Sins of the Mother

I don't trust technology.
Many of you know that about me already.
In fact, when I was still teaching, I actually had the reputation of being the woman most likely to have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Especially where computers are concerned.  I still maintain that my No. 2 pencil never once got sick with a virus or crashed and burned, rendering everyone around it helpless and stupid!
But some technology has turned out to soften even a reluctant geezer like me. Resist as I may I must admit that the DVR has made some amazing things possible. For one, I actually OWN copies of Disney animated films!  Imagine, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty right there on my bookshelf next to Mark Twain's masterpieces!

And now I can study the talks of the prophet and the apostles in a way not possible before. Those good old record, pause, and "Play it again Sam" features mean that I don't miss a word or musical note of General Conference. I can even go over and over those messages that I'm sure were meant just for me. You know the ones.
The ones where Heavenly Father is trying to tell "just you" something.
Sadly, in my case they always seem to be a call to repentance.

Well, conference was held recently.   It was amazing as usual.
And by this time I've lived in the light long enough to know that without a doubt conference topics are what's been on Father's mind. I no longer question whether the things being asked are too simple to really make a difference. This is what Father wants His children to work on. And our lives, and even the world, can change for the better if we listen and act.

This Conference He asked us to be kind, especially in our own homes, and to have hope even while burdened.  I know there's a good reason for that counsel.  An eternal reason.

Think for a minute what it would mean if every soul on earth were kind and had learned that kindness at home.  What could that do?
Well, all sorts of wars, big and little, in houses and countries, would stop I think.

And what if everyone alive knew that an apostle of Christ had said that the hardest challenges they face were the very things that were making it possible for them to grow and move forward?
What if those who struggle with heavy burdens knew that it was the "load" that would make the difference?
Would life change for them if they understood that they'd been blessed by adversity and not cursed by it?
Hope lifts. Would that help them bear up under what was theirs to carry?

So, after numerous replays, I've learned, among other things, that I'm supposed to work on being kind to the people in my own home.
This was one of the messages meant just for me.
No cross words are to be spoken to anyone living in my house. Only kind ones.
(How about mildly impatient and annoyed? Is that unkind? What about exasperated and at wit's end?  I'm thinking about that.  Give me a minute.)
Sounds easy enough, right? You wouldn't think it would be that hard.  Being kind. After all I do love my family more than life itself.

It's just that they can be so difficult!  Unreasonable even.
And they relentlessly persist in doing the stuff that they do.

My oldest daughter Kimberly, parent of 7, four of them currently teenagers, came over the day after this last conference in despair over her own mothering skills and the kindness issue.
Apparently she'd been called to repentance over this very same thing.  I told her not to worry, that those messages were meant for me, but she insisted they were for her.
She's so often unreasonable. It's a trait left over from her childhood which I remember vividly.
Anyway, it seems she had wanted to strike her 15 year old daughter after a particularly difficult Sacrament meeting which ended with said teenager, certainly old enough to know better, punching her little sister hard in the stomach for no apparent reason.  Kim knew it wasn't right to want to smack someone you love, but nevertheless, there you are.  Smacking was in her heart and what she wanted to do most at the time.
Helpfully, and in my kindest mother voice, I told her how wrong she was and that she really needed to work on patience because smacking is never the answer. All the while my mind was drifting back to the time when I was still trying to be kind and patient with my own kids.

I remembered the usual enlightened disciplinary technique I used with our son.
It involved chasing him around with a wooden spoon in my raised hand, ready to beat him with it should I ever be quick enough to catch him.
Because occasionally I did, (this was a long time ago remember) when he grew a bit older and wiser, he would stop running abruptly, turn around, grab the spoon, break it in half, hand it back to me and continue running. I realized I needed a better way when one day while I was trying to make spaghetti sauce there wasn't a wooden spoon in sight.
Next time he needed correcting I reached for the broom instead, which afforded a longer reach anyway. As usual he turned around in the middle of our little race, grabbed the broom to break it until I yelled frantically, "Don't!! That's a new one!" He handed it back politely and kept running. This worked well for years.

With Kimberly I believe throwing a shoe was the usual loving disciplinary method of choice. But she was quick and my aim poor.
So, for the life of me, I don't know where Kim gets her impulse to smack a wayward child.

Strange that I don't remember wanting to chase and beat our two youngest. They came along later.
Perhaps they were better children.
Or perhaps I'd learned something by then.  Or maybe I was just tired.   It's something to think about.
I don't recall ever throwing shoes at them either.
And oddly, I have noticed that both of them are unusually peaceful people.
I'd better think about that too, I suppose.
But not right now, I feel a headache coming on.

So.  I'm supposed to be kinder.  No harsh words.
Especially to my own family who so often seem to deserve some harsh words.
But apparently Father says that even when they're who they are, doing what they always do, I'm required to be kind to them.  Even then.
Somehow this will help make the universe a better place.
I'm thinking.

Okay, what if everyone on this planet walked out their doors after experiencing only kindness in their own homes?
Kindness from every single person under that roof.
What if they learned it from the cradle? How far would that go?  Would it change the world?
I'm thinking about it harder.
You think about it too.

Don't ever say, "It's not my fault" to Mz Dub!

As a retired teacher I have hundreds of young faces in my creaky, old memory banks.
All of my students were special to me though, at every age, every school and classroom.

