somebody say that LDS women are discriminated against by LDS men generally and not allowed to reach their full potential.
After I quit laughing I'll give them some input.
I advise them to walk the walk of a Mormon woman and see.
I have three daughters and eight granddaughters, all walking the walk. I asked some of them about this very thing and this is what I found.
Never, never, never, have any of them, ever, been encouraged to be anything less than their best selves. In fact, most often we are admonished to be better than we think we can possibly be. We are vigorously taught to develop all of our God given talents. We are exhorted to become as highly educated as our circumstances will allow. If formal education isn't possible then we're urged to study on our own, by candlelight if that's all there is! We are counseled that we must read and learn "from the best books," in every subject. We are to be knowledgeable, accomplished, and to use our talents in every way to help make our homes and the world a better place.
I even remember one Relief Society lesson where the point was made that some of our talents may be hidden. We were advised to be diligent, discover them, magnify them along with the ones we knew about already, and then get busy using them to bless the lives of others! In addition, all the while we're doing this we're to seek after everything that is beautiful, lovely and of good report.
Victims of discrimination? Not allowed to become all we wish to become?
Truth be told, some of the females in my family suggested that they could use a little rest from trying to reach their full potentials. Many times, I too have longed for a nap, but instead have been out there trying to develop something.
All the women in my family can testify of the truth of what I say. I know they can because they're all tired. Indeed all Mormons are taught from the cradle to reach for everything that they may become.
And when that reach pulls a hamstring we're instructed in first aid so we'll soon be well and back at it!
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Sex, sex, and more sex
Sex seems to be everywhere these days. And often in the strangest
places too.
I'm old now so I've finally figured out some important things about this popular topic. I thought I'd share because one thing I know for sure is that there's a whole lot of people out there who are doing it wrong.
Another thing is that sooner or later they'll figure this out too.
And then they'll be sorry.
How do I know they'll be sorry?
Because you can't sin against truth and be happy that's why.
Every person on earth is born with the light of Christ and knows deep in their hearts when something is wrong. You simply can't do sex wrong and not know it. No matter what people may say, they know.
No matter how much money they make or how popular they are, if they're doing sex wrong they know it.
I noticed this among my high school students. (You can read more about this knowing thing in an earlier post called, "Pornography is a Lie." It's about a test I once gave to a bunch of teens who regularly viewed porn.)
Anyway, generally my students who were messing around with unwise substances like drugs or alcohol were often troubled and unhappy. But I noticed that those who got involved with casual sex were more than just that. Sometimes they ended up feeling so deep down worthless that life seemed to them not even worth living. Why? What made being wrong about sex so much more damaging?
Well, maybe it's because of the sacred nature of sexual relations itself. Of all the aspects of being human, the truth about this one really needs to be lived if a person wants a chance at true happiness.
So what are some truths about sex that we know.
First of all, men and women are not the same.
This might seem obvious but a lot of folks out there don't understand this very basic concept. And it turns out the sexes are different not only physically but in their very natures.
I'm okay with this since Heavenly Father has said, "Thou shall not esteem one flesh above another."
He loves both his male and female children. They're different but equally valued.
Simple as this sounds, believe it or not, this "esteeming equally" is a radical idea in many cultures.
I understand these truths about sex and yet I'm still surprised at how often I'm still surprised. After all this time too.
It makes no sense, I know, but my husband's view of the world is very often SO not mine.
I used to think he was just plain wrong. "How could he possibly think that?
I often wondered, sometimes loudly, "What in the world is the matter with him?"
But I know that he's not wrong so much as he's just "Male."
With a capital "M."
He sees things as blue. I see them as yellow.
But something happens when we see things together.
By some strange and mysterious power the world becomes green!
Then we have a case of the sum of the two becoming more than the sum of the parts.
Somehow one and one makes three!
That's part of why a marriage needs to be between a male and a female I think. Perhaps it has not only to do with sex but also to do with gender and its accompanying nature and point of view.
You can only get green by mixing blue and yellow.
Two blues just make more blue, two yellows and there's still only yellow.
Without both sexes involved in the process you always end up with only one.
It takes a male and a female to equal more than the math would seem possible.
Now about the sex itself. What are some truths about that?
Well, sex is a gift from God to his children who are married.
It's a great gift too. One that should be used as often as possible and appropriate for maximum happiness.
Some of life's greatest blessings come to people through it's use.
For one thing, becoming "one" with another human being isn't possible in any other way.
This doesn't mean only physically either.
When husbands and wives feel safe and brave enough to share what's most tender and vulnerable about themselves, their very souls can touch.
That's when they can really come to "know" each other.
And "knowing" one another is how the scriptures often describes sex, isn't it?
That doesn't happen with meaningless physical encounters.
And when Heavenly Father gets involved, children and grandchildren can come into your life.
Sex becomes a sacred light with power to light other lights. One of life's greatest blessings for sure.
There's another aspect of sex that doesn't seem to be common knowledge. It's a critical element missing from every kind of casual sex.
What so many don't know is that to be done properly every single act of sex must be accompanied by a "tie that binds." A small, silver thread that goes around a man and a woman and holds them together afterwards.
The sex itself might involve tenderness or hilarity, grand passion or therapy, recreation or routine. Even those, "You better make it quick, Mister, the kids will be home soon," count. That part doesn't matter. What matters is the binding.
That thread must be there.
Those threads, combined with all the others that come with sharing a life with someone, hold a man and woman together more surely than a single rope ever could.
All those people out there leaving out that little silver thread that binds do so at great peril to their happiness.
