Is There a Word for That?

My Dad recommended a talk by Sharon Eubank, the Director of LDS Charities, that was given a week ago at a FAIR conference.  ("This is a Woman's Church", by Sharon Eubank, August 12, 2014)  FAIR is a group of Mormon apologists, or folks on a mission to defend our LDS-ness and our doctrine to the world.  They asked Sister Eubank, a smart, powerful, successful, mid-50's, single, impressive woman, to address some recent Mormon news-- the Ordain Women movement.  The talk was beautiful.  I have read it many times and listened to it, too.  The ideas have been rolling around in my head since last Friday.

There is material in the talk for several posts here on this blog, so this just might be a series, but the first I want to discuss is this story and an idea from Sister Eubank:

"..As I want to talk about these kinds of things (women and their role in the Church), I find that I don’t have the vocabulary. There are no terms to talk about the things I want to talk about. I had a friend. She was an elderly woman. She was from Estonia. She was translating the Book of Mormon into the Estonian language, even while it was still behind the Iron Curtain. And she had dictionaries, and she had grown up under Communist rule and she was struggling with how to talk about certain terms in there because they had been stripped out of the Estonian language by the Communists. They had taken those words and removed them from practice and speech and from books and there were no terms anymore to talk about priesthood, for example. The words didn’t exist for that and she really struggled with “how do I translate the Book of Mormon without these concepts?” And if you don’t have language, you don’t have an understanding of the roles.  I think a really good example of this is: we don’t know what to call a mission president’s wife. And we don’t know how to describe the role that she plays. We know in our gut that there is a role, and that it is indispensable and that nobody else is filling it if she isn’t there, but we don’t even know what to call that...so much of our language is missing because we don’t know what to call things."

I am fascinated by the idea that our LDS lexicon does not have all the words we need to describe what a woman does. Julie B Beck gave us "Motherheart", which is a wonderful word to describe the feelings bumping around in our chests that provoke us to minister to God's children.  Sister Eubank mentioned "Temple Matron" as a good one, too.  But still, it isn't quite comprehensive.  I mean, we all understand "Bishop", but what word describes "The Bishop's Wife".  We know what it means to be a Stake President, but how do you capture in a concept the gal he is married to.

I agree with Sister Eubank that our vocabulary as a Church does not perfectly include words that can describe very well the marvelous roles of women.  And it's not because women don't have roles.  I feel like this Church uses me and challenges me to grow through the things I am asked to do. (We'll talk about that more in the next posts.)  It also develops me by the things Greg, because we are a "Divine Pair", is asked to do.  I believe that it is all fair and it is all the way that God is working on both halves of the whole in Supreme brilliance.

And truly, most of the time it doesn't really matter about that word-thing. I mean, I know what I do and I know what is expected of me and I want to give that freely without title.  But if you (or me) were struggling to know who you were and what value you brought to the equation, then a word just might help.  And Sister Eubank offering this as one reason why the Ordain Women movement exists, is just really interesting to me.  In summary, it's not because women don't have key roles in God's Plan and in our Church, it is because there are not words in our Mormon dictionary for what we do.

So I have given it some thought.  OK, a lot of thought.  And I am not quite there yet, but I am going to share my initial "words" for the women of this Church and probably women everywhere--

* Patriot of Kith and Kin
Because "Patriot" means:  "...a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her (little, personal, homemade) country and its interests with devotion."  And I think that this describes the altruistic reason why we do things and it captures my feelings of allegiance and fervor.

* Director of the DEMA
(which stands for Domestic Emergency Management Agency, which is like our national FEMA.  Ha.)
This title is because I do the pre-work and am the pre-arranger of life-saving preparations for impending storms. I am in charge of buttoning down the hatches to keep us all safe.  And I am the rescue arm when there's a man down or when one is stranded on his roof surrounded in flood.  There I am with my motor boat and ladder.  I work prevention.  I work clean up.

* Editor in Chief
Which means that I boil down the kids and the home into a palatable, concise reduction and serve it to Greg at the end of the day so that he has a taste of the doings the family.  This way he feels part of the unit even when away. I am a colander, or a sieve or a filter catching what is important.  I am also the "study it out" arm of our companionship on things pertaining to the family.  I dig and research, make the calls, gather the info and go to him with a presentation, of sorts.  Then, quickly, we can make a final decision together. I also dream up the story of our tribe, work it, then write down our family history.

* Grand Oversee-er
This one means that my world is a great, big umbrella.  I see what's in front of me, and I see what is away from me and I try to decipher it all, take care of it all, and keep it all collected under one eye.  I know where each member of the family is and where they need to be next.  I work Saturday activity spreadsheets and tricky calendaring.  I also work to see the kids' potential in a big picture, keep track of it, and teach to it.

* Family Foreman
This title means that my work is to create a home with a total environment of support, love, and order-- a house of prayer, fasting, faith, learning, glory, order, a house of God. I clean and organize. I orchestrate work. I charge a crew. My finger is on things inside and out.  Test me on where the red football is, the Nike jacket, the iPod charger.  I know.  And I just painted furniture, so I get bonus points on the literal this week.

* Matron of Teflon
Which title means that with mothers, things don't stick to you.  You can be hated and freaky and crazy.  You can be pulling out your hair and pounding your head, but you love anyway.  Because when you see that little person lying with closed eyes and tucked into a puffy bed of your making, all you remember is that they are your boy and you love them with every molecule of your existence.  You just can't resist pushing back the hair from their brow and kissing their little heads.  They push, and you love on.  They get rascal-y, and you love on.  You let things go.  You forgive quickly and generously.  You love no matter what because every one needs a mother who thinks that they are wonderful and God has endowed you with the ability to be that for them.

* Resident Rector
This word because I am a religionist who is in charge of a congregation that we call our family.  I iron shirts and keep Sunday clothes clean. I load the family mini-van for Sunday meetings, youth activities and Early Morning Seminary.  I lead my congregates in praying and studying. I try to have something spiritual brewing in my head so that I draw things back to the inspiring in conversation.  My greatest desire is to facilitate things so that faith can grow.  And sometimes I kneel at the bedside of reluctants with New Era stories and scriptures and words from the prophets, night after night.  And I pray over my little flock.  A lot.

So there is my first attempt to try to put caption on unnamed woman-ish concepts.  Thanks, Sister Eubank for inspiring me to look for "words". I feel empowered.

A Little Story about Tomato Plants....and Kids

About Tomato Plants--
I went to Matkins Nursery a couple of weeks ago and bought Creole tomatoes-- a Louisiana variety that is supposed to love the heat and humidity. I have been very excited and have big plans for them-- salsa and salads and BLT's and fresh slices. I picture a big yield.  I'm a little conflicted on where to plant them though.  My garden only gets morning sun so that means my harvest is always small.  That is not acceptable to me with these fancy plants, and I have been trying to get the courage to put them in a pot where they can gather optimal sun.