I spent the last ten years or so teaching high school. Many of my kids were from middle class homes and some even affluent ones.
But our attendance area also pulled a lot of my students from one of the oldest barrios in the Southwest.
Some of these kids came from circumstances that presented them with extraordinary challenges. Many lived in the projects, had gang backgrounds, and parents or siblings in prison.
I was often struck by how ignorant these young people were of the basic principles involved in how to live a happy life. They just could not connect the dots to some really basic pictures.

A simple equation like drug use and trouble of some kind was hard for them to put together.
Or that stealing isn't a good idea even if you really need it bad, and think you can get away with it.  
Or alcohol and gasoline don't mix.
Or alcohol and sex either.
Or sex at 14 even if you're sober.
Or that hard work and income are related.
Or that prison probably isn't a place you'd like to spend your 20's. And breaking even the laws you think are stupid can result in going there.
Also, it's very important to remember that carrying a gun for whatever reason is asking for trouble.
That sort of thing.

Since my class was called "Lifeskills" we touched on all these and many other similar subjects. I remember struggling to find ways to teach basic "happiness" concepts.

Once after one of my kids spent his entire Thanksgiving vacation in jail where he was miserable and scared every minute I made a large poster.
He came back to class swearing it wasn't his fault. The other person made him so mad that he had to do it. And he swore he was going to "get that **** who was really to blame!"
Didn't learn much behind those bars did he? Scary thinking, huh?

The poster was titled........

               A HUNDRED THINGS YOU WON'T FIND IN JAIL
          Don't Break The Law And You Won't Have To See For Yourself

The list included:  "Your dog,  girlfriend,  and car.  Loud music. Christmas trees, the remote,  taking a bath,  Big Mac's and Taco Bell,  weekends,  your Nana's birthday cake,  your cell phone, walking over to your best friend's house at midnight,  raiding the refrigerator,  cool shoes, etc. etc. The list went on and on.

When the incarcerated student returned to class he looked at the poster thoughtfully and commented, "Mz Dub, on Thanksgiving while I was in Durango, I called out to the guard to bring mustard for my sandwich. Everybody in the cells all up and down the hall started laughing like crazy.  Put mustard on the list Mz Dub."  
I did.

I wanted to help them but I couldn't post or teach the ten commandments. They turn out to be some of the best rules for a happy life but not allowed in public school.

I do remember a unit of study I devised based on the Boy Scout laws.
I'm serious. Scouts and gangbangers.

We talked about the "old fashioned virtues" versus modern ideas of right and wrong.

At first my kids rolled their eyes and made comments about how I couldn't really be serious and how unbelievable, even for me, this whole idea was, and "You are really, really OLD, Mz Dub!" etc.

They started to quiet down a little bit though when we made side by side comparisons on one of my trusty little posters.

                                 
                           THE OLD FASHIONED VIRTUES OR POPULAR                                                                               MORALITY

What Kind of Life Does a Person Have Who Is.........

HONEST                                            A LIAR AND A CHEAT

KIND                                                  CRUEL

THRIFTY                                            DEEP IN DEBT

CLEAN                                                FILTHY

SOBER                                                WASTED OR STONED

REVERENT                                         DISRESPECTFUL

LOYAL                                                 BACK STABBING

HARDWORKING                                 LAZY

HELPFUL                                             WON'T LIFT A FINGER

ETC.                                                      ETC.  


"Well. Let's start with just a couple of these," I said.  "What kind of life does someone have who cheats on their spouse and lies to their kids?
What does the home of a person who's filthy and lazy look like?
How long does somebody keep a job if they're wasted or stoned half the time? What kind of car or house does somebody own if they spend every dime they make and never save?
How many friends does a person make if they're cruel, disrespectful, and won't lift a finger to help anybody?  
How happy is someone who's a lying, mean, broke, selfish, lazy,
back-stabbing drunk?"

They were thinking now. I could see it.  Yippee!

I knew it was the "Light of Christ" born in each of them, helping them to know truth from error, that was making them pause.
I was so very grateful for it with these kids. I couldn't tell them what it was but I counted heavily on it and was blessed often.

I made the point that the closer someone lives to those "old fashioned, geeky virtues," the better chance they have of living a happy life.
They groaned.  But thoughtfully.

Sometimes, though, my attempts to make them see the light came back to bite me.
One week we were focusing on "Helpful.
I made the bold statement that this one was so important that it was impossible to be happy if you didn't lend a hand regularly somewhere in this world.

We had a great lesson on it and I assigned each student to do meaningful service for someone they knew and then give an oral report to the class.
It was to count as the unit's final test. I was hopeful that my kids would get a glimpse of the joy of service.

We were in the process of hearing the reports when I called on a freshman girl who was obviously excited to tell us about her project.
Her file listed her as FAS, which was sadly common in Special Ed.  FAS being fetal alcohol syndrome, a lifelong challenge she would face due to her mother's alcohol use during pregnancy.
She stood to give her report.
She began by saying that she remembered our recent study of drinking and driving.
We were taught NEVER, EVER! to drink and drive and there was no excuse for  letting someone else we knew do it either.

Well, over the weekend her mom got wasted again and was going to drive over to her aunt's apartment.
This young girl tried to talk her mom out of it but she couldn't. "Finally," she said proudly,  "I  just grabbed the keys and drove her over there myself!  So my service was to keep a drunk driver off the road."
She beamed proudly at the class.

I stood with my mouth open for a while, not knowing what to say.
This girl was barely 14, without a license of course, and probably had never been behind the wheel before!
Horrible images of what could have happened flashed before my eyes and a prayer of thanks that they didn't went straight to Father.
I sat down and we began a long discussion that included praise for the intent but cautions about breaking the law and options for other solutions to her problem.