Father intended sex to be a source of joy to his beloved children. But when the bond is missing it can become the opposite.
Instead of joy, those who steal the gift from Father find shame and bitter regret.
I believe the scriptures say something about, "Will a man rob God?"
Well, money's not all that can be stolen.
Universal truth applies here, perhaps more than in any other area of life.
I remember one of my daughters telling me of a teaching moment she had with one of her troubled high school students. He was really struggling with these issues and had asked her advice.
She thought a long time about it and then told him simply, "You can't do wrong and feel right."
She could tell by the look on his face that his conscience had just convicted him. He knew the truth.
No place in life does truth apply more surely than it does with sex. You simply can't do sex wrong and feel right.
So. Many sincere and heartfelt thanks for that most wonderful wedding gift from Father. May we understand it's truth and always live it.
May we be blessed with great joy when we do.
places too.
I'm old now so I've finally figured out some important things about this popular topic. I thought I'd share because one thing I know for sure is that there's a whole lot of people out there who are doing it wrong.
Another thing is that sooner or later they'll figure this out too.
And then they'll be sorry.
How do I know they'll be sorry?
Because you can't sin against truth and be happy that's why.
Every person on earth is born with the light of Christ and knows deep in their hearts when something is wrong. You simply can't do sex wrong and not know it. No matter what people may say, they know.
No matter how much money they make or how popular they are, if they're doing sex wrong they know it.
I noticed this among my high school students. (You can read more about this knowing thing in an earlier post called, "Pornography is a Lie." It's about a test I once gave to a bunch of teens who regularly viewed porn.)
Anyway, generally my students who were messing around with unwise substances like drugs or alcohol were often troubled and unhappy. But I noticed that those who got involved with casual sex were more than just that. Sometimes they ended up feeling so deep down worthless that life seemed to them not even worth living. Why? What made being wrong about sex so much more damaging?
Well, maybe it's because of the sacred nature of sexual relations itself. Of all the aspects of being human, the truth about this one really needs to be lived if a person wants a chance at true happiness.
So what are some truths about sex that we know.
First of all, men and women are not the same.
This might seem obvious but a lot of folks out there don't understand this very basic concept. And it turns out the sexes are different not only physically but in their very natures.
I'm okay with this since Heavenly Father has said, "Thou shall not esteem one flesh above another."
He loves both his male and female children. They're different but equally valued.
Simple as this sounds, believe it or not, this "esteeming equally" is a radical idea in many cultures.
I understand these truths about sex and yet I'm still surprised at how often I'm still surprised. After all this time too.
It makes no sense, I know, but my husband's view of the world is very often SO not mine.
I used to think he was just plain wrong. "How could he possibly think that?
I often wondered, sometimes loudly, "What in the world is the matter with him?"
But I know that he's not wrong so much as he's just "Male."
With a capital "M."
He sees things as blue. I see them as yellow.
But something happens when we see things together.
By some strange and mysterious power the world becomes green!
Then we have a case of the sum of the two becoming more than the sum of the parts.
Somehow one and one makes three!
That's part of why a marriage needs to be between a male and a female I think. Perhaps it has not only to do with sex but also to do with gender and its accompanying nature and point of view.
You can only get green by mixing blue and yellow.
Two blues just make more blue, two yellows and there's still only yellow.
Without both sexes involved in the process you always end up with only one.
It takes a male and a female to equal more than the math would seem possible.
Now about the sex itself. What are some truths about that?
Well, sex is a gift from God to his children who are married.
It's a great gift too. One that should be used as often as possible and appropriate for maximum happiness.
Some of life's greatest blessings come to people through it's use.
For one thing, becoming "one" with another human being isn't possible in any other way.
This doesn't mean only physically either.
When husbands and wives feel safe and brave enough to share what's most tender and vulnerable about themselves, their very souls can touch.
That's when they can really come to "know" each other.
And "knowing" one another is how the scriptures often describes sex, isn't it?
That doesn't happen with meaningless physical encounters.
And when Heavenly Father gets involved, children and grandchildren can come into your life.
Sex becomes a sacred light with power to light other lights. One of life's greatest blessings for sure.
There's another aspect of sex that doesn't seem to be common knowledge. It's a critical element missing from every kind of casual sex.
What so many don't know is that to be done properly every single act of sex must be accompanied by a "tie that binds." A small, silver thread that goes around a man and a woman and holds them together afterwards.
The sex itself might involve tenderness or hilarity, grand passion or therapy, recreation or routine. Even those, "You better make it quick, Mister, the kids will be home soon," count. That part doesn't matter. What matters is the binding.
That thread must be there.
Those threads, combined with all the others that come with sharing a life with someone, hold a man and woman together more surely than a single rope ever could.
All those people out there leaving out that little silver thread that binds do so at great peril to their happiness.
Father intended sex to be a source of joy to his beloved children. But when the bond is missing it can become the opposite.
Instead of joy, those who steal the gift from Father find shame and bitter regret.
I believe the scriptures say something about, "Will a man rob God?"
Well, money's not all that can be stolen.
Universal truth applies here, perhaps more than in any other area of life.
I remember one of my daughters telling me of a teaching moment she had with one of her troubled high school students. He was really struggling with these issues and had asked her advice.
She thought a long time about it and then told him simply, "You can't do wrong and feel right."
She could tell by the look on his face that his conscience had just convicted him. He knew the truth.
No place in life does truth apply more surely than it does with sex. You simply can't do sex wrong and feel right.
So. Many sincere and heartfelt thanks for that most wonderful wedding gift from Father. May we understand it's truth and always live it.
May we be blessed with great joy when we do.
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