While I was thinking about where to plant them, the tomatoes were not happy in a paper box on the driveway.  They were hard to take care outside in their little plastic, root-bound home and they ended each day thirsty and hanging their heads droopy.  I brought them into my kitchen sick and they have been there for more than a week.  They seem to be happy-- all taut and upright.  It is a great, safe place where I can keep tabs on them and monitor them carefully. I have discovered that they are a lot easier to take care of captive under a faucet then they were outside in the elements.

I wish that I could just keep them in my kitchen sink, but I know that they will never produce me tomatoes there.  They will get tired of living in that little carton.  There is nowhere for the roots to go. They need a chance to spread out. And my plants will miss the sunshine.   I know that the best place for them will be sun-bathing in a pot on my deck, but, I can't get over the risks. There's lots of uncertainty in a planter pot, and it sure feels snug to have them under my watchful care.

About Kids--
I went visiting teaching the other day and we discussed an April 2014 Elder Eyring quote from General Conference, "Never force righteousness because righteousness must be chosen."  I think that there was consensus among the ladies that it is scary to watch our children make choices.  That sounds really silly because agency is at the heart of God's Plan for our probation, but it doesn't feel that simple.  It feels risky. What if they don't follow your example?  What is they don't heed your teaching and your urging?  What if they miss something because they opted out? What if they make a bad choice? Pride...will that make me look like a bad parent?  What if they fail? They could wreck their life! Shouldn't we be there to catch before a stumble, to divert trouble, and to save them from themselves?

Shouldn't we just keep them in our "kitchen sinks"?

We can't.

I don't mean that we stop teaching, urging and inspiring.  That we check out, become hands off, or that somehow this idea releases us from our familial disciplining duties.  But, what I am learning is that we need to trust that our children have their own conscience.  That not only do they have our love and our good advice, they have the light of Christ and the Holy Ghost's promptings. That God sends angels into their lives.  That He pricks their hearts with words, teachings, music, and experiences just like we know He does for us.  That even more than they tell us, they know much and are learning much.  That they have their own little thinkers and are their very own persons.  That they come to us at birth with character and spirit that is well developed. That there are some things that they will just have to learn by doing, or by not doing.

I admit to fretting sometimes....seeing disappointing choices as a hopeless slippery slope....not wanting children to choose anything that may look like the first step to indifference or worse...feeling, quite incorrectly, like you have partial ownership in a child's chance at life.

Walking in faith means setting aside these fears.  It is trusting that God's Plan comes with scary, temporary risks, but ends in mandatory personal growth and development.  It is in believing in a long view which includes a marvelous "harvest" because of beautiful, Divine redemption and salvation.

Today is the day I plant outside.

Calling Them Home

While Greg and I were on Prince Edward Island recently, we happened onto a little fishing village named, North Rustico. The city was right against the ferocious waves and winds of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence and the water pressed hard against the red sandstone shores. The tiny homes were beaten and bruised from sea breeze, but there was industry and pride in the village. Their lobster traps were neatly stacked. The buoys were nicely piled. It was a lovely, idyllic place.

It was getting dusky and dark, and thick fog was settling in when we walked out on a breezeway and looked back on North Rustico from the sea. Standing in the middle of those noisy, crashing, churning waves, one thing stood out-- in the center of the town at the ocean's edge was the North Rustico Lighthouse. It's turning head was bright and seemed to be searching.

Now, I had been admiring lighthouses for several days as Greg and I had driven north from Portland Maine, but this was the first time where it occurred to me that lighthouses do more than help folks avoid dangerous rocks and cliffs. This North Rustico beacon seemed to be calling. This light seemed to be beckoning folks to leave the ocean's indignation and return to safety. It’s bright light wouldn’t allow the searcher at sea to miss the village amidst the boundless dark water of an ocean's night sky. It was lighting the way through dark and fog and endless wave to loving hearth.

The world is churning like that ocean. There is a constant press and an exhausting flurry of ideas and pull. There are waves and winds that cause grief and fear. There are enticements that lead out into the roar of the ocean. For me, that North Rustico Village symbolizes the invaluable work of women. Heaven blessed with feminine qualities of love and compassion, with squishy hearts, and the ability to nurture, women create a refuge. A place of order from chaos. A homecoming of warmth and safe haven. Like that lighthouse, we call our families out of the waves and back to us where there is love, kindness, and still.

All we do has purpose-- clean sheets, puffy beds, folded clothes, warm dinners, homemade treats, and tidy surroundings coupled with smiles, acceptance, kindness, discipline, cheerleading, patience and love. It all beckons.

And beyond our families, mothering is extending this “safe place” to all whom we meet. In our gaze, our language, our interactions with friend and stranger, we can nurture, comfort and provide safe haven. In just moments, a woman can establish a “home” for anyone.

To All the Women in My Life-- I want you to know on this 2014 Mothering Day that, to me, YOU are North Rustico and that bright, searching lighthouse. I read your Facebook posts, your blogs and Christmas cards. I enjoy your emails and talking to you on the phone. I love seeing you on the soccer fields and in the grocery store. I remember conversations that we have had from yesterday and from long ago. I reminisce on things that we have done together. In it all, I see a champion. I admire you. I am inspired by you. I have been mothered by you. I think YOU are pure heroics. You are, individually, making heaven out of your little corner of earth, and as women collectively, this world is a nicer, kinder, sweeter, safer place. I love you.

Happy Mothering Day!

I am a Satisfied and Grateful Mormon Woman

I'm hearing in the news and reading on social media this morning that there are ripples flowing.  Discontents are throwing stones into the Church's lake.  Ordain Women wants to go to Priesthood Session and say it's discrimination not to be able to.  Their end game is for Church doctrine to change so that women can be ordained to the priesthood.  The Church is asking them to reconsider the protest.  Here is the Church's public response:
http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/church-asks-activist-group-to-reconsider-general-conference-protest-plans?fb_action_ids=10152287517758188&fb_action_types=og.likes  

This is nothing new, I guess, but it kind of bothers me today.  I know that I only have a little voice, but still want to say out loud that I am a satisfied and grateful Mormon woman.

Firstly (in an admission that I don't understand the background of these gals and also wanting to be kind), it reminds me that people truly think differently.  From one who's mind cranks tirelessly, I know that there are plenty of ideas in this world to process.  But, what bugs you, doesn't bug your friend.  Where you feel passionate, others feel neutral.  Because our journey through life is our very own Divinely-crafted adventure, we can't expect to understand exactly where another is coming from.

I'm thinking that we need to be patient with each other, which, I believe, is exactly what the Church's statement did.  We are all a work in process. But, with this caveat--  Be careful.  Patience does not require that we snuggle with another's ideas.