Then one day I had an epiphany of sorts about this happiness connection thing.  (We call these "apostrophes" at our house in honor of Mr. Smee's comment to Captain Hook in the movie Peter Pan)  It started when a student gave that same old excuse that I heard so often from so many of my kids,

                                        "MZ Dub, it wasn't my fault!"

It hit me then.
This was at the core of the whole "happiness rules" problem!
How many times had I heard students whine this same tune?  
"It wasn't my fault!"  "I couldn't help it," "It was the boy I was with!" "They talked me into it!" "They made me mad!"   "He, she, they......"

Once a girl actually told me that it wasn't her fault that she got pregnant because she was drunk at the time!
And a young man sporting an electronic ankle bracelet courtesy of the Department of Corrections explained that it was his friend who was to blame. He was only holding the knife for him!
He was eventually tried as an adult and sentenced to more than 3 years in prison.

This lie was at the heart of it, I was sure.
This believing that you're a victim of outside forces, that you're not in control of your own destiny.
This was one of the most common threads in the lives of those kids who didn't have a clue of what it takes to live a happy life.

So I began a campaign.
A "Personal Responsibility, You Are the Captain of Your Own Soul," crusade.

It began that very day when my 7th period class (all boys) got into a discussion about how deceitful and horrid women can be.

This was led by a young man who had just been dumped by his new girlfriend. "Explain that! Mz Dub! How's that my fault? Women just stink that's all!  (Apparently I was not considered a  real woman. Too old I guess)

"My mom was the first and worst, he went on bitterly. She's a drunk who left me and my dad and ran off to Vegas with our neighbor when I was only 2 weeks old! How's that my fault..... or my dad's?"

I looked up quickly and saw pain in his eyes.

"I'm truly sorry that happened to you, Jeff. That's really hard to deal with. And I agree that it certainly wasn't your fault. How do you feel about the situation?"

"Well, women are rotten. They can't be trusted," he replied.

"That attitude's going to make it hard for you to build a happy marriage don't you think?"I suggested.
"I'll just be like my dad, I guess. He's been divorced 3 times."

"I see. Is he happy then?"
"No. He's a drunk."

"Jeff, I said that your mom's leaving wasn't your fault. But I didn't say that about your dad."

" What? How could that be his fault? He's not the one who ran off!"

"Well, I don't know. Your dad chose to marry her. How did your mom and dad meet?"
"They met in a bar my dad and his buddies liked to hang out in I think. They played pool there. She was somebody's girlfriend."

I couldn't believe it was going to be this easy.

"So," I said thoughtfully,  "She left the guy she was with in the bar and ran off with your dad?"
"Yeah. So What?  They were both 21."

"Jeff, think.  Your father met a girl in a bar where she hung out with her boyfriend.  He knew what kind of person she was when he married her. He knew she hung out in bars and that she wasn't loyal to the guy she was with. It seems to me that's when all the trouble started. HE made a poor choice."

The other guys chimed in that it's hard to know much that's really important about people before you get involved.  Then it's too late.

I said, "Okay, can you know ANYTHING at all about a person just by where you meet them?"

"Not really,"  was the general consensus.
"You may be right. But maybe you have at least a little information,"  I said.

"For instance, if you meet somebody at work what do you know?
You know they work.

If you meet somebody at school you know they go to school.

If you meet them at church you know they go to church.

What if you meet them on a bar stool? or at a wild party? or smoking pot with friends behind the bleachers? What do you know?  Anything important?

Does she know anything important about you?
Think hard about this guys.

And Jeff, think hard about when the trouble first started with your mom leaving your family.  Did your dad have any responsibility because he chose to marry her?"

It was about this time that I posted one of my all-time favorite door quotes permanently on the wall. I'd run across it in a Steven Covey book. I don't know who wrote it.
                                   
                            "Between stimulus and response there is a space.
                                In that space lies our opportunity to choose.
                                     In the choice lies our destiny."
                                     
My position was that there is almost always a choice. We are not helpless victims but masters of our fates. I also pointed out that the right choice wouldn't always be the easiest one. In fact it often may be the hardest.

After a while the, "Never Say It's Not My Fault In Mrs. Wagher's Class" got to be a "thing."

Nobody could say it without getting the business from all the other kids.
I loved it.

And I'll never forget the senior who came to say goodbye after graduation.
He hollered over his shoulder as he went out my door,
"I know, I know,  Mz Dub.
It's always my fault. And I probably won't find Miss Right if I only look on bar stools!"

Gifted

As a special ed teacher I served a great many students identified as "Learning Disabled or LD."
Most of the time my biggest job with these high school kids was convincing them of the truth.  Years of school had them believing a lie.
The truth is that every single student I ever taught was gifted.

Another truth is that LD should stand for "Learns Differently." There's no disability about it. Just challenges.
For some people sitting and listening to lectures works. Others need a different approach to learning. Personally I can read anything. But I can't learn to do the simplest things on the computer unless someone stands behind me and tells me every key to push and then watches while I do it myself a few times.  Even then I sometimes need directions taped to the wall!  My students used to get so exasperated with me that I'd have to pay them to show me "one more time." Cheat sheets cost me $3!  I wouldn't pay unless I could do it perfectly from their directions though. They had to watch and wait, usually with foot tapping and eyes rolling.  They all knew "computer" from infancy it seemed. Turns out that computer's a very important life skill nowadays by the way. But even though they were wizzes in cyberspace, 10 or 12 years in classrooms where reading and math were most important, and usually taught with heavy emphasis on good auditory skills, convinced these ''learns differently" students that somehow they weren't as smart as the other kids.  That's just not true!