Secondly (and preaching to the squawkers a little), we are all stewards of our thoughts.  While we may not, personally, put them all up there, we can decide how to face ideas and opinions that creep into our minds or across our computer screens.  Because we have been gifted with such a brilliant collection of grey matter, we can figure out what to do with them once they are there. Will we embrace and explore?  Will we dismiss?  Will we place them on a virtual shelf in a closed box for a later time?  Will we open it up, roll it over and over again?  And will we do this in private or will be incite others to think about them with us?

I'm thinking that we need to be choosy.  We must be very careful about what we share and what we fight for.  Especially things that cause polarity, loss of faith, rebellion, despair, and blood pressure changes. We just can't mess with other people's faith.

Thirdly, I want to say for the record that I am an immovable Mormon Mrs. Cleaver.  The only way she could have been more perfect to me was if she was teaching a Primary class. I don't think that you could convert me to an any more liberal idea of what womanhood is.  You couldn't convince me that June was living below her potential or being cheated by donning a ruffled apron and caring for a home, a husband, a family, and a community.  I think that she was adorable, and smart, and measured, and happy, and needed, and fulfilled.  And so am I, fulfilled that is. I have a role in this world.  I have a mission. I want to be a mother.  I want to be a wife.  I want to serve the community. I want to belong to the nurturing, compassionate Relief Society.

And while this is not the portrait of every Latter-day Saint woman, there are endless ways for every single one of us to grow, develop, use our talents, and make an abundant difference.  The truth is that whatever good I do, or have done, ALL rolls out of what this Church has taught me, the experiences that it has given me, and what is expected of me as a Latter-day Saint woman.

I don't want a man's mission.  I believe in roles.  I believe that we can have different stewardships.  And I don't believe that having them diminishes us in any way.  On the contrary, it makes a more powerful outfit.  Men and women together in their uniqueness make 100%.  I want to be part of the Kingdom's team. I want to stand with the prophets and apostles.

There.

I must try to remember, even though it doesn't feel like it exactly: "What does it matter if a few barking dogs snap at the heels.... The caravan moves on."    ("The Caravan Moves On", Bruce R McConkie, Oct 1984)

For Your Pre-Schooler, YOU are Just What He Needs

I read an article online this morning quoting Canadian developmental psychologist Dr. Gordon Neufeld.  He taught of an opinion he holds concerning nurturing young children. (AUGUST 30, 2012 | by ANDREA MROZEK, Manager of Research and Communications, Institute of Marriage and Family Canada)

Mr Neufeld asserted that formal “early learning”, like pre-school, does not help children and that they should start attending school later, not earlier.  He said that, “Early learning programs (like letters and numbers) for young children have no benefits for kids", and that the focus instead needs to be strong attachment and security.  He said that "...the capacity for healthy relationships is meant to unfold in the first six years of life."  He continued, “By the fifth year of life, if everything (has been) continuous and safe (for the child), then healthy emotional intimacy begins. ...The first issue (in raising a child) is always to establish strong, deep emotional connections with those who are raising you. And that should be our emphasis in society.”

Mr Neufeld debunks pre-school claims of the merits of socialization and diversity and detachment.  He says that the stress of timelines and deadlines and schedules are "crushing the spirit of childhood" and are asking our kids to adopt the stresses of adulthood from the cradle.  His professional opinion is that children should spend zero through the fifth year with the person who will raise them.  The focus should be on establishing a deep, personal, emotional connection-- a lovely bond of trust, with a little person's parents.  That is the most important development to forge during those years.

This news is not vogue and is so off-trend.  Still, I believe it is worth a think.

I did craft days and little mother co-ops a little bit, but I always called the program that my kids went to during those early years, "Mother's Pre-School."

That meant-- Going on grocery trips where they pushed little shopping carts of their own or put things from the shelves into my cart. Visiting museums and zoos without time constraint and with freedom to roam and explore.  Pushing them on the swings at the park and doing lots of "underdogs".  Swimming in the baby pool. Finding stop signs and fire hydrants on long stroller walks.  Playing in the sand box with dinosaurs and trucks. Taking a rest with Blues Clues while sitting on my hip.  Long baths with lots of bubbles and toys.  Cooking or crafting their own concoctions parallel to a project I was working on.  Clipping and pasting photos and cut-outs onto cardstock while I scrapbooked. Doing the dishes with me and pouring water from cup to cup. I used to tell Greg that the kids were "learning volume", with several towels on the floor to soak up the spills.  Decorating cookies they they helped roll out.  Bug catching at the baseball fields...that was Jaron, and for hours.  Frog explorations after dark in furry pajamas.  Snow suits, snowmen, and snow forts which meant putting mitten and hats on and taking them off many times a day in snowy Minnesota.  Puzzles and board games...lots of board games, and the kids always beat me.  Illustrating books of their own from paper we stapled. Paper airplanes and paper helicopters, that we had folded, and then launched off the balcony.  Chasing the garbage truck all through the neighborhood so that we could watch those marvelous arms do their thing over and over again. Hammering nails. Holding my hand.  Going to the library for story time and sitting in my lap, then watching the fish and those slimy eels in the aquarium for as long as we wanted to.  Planting seeds and plants, then harvesting vegetables.  Raking up the leaves and watching them toss them and roll in them.  Organizing Pokemon cards together by the numbers and by the "types".  Making exactly what they wanted for dinner.  Walking down to Mr Newman's farm and feeding the goats all of our spoiling vegetables.  Picking blueberries or black berries on a farm. Reading biographies of famous men and women and interesting historical times.  Laying in bed to read storybooks at nap time and nighttime.

I like these little memories and am pleased that I have them tucked into my history.  But wait a minute, kids in preschools and daycares also finger paint and read storybooks.  It's true. The curriculum in what I called "Mother's Preschool" was similar to formal preschools.  I think that Mr Neufeld would say that the difference is about the developmental needs of a child from 0-5 years old.  He/she is working at learning emotional intimacy and trust, and that is best developed at home with "the adult that will raise him/her".  If I understand Mr Neufeld right, the charm and importance in what I described above was the not about the activities, as much as it was about WHO the child was doing them with.  interesting.  A mother (and father) love the child, have interest in him long-term, are endowed with patience and love and loyalty that no provider can match, and have a divine commission to do so  It's about love.  It's the love and loyalty that develops "emotional intimacy", "safety", "continuity", and "deep connections" that Mr Neufeld is advocating.  All of those learning experiences have the most value when they are developing security and trust with someone who is in it for the long haul.   It is doing those things with a parent who will be along for the ride for years and years to come.

I think that it's ok to reject society's pull into pre-schooler learning programs as essential to a child's development.  God sent these kids to you and to me, and we, with His help, are enough.  In fact, better than enough, Dr Neufeld says that just a plain old mom, her time, and her love is exactly what the pre-schooler needs.

Eating Our Own

I have noticed over 46 years of being a girl that there is a natural, intuitive protective, nurturing, loyal "thing" that accompanies sisterhood.  We have our "girlfriends" and "kindred spirits", we love spending time together talking and sharing, and we have gatherings named "girl's nights out" or "girl's weekends" where we can confide and support one another. Out of this sharing is born interminable allegiance.

"Don't mess with my sistas"!!

As part of this BFF, undying-devotion of girls with their gals, we listen empathetically and charge into action.  Friends pile-on husbands or boyfriends who are unfaithful.  We sympathize in mountainous ways with a friend who is wronged.  And we stand right by the side of a woman with compassion, and with big angry faces, at any man who would disrespect or disregard.

Specific to the plague of vile Internet opportunities for men, women cry together and are broken-hearted, families weep and bend in the storm of it all, and it is not a surprise to me that through it all, "sisters" stick together in disgust and frustration.  We ought to.  It is disgusting and frustrating.

We expect great things of men and boys, and we should.  We, and God, expect them to be upstanding, moral, devoted, clean, and single-eyed.  No matter what mud and filth gums and mucks up the world we live in, we appreciate and anticipate that men will stonewall evils that hurt themselves and women so deeply.  We want them to act with discipline and resistance.

All of the above is foundational to this picture of a marvelously-adorable, back-stabbing praying mantis. Mantis' chomp on their spouses and friends.  They bite off their heads and eat 'um up.  That green guy is my little symbol tonight to express my sadness. Girls, we are eating our own.  Women are hurting women.

In horrifying numbers, men use roadside shops, quiet private rooms with an Internet browser, magazines, movies, ipods, phones, and books to browse the vile and break our hearts.  Greg tells me that when he was a Bishop,  LDS Social Services told him to expect 100% of teenage boys to have experiences with Internet scum.  Now, in the hugest, most gigantic irony of life,  none of this would be possible if women banded together, like girlfriends are so good at doing, and refuse to create and pose and write and film.  It is women who are destroying our men.  OK, blame it on a creepy, snoop or a vulgar filmmaker or an undisciplined husband, but it is women willing to sell themselves and in doing so, sell out our sisterhood.

As women, there ought to be the campaign of all campaigns urging our own to dress modestly, to refuse to be exploited, to repel and run from extracurricular relationships, to escape any opportunity to be a temptress-- even virtually, and to outright refuse to be part of the moral, spiritual, emotional destruction of our men.

In the name of "sisters", for the good of the "girlfriends", to protect love and intimacy and family, the women of this world need to stop selling each other out.

I am powerfully moved by Elder Christofferson's General Conference talk, "The Moral Authority of Women". (Oct 2013)  He stated that in the history of the world, women have played a vital role in being the moral authority.  But, today, he made clear that God sees our collective weakness, "Where once women’s higher moral standards demanded commitment and responsibility from men, we now have...relations without conscience, fatherless families, and growing poverty. Equal-opportunity promiscuity simply robs women of their moral influence and degrades all of society. In this hollow bargain, it is men who are “liberated” (I, Valerie, laugh at that irony.  They are not really liberated, they are actually set in chains in terrible bondage) and women and children who suffer most."

If I could be so bold, I hear in that paragraph a prophet who worries about women hurting women, and hurting men, and hurting family, and hurting children, and hurting our glorious earth by allowing a knock-out, run-um-off-the-road demolition of morals, values and character.  As a gender, shame on us.

Elder Christofferson pleads:
"My plea to women and girls today is to protect and cultivate the moral force that is within you. Preserve that innate virtue and the unique gifts you bring with you into the world. Your intuition is to do good and to be good, and as you follow the Holy Spirit, your moral authority and influence will grow. To the young women I say, don’t lose that moral force even before you have it in full measure. Take particular care that your language is clean, not coarse; that your dress reflects modesty, not vanity; and that your conduct manifests purity, not promiscuity. You cannot lift others to virtue on the one hand if you are entertaining vice on the other."

He closed, "Dear sisters, we rely on the moral force you bring to the world."

Now, I add my own plea to all of the earth's "Girlfriends":

Dear, dear Sisters--
As women, we give life.
We would do anything to nurture and preserve our babies.
Those whom you entice with unauthorized evil, are our own creations.
They are our sons.
They are our husbands.
They are our brothers.
Leave them be.
Guard yourself.
Show restraint.
Protect what's sacred.
Let's watch each other's backs.
Let's watch over our men and boys with respect and expectation.
Let's stop eating our own.
We must, collectively, stand as a moral force in defending our marriages and families.
Sincerely, Your BFF, Valerie

Image credit: <a href='http://www.123rf.com/photo_20855734_spotted-praying-mantis-eating-another-insect-in-tamil-nadu-south-india.html'>petervick167 / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

When a Woman Has a Baby

When the kids and I arrived at the Arend Arts Center to watch "The Watsons Go to Birmingham", Greg was speaking an acquaintance, Mr Bechtold.  He was the former CMO of Proctor and Gamble and now is with Porch Light Productions making family friendly movies.  As we talked about the film we were about to see, he spoke specifically about Tonya Lewis Lee, wife of Spike Lee, who directed this movie. Mr Bechtold said that projects like this one, with purpose and principle became Tonya's life mission as soon as she had a child. Mr Bechtold said that he'd seen the same thing play out over and over again-- when a woman becomes a mother, her world-construct changes to values and education and the serious. She views life and her purpose differently. He said, "I think it is a God thing".

I think so, too.

There is something about the decision to have a baby that changes everything.  A mom has a destination for all of her innate desires to nurture and love. She wants to protect him.  She wants to shape and develop him.  Her efforts become focused on his little life and his potential in her care.  A little baby makes a woman take her needs and place them in the backseat for the rest of her life.

Monday, I visited our Crystal Bridges Art Museum and the traveling exhibit, "Angels and Tomboys".  This was a collection of 19th Century paintings and it explored perceptions and roles of girls growing up in America.  Midway through the exhibit there was an explanation of 19th century mothers that summarized how women shaped American society after the Civil War.  I was struck by a quote by Harriet Beecher Stowe that the curator had in vinyl:

"Women are the real architects of society."

Now, I don't believe that it is a contest between men and women, both influence attitudes and actions in our communities and country.  But, I do believe that a mother's child can paint the future and design the destiny of our society.  For good, or for ill.  It seems important that women invest their best efforts in mothering.

And according to Mr Bechtold, we just need to listen to and follow that  "God thing" that we are endowed with.  I think Sister Julie Beck would call it, "a mother heart".

The Improbable Becomes Reality

As I was driving around in my Honda several weeks ago, I listened to Elder Marcus Nash's October 2012 Conference talk five times in a row. ("By Faith All Things are Fulfilled", Marcus Nash, Oct 2012 GC)  It's crazy how you can hop right by really cool talks, then all of a sudden they strike you strong and profound.  Well, that is what Elder Nash did for me that day-- struck me strong.  I felt faith grow, almost like something was bulging inside. This morning I awoke wanting to review what he had taught. I wanted to feel that bolstering once again. So here I am.