I'll never forget a conference I once had with Hector, a wonderful senior boy. We were going over his grades, schedule, credits, etc., getting ready for a meeting with teachers and parents. This young man was bright and talented in so many ways.  But as we looked at the computer screen together he kept saying, "I've never been any good in English, Mz Dub," "I've never been any good in math either." "Not so good in history." Again and again.  Subject after subject.  After a while, by the sound of his voice and the slump of his shoulders, I knew that what he really meant was,  "I'VE never been any good."  It broke my heart.

This is what he believed after years in classrooms.

Well, it made me furious! I was so upset it drove me into one of my famous tirades!

I shouted, "Hector! Dagnabbit!  What in tarnation are you talking about!  Just this week at least three kids have come by this classroom looking for you after school because they couldn't get their cars started!
"Mz Dub," they whined, "I need Hector, have you seen him? My car won't run and he's the only one who knows how to fix it." 

"Mz Dub, I need Hector to fix my motorcycle."

"Mz Dub, my dad wants to see Hector about his fuel injectors. Have you seen him?"

Hector's also a star tackle on the varsity football team and has so many friends of every kind and color you could never count them.

I went on.

"And let me tell you about just a few of the other things that I've noticed that you're really, really, GOOD at.  For one thing you're open, friendly and comfortable with all kinds of people. Girls, boys, teachers, black, white, brown, it doesn't matter. Everybody likes you. I once asked you, a big-deal senior, to escort one of our new and scared little freshman to class on his first day. Some of the other football players caught up with you like they always do and Mr. Davis later told me that you stuck your head in his classroom and said, "Hey, Mr. D., this is my friend Raul. He's new. Thanks for taking care of him." Mr. Davis said that new and very scared boy immediately had a roomful of kids who wanted to eat lunch with him!  

Hector!!! Do you know what that kind of people skill is worth? Don't you know how far you could go in life with it? Do you know where it could take you professionally as well as personally? That kind of people instinct is priceless!

And about that car thing. A lot of people think you're a genius with an engine, Hector!  Do you know how many engines there are in this world?  Do you know where your skill with them can lead?  It can take you to a place where you can hire a secretary to do all your writing and an accountant to do your math for one thing!
So, Hector, this is what we're going to do. We're going to get through the English and math requirements using every backdoor we can find so you can graduate from high school. Then you're going to take every class you can that addresses your considerable talents.  Auto mechanics,  business and free enterprise, (for when you open your own), and marriage and parenting, (the most important job in your future).  Then you're going over to see the auto program sponsored by General Motors and Ford at the local community college and see what it takes to get in there.   An LD student I once had just called to tell me he's a factory certified Ford mechanic now, working at a dealership for just a short time, and making over      $90,000.00 a year!
Hector, I'm really good at reading and taking tests,  I've worked hard and paid for a college education and beyond, I have well over 25 years experience teaching and I don't even come close to making that much, and never will!
Now money isn't everything Hector, but don't tell me that young man has a disability, please!"

I stopped ranting then to take a breath because Hector said my face was beginning to look a little blue.

We finished our conference, he went back to his seat and I called Lettie up to work on her file.
"Leticia, what are you really good at?" I started.
"Mz Dub, I'm not really good at anything," she said.
"Yes you are, Lettie.  Please don't make me angry,"  I replied, "Think harder."
Finally she said, "Well I bake stuff for my family's birthdays and things. They all come to me for my special cakes. I can't think of anything else."
"That's a wonderful start!   Ever hear of Mrs. Fields or Famous Amos, Lettie?"

What is it that the scriptures say?
To each is given a talent.  To some one and to others another. That all may profit thereby, I think it goes.
Notice that "a few" are not given a talent.  It says EACH.  That must mean that every single person has something of value to offer. Something unique. Given by Father. So we all can benefit from each others gifts.

There is this thing about "talents" though.
The truth is that talents don't usually come fully developed. Most are like seeds. They may take years of digging, watering, and weeding before the fruit's ready to eat. Sometimes it gets mighty uncomfortable while you're out there digging too. You can't quit before the harvest. Or believe that just because your talent needs work means it's not valuable. I know that Hector had been fixing engines with his grandpa and dad since he was a little boy of 5, and naming and handing tools under the car before that.
Make no mistake.  God has spoken.  You have something valuable to give.  It can bless your life and the lives of many others.
Don't ever believe that you're no good. You're good in such a way that all of the rest of us need what you have to offer.
Find out what it is and get digging.

My Bulb Lit!

The other day I wanted to give up.
I was trying to do something and it was too hard.
I'm not usually a quitter but lately throwing in the towel seems more and more like the only sensible thing to do. Then I remembered a student I once had,  many years ago,  whose "bulb lit."

I was teaching in a middle school classroom. We were working on some science concepts that one boy found really challenging. He raised his hand and said in frustration,  "Mrs. Wagher, I've read the pages in our book,  I've listened to you explain it,  I even asked my dad for help and I still don't get it and I never will!

I took a long breath and looked at him menacingly.

"Now you've done it!  I said in a loud and dramatic voice.   Now you've really gone and done it!"  Now the whole class has to get out of their study groups and get in their seats to listen to my high school chemistry story and the Kelley driving story."

Groans all around.  Muttered threats of retaliation directed to the boy.  I ignored them and proceeded.

"Back in the day, I was the smartest kid in my high school chemistry class," I began.  "Everybody knew it too.  I always had the answer.  But one week we were working on something that I just couldn't figure out for the life of me. I'd read the chapter, listened to the lecture,  and carefully studied the drawings on the board. Nothing. Everybody else understood it but me!  The kids who got "F"s were trying to help me.  The teacher left the critical diagrams on the board so he could see if I could explain them at the end of each class. Nothing worked.  Finally he said that I was to re-read the chapter, thinking hard all the while, every single night until I got it. Great.

Well, I did re-read and think hard, three times as a matter of fact. And that chapter was long and complicated too. I still didn't get it. Chemistry was like a millstone around my neck!

On the morning of the third try I walked into class ready for failure and humiliation again. I looked at the board, my teacher caught my eye and said, "Okay, Kathy, think and go for it."
I looked at the dreaded drawings.

But, Amazing Grace, I didn't have to think at all!
Some sort of magic switch flipped in my head, the light came on, and I understood!!!  I stopped every kid as they came in the door to explain it in detail before they got to their seat. One girl pinched me hard as she passed by.

In any case, class, my point being that you just have to think, and think, read and re-read until the light comes on. You can't give up just because it's hard."

Then there's the Kelley learning to drive story.

Larry taught our other kids, but somehow I was the one teaching the youngest to drive. Not exactly one of the most sought after parenting jobs, I can tell you.

Kelley was weird about it anyway. She was well over the age to have a driver's license but refused to learn.  She said she was way too busy to mess with it. Granted she was involved in a lot of activities at school and now even had a job at the bank in town. (All of which were 17 miles away from home up Highway 260, sometimes in snow and ice by the way.) Nevertheless to being busy, we were sick of dragging her wherever she needed to go at all hours of the day and night. So we put our feet down.
She was made to take the wheel whenever she and I drove anywhere, mostly on said highway, to and from town and school.

I carefully explained all the basics of driver's ed and off we went.

It was terrifying! The child was white knuckled all the way and you could tell she was barely in control of the car at all. Since the speed limit was 65 miles an hour I was white knuckled too. This went on for weeks.

I could not believe this! Here was an unusually bright kid who had never failed at anything she tried! She just couldn't get it! Why? What was wrong with her?  Could it possibly be her teacher?

I was going to be the parent of the only child living in the American southwest, land of multi-lane freeways and at least one automobile for every adult, who couldn't drive a car! There was no reliable public transportation in the desert. Or the mountains! For Pete's sake, this wasn't New York! She'll be handicapped all her life! People will blame her mother! Why?! Why?! Why?!

I looked up at her face in despair. I noticed her eyes looking over at the side of the road. All the time. Going 65. Eyes at the side.

"What are you looking at?" I almost yelled.

"I'm looking at the white line at the side,"  she said. "You told me to keep the car on this side of that line."

"What!   Yeah, keep the car on this side of the line but LOOK up the road!    Far up the road!   Don't look at the side!   Look at the top of that hill coming up!"

She did.

She drove a few hundred feet.

The white knuckles relaxed. The car came under control. She glanced over at me and said, "Why didn't you tell me this before!?"

A simple thing. She was looking at it wrong. A minor change and the light came on.

So students, let this be a lesson to you. Don't give up! Sometimes, after a lot of work and frustration the light will come on and you'll get it."

A few days later something happened that I'll always treasure as a teacher.

The class was quietly working on science.  Suddenly a chair toppled over loudly as my "challenged" student jumped up excitedly from his work.

"Mrs. Wagher!  Mrs. Wagher!  he shouted excitedly,  My bulb lit!!!"

Indeed.

What is it that the scriptures say?  Something about not being weary in well doing I think. That's good advice.  You never know how hard you may have to try before you get it.

Remember. Be not weary. Don't give up. Your bulb will light too.

   

What If?

This is for lovely Sarah who's out there trying to change the world.

Young people are full of it.

The sure sense that they can change the world, that is.
I was the same.  As a teenager, like so many other young people,  I too dreamed of changing the world. I even sent away for information on the Peace Corps with plans of joining someday.  Mankind would be better off because I was part of it, I just knew!  I was going to trudge off to Africa to build water treatment plants to help my brothers and sisters living in remote villages, or to bring medicine to sick babies living in places where there were no doctors.

Well, life got in the way of the plans, as it so often does.  Africa would have to be a better place because of somebody else. I'd have to do the best I could from where I was.

( Isn't it strange that your own family or your next door neighbor doesn't seem to count as your "fellow man?" I could have helped them all I wanted but somehow it just wasn't the same. I wonder why?)


Coincidentally, just out of my teens, married and with two children, missionaries knocked on our door and brought us eternal truths.

Flash forward.

The latest General Conference was amazing, as usual.

Isn't it wonderful that Heavenly Father inspires those who speak at Conference?  As a "raggedy old convert" I've sometimes had trouble figuring that out. Usually it's because I just can't believe that God keeps reminding his children to do things that are so simple. After all, the world's in such a terrible mess and getting worse by the day! Turmoil, much of it caused by our own hands, afflicts nations and individuals alike. Not even the innocent can escape from the fallout. It's painful even to watch the nightly news! With this much suffering can simple things really make a difference?

Could they even save the world? It doesn't seem possible.

We really need some advice from our Father right about now, don't you think? We're hanging on by a thread down here! What should we do? Tell us please!


Conference began. I listened intently.