I've seen the movie "17 Miracles" several times and have read the thick documentary  "The Price We Paid" by Andrew Olson,  so I was familiar with the story of the Willie Handcart Company pioneer woman, Ann Rowley.  But, the way that Elder Nash read her story and the inflection he used made it powerfully moving to me.

Quoting Sister Rowley: “It hurt me to see my children go hungry. … Night was coming and there was no food for the evening meal. I asked God’s help as I always did. I got on my knees, remembering two hard sea biscuits that … had been left over from the sea voyage. They were not large, and were so hard they couldn’t be broken. Surely, that was not enough to feed 8 people, but 5 loaves and 2 fishes were not enough to feed 5,000 people either, but through a miracle, Jesus HAD done it. So, with God’s help, nothing is impossible. I found the biscuits and put them in a dutch oven and covered them with water and asked for God’s blessing. Then I put the lid on the pan and set it on the coals. When I took off the lid a little later, I found the pan filled with food. I kneeled with my family and thanked God for his goodness. That night my family had sufficient food.”

Ann Rowley knew that God could do what her limited knowledge thought was implausible.  She remembered that Christ fed the multitudes in a way that mortal mind could not compute   She took her hard sea-biscuits and asked God to blow her mind-- "Heavenly Father, amaze me with what is completely illogical. Help me feed my starving children with two old biscuits."

This story teaches me that we don't need to know how the miracle will occur to exercise faith.  What we need is to know is that God is Omnipotent and that His workings extend beyond what mortals understand.  Elder Nash quotes from the hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light": Lead, kindly Light  amid the encircling gloom; Lead Thou me on!  The night is dark, and I am far from home; Lead Thou me on!  Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see the distant scene-- one step enough for me.  (1833 by John Henry Newman)

One step, enough for me.

Oh. This is tough.  How often I have said, "If I just knew the outcome... if I knew that everything would be ok... then that would give me strength or courage to press on."  But, this is not what Elder Nash and Ann Rowley and Mr Newman taught and it is certainly not faith.  They taught that faith is NOT knowing how on earth your pitiful contribution could be enough, but instead believing, trusting, hoping that our kind and knowing and powerful God can work it out. And in His timing and in some magnificent way that we never would have imagined, !!ta da!!-- a pan FULL of food! Elder Nash said that, "We, too, can exercise such faith in the Lord, believing and trusting that our kind and constant God will bless us with His miraculous power suited to our circumstance, according to His timing."

It makes me all frog-throated to write this.  I am feeling the witness of the Holy Ghost, so, I know it's true.  I do believe   But, ugh, then there is that part of me where I line up behind the New Testament father with the gnashing, thrashing, foaming boy-- "Lord, I believe,  Help Thou, my unbelief." (Mark 9:14-24)  I think that he and I could say together, "I believe with conviction that Thou art aware of me, know me, and care about my needs. I know You love me and mine, and I know You weep." But, then maybe that ancient Dad and I would a pause and wonder how on earth could the present, what we actually see, become what we hope for.

Oh. That darn unbelief.  That's why Peter fell into the water. (Matthew 14) Elder Nash reminded "(Peter) could have continued walking had he not feared!" Really? Yes.  He could have ignored the "boisterous winds and waves", kept his eye and mind and heart on Christ who stood there beckoning, and then continued to walk on water. There it is --the illogical, the implausible, the miracle.  People don't walk on water.  Multitudes aren't fed on five loaves.  Seas do not open and reveal dry land.  Lions don't live in pits with humans and not strike.  Fiery furnaces burn flesh.  Food doesn't not fall from the sky like dew.  Hundreds of arrows shot in anger don't miss a man on a wall.  Boys with a third grade education do not translate books from Reformed Egyptian.

But, with God, they do.

I wonder about Moses as he stood at the waters edge with the Israelite Nation on the run at his back.  Clearly, he stretched forth his staff with faith in the God of miracles.  But I'm curious if he wondered exactly how God was going to facilitate his people in their needful walk through the Red Sea-- boats?  ferries? whales? heroic swimming?  And then, the water parted.  It opened, and the land was dry. God's power was revealed in what we would say was super, dooper supernatural.

This is what I have learned--
Perhaps, way, way beyond what our finite minds can reckon, with God, all things are possible to them that believe.  (Matthew 19-26).

Image credit: <a href='http://www.123rf.com/photo_23330678_cooking-in-the-forest.html'>svetlanka / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

God's Magnificent Orchestration

Our Home teacher, Brother Chase, came last week and shared  Elder Uchtdorf's February message. ("A Word for the Hesitant Missionary", Elder Uchtdorf, Feb 2012 Ensign)  In the context of sharing the gospel, Elder Uchtdorf said this: "Sometimes we take too much credit or too much blame when it come to others accepting the gospel   It's important to remember that the Lord doesn't expect us to do the converting.  Conversion comes not through our works but through the heavenly ministration of the Holy Spirit.  Sometimes all it takes is one single phrase of our testimony or about an experience to set in motion the softening of a heart or the opening of a door that can lead others to experience sublime truths through the promptings of the Spirit."

I was really grateful for this message.  I can easily see the application to parenting in these ideas.

When I was a younger mother, I was willing to take credit for my kids' victories-- great grades, clean faces, insightful words.  I was also willing to let their weakness and mistakes bring me down and discourage me as a mother.  I am less able to take credit for either now.

A couple of years ago I sat on the beach and watched my six kids play in the sand and water. I was pondering the difference between raising little boys and bigger boys and wondering why they gradually deny your good advice and the opportunity to let you influence them as they grow.  I was wondering how I could help the boys learn to act for themselves, as the then new Duty to God workbook told me to do.  With all six of them in panoramic view, varied ages and each playing in the sand in very individual ways, I had an epiphany, "These boys have been acting for themselves since birth.  I'm not sure I have EVER been able to coerce them into anything.  I have never really been in charge here."

And then I remembered Ryan's arched back that refused the baby car seat.  Then, big bodies that there was no way I could move from bed to Seminary.  And McKay's barefoot feet in all places and weather conditions.  I saw a 4 year old Jamison's pout-y little round face and feet that seemed buried in cement at requests he didn't like.  I remembered in multiplicity trying to talk Jaron out of adventures and purchases and "missions" that he was feeling like pursuing with passion.  And the, the round and round and round about spirited conversation that some were/are willing to engage in to convince me out of my direction and into their way.