I  expected any message from Father to be earthshaking at the very least.  Lightening and thunder or a burning bush should accompany it.

With this on my mind I recall several of those inspired speakers this conference asking members of the Lord's church to renew their missionary efforts.

That's one of Father's messages?  Be a better missionary?

With all the trouble the world's in we're supposed to reach out to friends, neighbors and co-workers and share the gospel?

In this gigantic mess that's what God wants us to do?

How's that going to help, I wondered? Where's the thunder and lightening?

Then I remembered. When my still "raggedy" brain doesn't get it,  if I just sit down and ponder a while, it sometimes comes to me.

Okay. What if?

What if all 15 million of us who knew the truth really made an effort to live it and share it with someone who doesn't. What if they recognized it and began to live it too. What if they shared it and so on. What if lots and lots and lots of people on earth were living the truth? What could happen?

Well, think about it.

Just for starters, alcohol pain, including the car crashes, deaths and ruined lives that go with it would decrease because people in the church know that drinking isn't wise. Same for drug addiction and tobacco. What would happen to crime rates if fewer people were addicts? How much cancer could be avoided if millions and millions more just didn't use tobacco?

What would happen to STD deaths if people were living chaste lives before marriage and keeping their sacred vows after?  How many children would be born to fatherless homes then? How many abortions would there be? How many men would make the sacrifices necessary to build stable homes if they were living the truths Heavenly Father taught? How many women would make home and family the most important thing in their lives if they knew? What would happen to divorce rates if billions were married for eternity and worked hard to make their marriages successful?

What would happen to children who grew up in such homes?

What would happen to gangs if the young people now in them went to Mutual and Scouting each week, and then went home to a mom and dad who loved them afterwards? What would the dropout rate be when children are taught from the earliest ages the importance of learning and who are encouraged by parents and Prophets to "get all the education possible." What would happen in developing countries if people had access to a "Perpetual Education" fund ?

What would happen to poverty and hunger if millions, even billions, of people were skipping two meals a month and sending the food or money to their bishop? What if everybody had home and visiting teachers who were checking on their welfare. What if they all had a bishop who cared about them personally and had access to these sacred donations given to help in an emergency.


What would happen after natural disasters if millions and millions more volunteers joined those already working to help all over the world when there's a need?

What if everyone, everywhere, were taught in their homes and from the pulpit to obey the "law of the land" wherever they lived,  to vote, and to be good citizens? What would happen to the crime rate and to prisons then?

What if everyone followed the advice in the revealed scriptures about eating fruits and vegetables in season, to eat meat sparingly, and that grain is good for man?

What would happen to welfare rolls if people learned from childhood the blessings that come to those who work hard and are self reliant?

What would happen in politics and government if every elected official had an interview with his or her bishop every two years and was asked to answer before God, "Are you honest?" What if stockbrokers and bankers had to answer the same question?

What would happen to racism if millions of people knew that every person they see is a child of God and literally their brother or sister?

What if they'd all read, "Thou shall not esteem one flesh above another." Would knowing this change the lives of women in places where they're now abused?

What if lots and lots of us believed in religious tolerance as taught in the Articles of Faith? What if everyone allowed all to worship God according to their own conscience? What would happen to "holy wars" then?

What would happen to billions of people's personal lives if they knew the plan of happiness? What if they knew that success, wealth, fame and power, while perhaps nice, won't bring it. What if they knew that only love will bring it.

It all reminds me of the miraculous promise of the apple seed. You know the one.
You can count the seeds in an apple, but not the apples in a seed.


Plant just one of the many seeds in a single apple, from the many apples on a single tree. Care for it and watch it bear fruit when it becomes a tree. Each apple it produces will have seeds, each seed the potential to become another tree,  each tree the promise of more apples and seeds......and on and on and on into eternity.

If you planted every seed from every apple that came from a single seed, it would never end. After a while it would take a galaxy to hold all those trees. Eventually, perhaps even a universe.

Could it change the world?  Could it change more than that?

Think about it.

This Will Be Fun Too!

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

So I began to think about it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lying Parts

Dear Readers,

If you’re looking for inspiration today then don’t read this.

Read the scriptures instead.

In them we’re taught many great truths. “If ye have not the spirit ye shall not teach,” is one of those. Well, I used to think that meant that when I was giving a lesson in Sunday School or Relief Society I’d better have said my prayers and tried to live right beforehand or the lesson was going to be a bust. True, but I’ve since learned that it applies to all sorts of situations, not just classes for sure. Lately I’ve especially noticed that when I’m trying to teach my husband to change his ways and I’m filled with contention, or impatience, or crankiness or the like, he never does learn a darn thing. 

Well, I think I had not the spirit when I wrote this. In fact I distinctly remember being annoyed about someone. 

Just want to be up front with my friends.

Lying Parts

My oldest daughter, who is cynical, says that men have lying parts. She says they’re born with actual, physical, body parts that keep them from telling the truth in certain situations. She says she knows where the parts are located too. 

I don’t understand her attitude at all, because she’s been married some twenty years to a fine upstanding priesthood holder. A wonderful, honest man, a leader in his ward even.

I’ve counseled her and pointed out the error and unfairness of this kind of thinking but she remains unconvinced. All she says is, “Think about it, Ma.”

So I thought about it.

The man I know best in all the world is a truthful man. 
Well......... truthful mostly. However, I do know that there are some particular areas where betting your life on the veracity of his responses would not be wise. One involves food. 

Any question that begins with....