Now I know that the kid has a missionary haircut because he acted for himself and let me trim it up.  He goes to Church because he put on his clothes and got in the car.  He does, or doesn't, do homework because he is, or isn't, worried or willing.  He has a clean face after dinner because he allowed me to scrub it.  He stays on the sidewalk with his little two-wheeler because he chose to obey my warnings.  They play, or don't play, instruments and piano not because I bought them lessons and gave each the opportunity, but because they wanted, or didn't want, to embrace music and were willing, or not willing, to sit on the bench and pound out notes.

Maybe other parents are successful in mandating, militarizing, or coercing action out of children.  (I would like to be able to.) Or maybe other children are more willing to comply and follow more readily.  (I would like that, too.) But, mine came this way.  They are individuals.  They are dogmatic.  They have been self-confident enough (and maybe lacking humility and submissiveness sometimes) to plow forward in good.... and in gray.

I have found that my job is to lead and guide, invite and entice, love and teach.  Then, their job is to act for themselves.  Like I said above, I am less able to take the credit or the blame these days.

That said, I am relentless in indoctrination.  I will not leave this to chance.  I will teach and serve and train all the minutes of all the days of this stewardship.  I remember hearing a Conference talk (Darn. I can't source it. Sherrie Dew quoting someone else, maybe?) where the speaker said that she worried so much that she couldn't remember anything much of what she read in the scriptures.  She had concluded that it was her job to put the words, ideas and doctrines into her brain, and that it was the Lord's job to pull them out when she needed them.  This is wherein my parenting hopes lie.  It is my job to put it all into their heads and then know that that at the very hour of their need, at the very moment of optimal influence, the Lord will remind them of His teachings.

I think that Elder Uchtdorf said just that in his quote above.  Don't take too much credit.  Don't take too much blame.  It is the Spirit that converts-- even our children.

D&C 84:85 says that if you will "...treasure up in your minds continually the words of life, and it shall be given you in the very hour that portion that shall be meted unto every man."  Treasure continually.  That is my mission.  Then I stand still and watch the arm of the Lord be revealed   (D&C 123:17)  That was certainly the case when Enos was hunting wild beasts, "...the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart." And the rebellious Alma the Younger said, "...I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart".  Yes.  My hopes rest in these promises.

I read a story in the Deseret News the other day about a non-member, antagonistic kid, Mitch Smith, who came to the University of Utah to play basketball. He had lots of great interactions, including a faithful coach and a cute girl, who influenced Mitch to study the gospel and to conversion.  Over time, he was baptized and now serves in the Church with great purpose. I liked a quote from the article:  "Elder Holland said Smith’s story illustrates that Heavenly Father is the ultimate strategist because he puts people exactly where they need to be, when they need to be there, to accomplish his purposes."

The "ultimate strategist".  I love it.  And I can bear witness to it.  There are times, ok, moments, ok, milliseconds, when I am willing to "be still" and watch.  And when I do, I can see pieces of God's magnificent orchestration in the lives of my children.

Your Heart's Soft Spots

When I was teenager, I babysat regularly for a family in the neighborhood   I was surprised when one day the mother got tired and worn and so she took a sabbatical from mothering  (which is a nice way to say that she quit)  Heroics from the father, but still a sad situation.  At the time, I didn't know that a mother could do that.  My mom worked tirelessly.  She had a big job with eight kids and a couple of those had heavy health concerns.  She took to her bedroom in distress occasionally, but she always recovered to care for our large family with a lot of love and purpose. Heroics from my mother.

I was (very un-heroically) having a moment the other day--  telling a friend about some parenting woes.  She suggested that I allow my crew to understand life without me-- for just a few minutes. I  surprised myself with a reply. What spilled out of my mouth were words that I had never heard myself speak before, but I immediately believed them.  It felt good to declare my root intentions and motivations in this job.

I told her softly--  "I can't, because I answer to someone higher than my family.  I serve them with all my heart and soul for God, not for me,.  I don't escape or walk away because my call came from Heavenly Father.  I serve at His pleasure   My objective is His objective-- the salvation of these precious souls.  I serve to that end.  I do not parent for praise or thanks.  I am serving God and I want to please Him."

That realization came from somewhere deep inside me and I didn't even know that it was there.  But, like I said, I believed it immediately.

Eliza R Snow once said, "Women should be women and not babies that need petting and correction all the time. I know we like to be appreciated but if we do not get all the appreciation which we think is our due, what matters? We know the Lord has laid high responsibility upon us..."

So there you go.

I am in the midst of collecting meaningful Conference quotes from my marked up Ensigns and came upon a 2011 Paul V Johnson quote that mirrored a Neil Anderson quote from last Conference.  They were both exploring what kind of test or trails would most effectively test and try us.  I think that they both suggested that those things that dwell in the softest places in our heart are where we can be stretched the very best.

"These fiery trials are designed to make you stronger...They take root in our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities, our sensitivities, or in those things that matter most to us..." ("Trial of Your Faith", Neil Anderson, GC Oct 2012)

"At times it may seem that our trials are focused on areas of our lives and parts of our souls with which we seem least able to cope. Since personal growth is an intended outcome of these challenges, it should come as no surprise that the trials can be very personal—almost laser guided to our particular needs or weaknesses."  (Paul Johnson, GC May 2011 "More Than Conquerors")

Instead of reading "weaknesses", "vulnerabilities", "sensitivities" as  parts of us that are floppy and need strengthening, I read those words to mean, "the things most dear to us".  Even perceived strengths.  Things that we labor over and love. Those are soft places where we are most sensitive and vulnerable.  Trials in those areas will no doubt provide stretch and growth that is uncomfortable, but effective in turning our souls to Christ and His Atonement.

There is no doubt that my heart's "soft spot" is this family.  I have only rare aspirations outside of Greg and these boys.  No one has to thank me for laundry or meals because folded socks and homemade dinners are self-satisfying to me.  I love a tidy house.  It gives me a charge.  Everything is more fun if I have a boy in tow to talk to, learn from and teach. My heart is in this job.

I am pretty sure that my Mom felt the same way.  She said this in her personal history:

"...(While at BYU), I became disenchanted with (my business) major and made an appointment with a counselor for some advice. He told me if I wanted to get married and have children he would advise me to either have a nursing, home economics or child development (HDFR) major. A Human Development and Family Relations major took a lot of teasing, with people saying all you wanted to do was get married. Some of my Honors Program friends scoffed saying "anyone could be a mother," but I had found my niche and was delighted with what I was learning."

My mom was a mother through and through.  She canned and cooked meals with green salad.  Tried new recipes.  Budgeted.  She taught us to clean and made job charts.  She encouraged us with goals before Personal Progress existed in a program she made up called, "A Better Me".  Even as a cranky teen, I sat at the bar stools while she cleaned the kitchen and talked and talked.  She gathered us for movie nights.  She encouraged good grades and extra curricular activities. She loved our friends and boyfriends and was always so friendly and fun when they were around.  We worked in the yard, gardened and planted flowers.  She loved spring bulbs and roses.  She was home after school and waited up for us to come in at (or after) curfew.

I am sure that the softest spots in my mom's heart were home and family.  I am also sure that her excruciating trials of life were the congenital heart defect of Michael (who had open heart surgery at 10 days old and then battled illness and weakness until his death at 14 years old), Nathan (who was hit by a car at 2 1/2 years old while playing in front of our home and was left with a lifetime of unique challenges from an injured brain), and my Dad's young heart attack.  I shiver a little to remember my youthful folly and the grief I caused, especially with such serious things going on in the family.  ugh. She told me (with a smile) as an adult that there were times in my teens when she didn't know which way I would go, "but I knew which ever way it was, you would go with passion, and would probably take people with you." ugh again.

I think that I can confirm that both Elder Johnson and Elder Anderson pegged it with my mom's challenges.  They were "laser-guided" at the parts of her soul where she was "least able to cope."  But, she never quit. Nothing close.  She was a wonderful mother and I'm sure no one on earth understands the strength of her soul from having weathered these storms with faith.

Peace in Adversity?

I have been thinking up a pithy slogan to screen print on t-shirts-- "Trouble?  We all got it."  Just kidding.  I am not pasting it anywhere, but more and more I am learning that it's true.  I don't know why that is a revelation to me. I mean, we know that the purpose of this life to "prove" us (Abraham 3:25), and refine us (1 Nephi 20:10 ), and prepare us (Alma 5:28). That goal would be difficult to accomplish if we weren't regularly bumping up against our weaknesses or being required to stretch beyond tranquility.

I liked reading, "Leaving Adversity Behind", from the December 2012 Ensign.  I have always been a big fan of the words of Paul of Tarsus and two sets of scriptures that the author, Elder David Baxter, used really stood out to me.

First, 2 Corinthians 4:8-9: "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;"

How is this possible? Troubled, perplexed, persecuted and cast down, but not distressed, in despair, forsaken or destroyed.  Wow.  What a guy.  It occurs to me that the answer to that question would make a life-long of mountain climbing a more do-able activity.  If you could experience all of the stretch that mortality requires without the despair, that would be terrific!  Now, I must say that I don't think that is exactly, completely the plan.  I mean, we gotta feel it, don't we?  Otherwise we'd just skate. We've gotta work it through and that requires some recognition of the discomfort and pain.  But, it seems like Paul and others are talking about an undercurrent of peace and hope that has sustaining power.  I picture tumult of all kinds happening on the surface, but a peaceful river of clear water flowing underneath the stormy crust of life's experiences.

I think, Elder Baxter kinda said this, too:  "No matter what, we can find strength and encouragement."  He didn't talk about crust and rivers, but he thinks that "horrible hurricanes and tempests of turmoil" can come to a person and that they can decide to be happy anyway.  Revolutionary! He taught that "While adversity may be slow to leave us, we can choose to leave it anytime."

Ok, now.  Because he said it, and because my heart burned when I read it, I knew it was true, but the "how" was not immediately clear to me.  And maybe, probably, I am still working that out.  But, I know that the answer is Christ.  For heavens sake, He is all-powerful, all-knowing, perfectly loving, completely engaged, and present in my life.  That knowledge should equip me with all sorts of courage to press forward, the ability to drop to my knees when weak, un-doubting trust in eternal covenants, and a knowledge that I am not working alone. That, my friends, is what I think is called "HOPE in Christ".  Because I know who He is, I can press forward (faith) with a measure of confidence (hope) that He is working things behind the scenes  (charity) that are veiled from me.  THAT is the undercurrent that I am talking about.

Elder Baxter admits that he has, and we will have, some Joseph-Smith-where-is-the-pavilion-that-covereth-thy-hiding-place?  moments. (D&amp;C 121:1)  No, he didn't really say it that way, that was me, but he did said, "Heavenly help may not be obvious.  We may not immediately see or know that some other burdens that would have come our way, have been lifted-- diverted from our door."  So what is he saying?  He's saying that it could be worse!    He's saying that even when we can't see God's hand as obviously as we would like to while in the middle of our trial... (and sometimes I would like to see Him like the Brother of Jared did).... we can still feel SURE that He is working the situation for us with intensity and love.

Honestly, that brings me peace right there.  He's right.  It could be worse.  It could be ten trillion times worse and God may very well have kept it in check.  I mean, at the most manageable level that still will allow and accomplish our optimal growth and development.  I like that!  Seriously, I like knowing that.

Elder Baxter ends with Paul again in Philippians 4:11-13: "...I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."

So there you go.  The reality is that we are being divinely schooled, so in this life we will definitely know how to be abased, hungry and suffer.  But, Paul says that at the very same time, in some schizophrenic Atonement miracle, we can "abound" and feel full.  It doesn't matter what is swirling around us, contentment is possible.  I think that Paul's "content" is my figurative river of hope and peace that runs under the storm.

Now I know on paper and in post that this is true-- peace and adversity can co-exist.  Now, to go forth and apply.

Image credit: <a href='http://www.123rf.com/photo_7508926_a-large-tornado-working-its-way-across-fields.html'>solarseven / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

When Bad Things Happen

My little Sunday School class was all a whirl Sunday morning over the sad events of last Friday in Connecticut.  They asked, "Where was God?"  I had prepared a Christmas lesson, but as I listened to the kids talk I felt like we needed to dive in a bit into the different ways that God responds to incidents like this.  Sometimes it is hard to understand events where evil acts are imposed on others.

Not that this is an inclusive tutorial, but right then, on the fly, I could think of three ways that Heavenly Father deals with His children when bad things are happening.

First, He spares us.  Through the promptings of the Holy Ghost, God can whisper direction that can protect and direct us.  We can be inspired to go late,or leave a situation, or avoid a person, or take a different route,  etc. The kids were able to think of lots of stories of folks who "always do this", but that day "did that instead".  Or people who changed plans and it ended up keeping them safe and sound. W don't know what dangers are around us, but our Omniscient God does.  And we rarely know the results of following promptings like this. Nevertheless, He does and He can spare us.

One example from our family's almanac: The summer of 1998, we started our drive home from Salt Lake to to Minneapolis.  We had a most inconvenient car disruption in Green River, Wyoming that delayed us eight hours from getting back to Minnesota.  We didn't know that there was a storm brewing in the Midwest, but June 29, 1998 was the great "Corn Belt Derecco"-- a tornado that swept through Iowa.

From a local source:"The Des Moines area was particularly hard-hit. Although the evidence remains somewhat inconclusive, it appears that the large, fast-moving mesocyclone of one supercell was nearly in contact with the ground as it moved from southwest Boone County east-southeast across the northern and eastern parts of the Des Moines metro area. This feature appears to have been responsible for the most intense damage along this corridor. In Des Moines, Polk County, roofs were lifted off stores and homes, planes were flipped at an air field just north of the city, and heavy construction equipment and semi-trailer trucks were overturned on Interstate 35-80. Up to 100,000 homes lost power, and power to some parts of Des Moines was not restored for nearly a week. The damage, totalling an estimated $100 million in Polk County alone, was consistent with wind speeds of 110-155 mph (F2 strength)."