“I’m trying to make............  (fill in the blank) for company tonight. Have you seen the......half bag of chocolate chips....last of the shredded coconut...the rest of the Oreos I was saving to use for pie crust...marshmallows...graham crackers..."     

...will involve him gazing off into space, pretending to think hard, trying to formulate an answer that isn’t exactly a lie because he knows lying is technically wrong, and then saying, “Well Hon, I saw them a long time ago, way back in the tall cupboard, but I haven’t seen them lately.” Meaning, “I ate them when I found them, so you can stop looking.” Also meaning that I need to find a new hiding place.

I’d like to explain that I don’t keep many sweets around the house as a rule. This is due to the fact that the man who lives in it is a diabetic with a sweet tooth so fierce that it could start a cattle stampede like in that old western movie. Remember the cowboy who tried to sneak into the chuck wagon to steal sugar and knocked all the pots and pans off the hooks? It made a racket that started the herd galloping off in a hundred directions. Well, I’m married to him. But for Pete’s sake, sometimes people are coming over and expect a dessert that’s not artificially sweetened! You know, grandkids, missionaries, friends etc. It would be nice to be able to keep a few basic ingredients handy!

Another area where falsehoods fly involves doctors. My husband’s physicians have given him wise counsel about his diet, including carbs, sugar, salt, fats, sodium, and cholesterol. They’ve told him not to eat any of that stuff, but instead fill up on vegetables. They’ve told him to exercise regularly. After one recent appointment with his kidney specialist, he came out to the car to report that his doctor wasn’t that happy with his lab results. She’d asked a lot of pointed questions about what he’d been eating lately. I asked what he’d said. “I told her!” he snapped. “What’d she say? I asked sweetly. “She says she doesn’t believe me and she wants to talk to you.” 

Uhuh.....a married doctor who’s familiar with the male lying parts.  I assured him that I’d vouch for him and tell her that he didn’t put salt on the last bag of pork rinds that he ate.

 

In addition, at least once that I know of, he lied to me about what the doctor told him. It was back when we both had the same general practitioner, a fine man, dedicated and compassionate. Larry came home from a visit and informed me that the good doctor had advised him that frequent sex would make his blood sugar go down. A few months later when I had an appointment of my own I mentioned this to our dear physician, saying that I really didn’t appreciate that last bit of advice which he’d given my husband. After listening carefully he stood thinking for a bit, took off his glasses, rubbed his nose wearily, took a deep breath, and said a bit reluctantly, “I never told him that.”

Later I realized that the good doctor was stalling for time trying to decide whether to back up one of his own kind or to tell the truth. When confronted, my late husband just said, without a hint of shame, “Well, it made sense to me.”

In any case, I still think my oldest daughter is cynical about men.  
Although when I mentioned the theory of  “male lying parts” to my “ladies” doctor when I last had a visit, she said, a bit cynically. “Mmm-Mmm, and I know right where they are too.”

Included here is a sort of recipe for a strawberry cake type dessert which my husband likes and which doesn’t raise his blood sugar.

*One sugar free store bought angel cake. (In the bakery aisle at Fry’s or Wal-Mart)

* 1 package fresh strawberries

* 1  small sugar free red jello (raspberry’s good)

* 1 small sugar free french vanilla pudding mix (Plus milk)

* 1 Large carton sugar free or reduced calorie Cool Whip

Slice the berries into the bottom of a 9x13 pan. Make the jello with only 1 ½ cups water. Pour over the berries. Refrigerate until set. (I put it in the freezer while I do the rest because I don’t have time to mess around.)

Tear or cut up the cake into pieces the size of regular marshmallows. Make the pudding. Fold the cake pieces into the pudding. Spread it evenly over the firm jello and berries. Pile on the Cool Whip covering completely. Refrigerate for a few hours before serving.

Other fruit works too, like sliced peaches. But don’t put bananas unless you’re going to use the whole cake the day you make it.

*Not to worry, my husband's not really "late." But he may be my first husband which is how I always introduce him to strangers 
anyway.

Food Fight

Have you ever noticed how controversial some foods can be? 
Mention that you just tasted the “best whatever” in the whole world and somebody’s ready for an argument. 
It’s not all foods that cause trouble though.  Just a select few. 
Here’s a short list of those that come to mind.

Potato Salad

I’m the only one I know who can make decent potato salad.  
My traitor daughter says my sister’s is better because she puts more hard boiled eggs. But what does she know?

Barbeque

(Any meat. It’s the sauce and the method that stir up trouble.)

I have eaten “World Famous BBQ” all over this country that tasted like turpentine. What are those misguided people thinking? 
And one time when we were driving across Texas for what seemed like forever, we passed a little gas station with a smoker going full blast in the parking lot. A hand lettered sign said “Pulled Pork and Brisket.” Of course that stopped my husband on a dime. 
The meat was delicious but we couldn’t understand the two pieces of white Wonder bread that came with each order. 
I asked the friendly BBQ guy about it, saying “Hey, I’m from Arizona. We’ve been driving across Texas for nearly a week now, trying to get to Florida. Every time we stop and somebody orders barbeque they get two pieces of Wonder bread. What’s the deal? I mean cornbread or biscuits or even garlic bread I can see.....but two pieces of Wonder bread?”

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind or never had one in the first place, and said with a slow Texas drawl, a steely glint in his eye, and all friendliness evaporated;

“Lady........... in Texas, that’s the way the good people do.”

“Sure thing, Mister,” was all I felt it safe to say.

Cole Slaw

I make the best coleslaw I’ve ever eaten, too. Just ask anybody. There’s no mustard in coleslaw.

Deviled Eggs

Deviled eggs are simple. Don’t be messing around with capers and pimento.

Cornbread

Sorry purists from Missouri or wherever.....cornbread has to have sugar in it.

Baked Beans

I can’t make ‘em but I know beans.

Fried Chicken

Once a kid told me, “It’s not like my mom makes but it’s still kinda good.”  High praise in my opinion.

Stuffing for Turkey

Cornbread’s just wrong.

Brownies (Nuts or not, fudgy or cake)

A good brownie is just a vehicle to hold nuts together. Who doesn’t know that? Fudgy or cake is beside the point.

And don't forget foreign countries and their fighting foods. Many of them have found their way across the border and are now Americans.

Guacamole

Get away with the lemon juice. Bring on the fresh garlic, not powder. 

My daughters made some really good guacamole once for a faculty dinner when I was teaching in the mountains. We were 17 miles from home and the dinner was in half an hour so they made it in some science beakers in my classroom. They ran to the only little store in town and all they brought back were avocados, garlic, sour cream, and a can of El Pato. I found some salt packets in my desk. 
It was the hit of the dinner and people still ask for the recipe.

Salsa

Fresh pico is best. 
But once a kid in a sixth grade class I was teaching made salsa for a demonstration speech that I’d assigned. He made it out of all canned ingredients except for the chopped onion. It had vinegar in it too, and dried chile flakes like you shake on pizza, neither of which I’d ever heard of before in salsa. But it was quite good.

Fish Tacos

Fish tacos are the food of the angels. 
They should never have shredded lettuce anywhere near them. Where were those lettuce people born anyway? Not Mexico, that’s for sure. Always finely shredded cabbage, cilantro and fresh lime wedges, for Pete’s sake. I eat these for breakfast so I know.

This brings to mind regional peculiarities with Mexican food, a food which no red blooded American can live without, by the way. 
In my experience the only place you can get “real” Mexican food is in Arizona. 
Texas, California and New Mexico make stuff that they call Mexican food but, trust me, it’s not. 
(Exception to this rule...there’s a little taco stand on the Pacific Coast Highway just north of San Diego that has the best fish tacos on the planet.)
To get the real Mexican food otherwise you have to go to the bario in Glendale. 
My husband is still searching for enchiladas as good as the ones made by the cafeteria ladies at Glendale Unit One when he was a kid. None of them spoke English so that’s where he learned to say, “Mas, por favor.” 
No enchilada has measured up in fifty years.

Then there’s the whole spaghetti, lasagna, pizza controversy which is too much to deal with right now.

There are other fighting foods that aren’t strictly foods, too. 
Sometimes it’s a duel like the mayonaise vs Miracle Whip thing. (Mayo for sure!)

Is it ketchup or mustard on hot dogs? (Mustard of course.)

Crunchy or smooth? (Crunchy)

Big fat french fries or little skinny ones? (Fat)

Jam or Jelly on a peanut butter sandwich?

Whole berry or jellied cranberry sauce?

Chocolate, strawberry or vanilla?

The list goes on and on.

People have strong feelings about this, too. 
Once when my husband and I were newlyweds I asked him if he’d like a bologna sandwich. We had a discussion about how he likes his bologna sandwiches and he said to put ketchup. Of course I was shocked and pointed out how wrong this was. 
I told him that a proper bologna sandwich had mayo, lettuce and tomato. Everybody knows that.
He insisted that he likes ketchup. 
So I went to make his sandwich. 
Knowing that he would like it better, I made him a proper one with mayo, lettuce and tomato, the standard BLT2, and proudly gave it to him.
He thanked me, absentmindedly took a bite, then took the top slice of bread off, studied the contents, and threw the sandwich on the floor at his feet! I couldn’t believe it.

I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

*Note

Just to humor him I put ketchup on his bologna sandwiches now. That still doesn’t make it right.

I was thinking about this food fight thing one day, and the strong feelings that people have about it, and I decided to expand the idea and incorporate it into my high school classes. 

So I gave my students a test, which I explained was weighted heavily toward their semester grade. They were to circle one of the two choices in each question that was the best response. Some of the questions were:

                  

Summer or Winter?

Baseball or Football?

Movie or Bowling?

Pizza or Tacos?

Dog or Cat?

Motorcycle or Car?

Mountains or Beach?

Creek or River?

Black or Brown?

Ice Cream Cone or Fudgesicle?

Jack in the Box or McDonald’s?

Friday or Saturday?

Burgers or Hot dogs?

Sunrise or Sunset?

Rain or Sunshine?

                     

There were around a hundred choices. After the kids took the test I told them we were grading it in class. 
I began to give them the correct answers. 
It wasn’t long before someone asked why mayo was right when they always had Miracle Whip at their house.
I said it was because we always had mayo at mine. 
We went on grading until another kid finally said, “Mz Dub, this is stupid. You can’t give us a bad grade just because we don’t like the same stuff you like.”

“Why not? I see people do it all the time. Keep checking your papers.”

After a while somebody else would pipe up. “Mz Dub, just because we don’t like the same things you like or have the same opinions as you do doesn’t make us wrong!”

“Really? Bring your test up here."
Lupe brought her test up to me with a wary expression on her young face.  
"You get an A,” I said as I marked her paper with a red pencil.

“Now, everybody else turn your test over and write a short paragraph that explains why Lupe got an A. 
If you get that right you get an A too. 
And not just in this class either."