When we finally got on the road from a day of hanging out at the ski shop and walking the Green River with our three tiny boys, we didn't even know that we had been spared this terrible storm.  But, as we drove through Des Moines, Iowa and saw the shocking damage along the freeway, we calculated that our delay had kept us from driving straight through the heart of tornado some hours before.

Second, He shows His power-- He rescues us miraculously.  God is Omnipotent and can do marvelous things.  Through the Priesthood, His Priesthood holders can access His power, too.  Can He move mountains, close lions mouths, save disciples in pits of fire, open seas to dry ground, send manna, change water to wine, send 40 days of rain, prepare mountain sides of chariots of angels?  yes.  He is a God of miracles and in marvelous ways he protects and cares for us.

The kids and I read the story of missionaries, Alma and Amulek, and of being bound and jailed.  With the strength of God, they broke the bands that held them and the prison walls fell down.  Their enemies left in fear and the men were free. (Alma 14)

Third, He holds wicked men accountable for their wickedness.  Herein may lie the answer to tragedy like 9-11, Connecticut  or Columbine.  Could God change the course of planes?  Yes.  Could He make bad things never come to bear?  Yes.  But--

Tucked in the middle of the miraculous rescue of Alma and Amulek is the story of their converts and Church friends.  The missionaries were brought to a place where they could witness women and children and their scriptures being thrown into a pit of fire.  This was gut-wrenching to see and Amulek asked, "How can we witness this awful scene? Therefore let us stretch forth our hands, and exercise the power of God (the priesthood) which is in us, and save them from the flames." (Alma 14:10)

Alma's response teaches the third point, "The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand; for behold the Lord receiveth them up unto himself, in glory; and he doth suffer that they may do this thing, or that the people may do this thing unto them, according to the hardness of their hearts, that the judgments which he shall exercise upon them in his wrath may be just; and the blood of the innocent shall stand as a witness against them, yea, and cry mightily against them at the last day."  (Alma 14:11)

So, if God always "spared" and/or "showed His power", then the wicked would never be able to be judged according to their works of darkness.

We ended by talking about D&C 122:7 "...know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good."  No matter the ill, God will bring good to pass.  I couldn't help by pointing out that Robbie Parker (father of the deceased Emily, who died in the incident last Friday), was the first parent out there.  He stood like a priesthood man would, in suit and tie and in front of our Church.  He spoke of forgiveness, compassion and love.  He set the tone for the world.

Calling Them Home

While Greg and I were on Prince Edward island this past Fall, we happened into a little fishing village named, North Rustico.  It was on the ocean on the north side of the island.  That meant that the ferocious waves and winds of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence pressed against the red sandstone shores.  The sea breeze made it feel like it was drizzling and the homes and were beaten and bruised. Still it had a very homey feel and even though the town was sleepy, I could tell that there was industry and pride in the village.  Their lobster traps were neatly stacked.  The buoys were piled nicely.  It was a lovely, idyllic place.

Reaching out into the Gulf was a old dike and walkway about the length of a football field.  It's foundation was giant boulders, and railway ties rested on their tops.  It was broken and punched, but Greg and I took a walk out towards the end. The ocean banged against each side of this dike in anger.  And I felt very much intimidated by the strength of the waves and their intensity as they crashed up against the rocks at my feet.

It was getting dusky and thick fog was settling in when I got out into the ocean and looked back on North Rustico from the sea.  Standing in the middle of those noisy, crashing, churning waves, one thing stood out-- in center of the town at the ocean's edge was the North Rustico Lighthouse.  It's turning head was bright and seemed to be searching.

Now, I had been admiring lighthouses for a week and all the way from Portland Maine, but this was the first time where it occurred to me that lighthouses do more than help folks avoid dangerous rocks and cliffs.  This North Rustico beacon seemed to be calling.  Yes, calling the residents of this village back home. I imagined families who were quite probably waiting in their seaside houses for their daddies to return from the day's catch. This light seemed to beckon them to leave the ocean's indignation and return to safety.  It was lighting the way through dark and fog and endless wave to loving hearth. Not allowing the searcher at sea to miss the village amidst the boundless dark water of an ocean's night sky.

I have a porch light at my front door and it is my lighthouse.  As the sun begins to go down, I turn it on.  I leave it on until each member of our family is safely gathered.  I always breathe a sigh of relief when Greg and each of the kids enter the door and retire for the night.  It is only then that I feel like I can turn off our search light, close out the waves and winds with a turn of the lock, and be at peace knowing that we've all escaped the world's fury.  When one is gone, I leave the light on all night long.  I can't turn it off knowing that someone needs to find his way home.  And when each is collected, I hope they will notice clean sheets, puffy beds, folded clothes, warm dinners, homemade treats, tidy surroundings, acceptance, kindness, patience and love.

I hope my light calls my men home like that beautiful beacon of North Rustico.

On Mother's Day

As a little girl, I loved playing with dolls. I had chubby, pink-cheeked babies and a Baby Come Back that coo’ed and toddled. My sisters and I created paperdolls and their tabbed clothes with tracing paper and colored pencils. I loved setting up a household with the small Fisher Price people. My siblings and I used the blocks to transform the Fisher-Price Village or the Fisher-Price Hospital into large mansions full of little furniture and big families. I used to cross the street to my friend, Shari Warnick’s house, and we played with Barbies. Shari had a sports car that was great for taking Skipper or PJ to piano lessons, or for Barbie to go on dates with her husband, Ken. As a Senior in High School, my wish-list for Santa included a Cabbage Patch Doll. He obliged and I adopted Octavia Roxanna, a fat-faced, blonde-headed baby. I took her to Prom with me and Greg Weight in a dress that matched the purple one that my mom had made for me.

I have always looked forward to being a mother.

Even with all of that young practice, and with a boat-load of desire, when it came my time in actuality, I wondered about my skill. As I was packing to leave Orem Community Hospital with a brand-new baby, Ryan, I felt very insecure. And very inadequate. And very, very nervous. The bundle seemed so little, so precious….and so breakable. He had a little personality and I sensed all sorts of potential. All of a sudden, the job seemed big and important and I wondered if I knew how to raise an actual, real-life child. Under my breath, I whispered to Greg, “These nurses are willing to send this little guy home with us. How do they know we can do it?”

Now that I am in my twentieth year of being about this work full-time, I am oddly still asking this same question about myself—How does God know that I can do this? Sometimes I still feel nervous about my ability to nurture and teach these little humans that are in my care. And though I still ask the question, I know the answer better than I did on that May morning in 1993-- How can it work? Because mothering as a partnership with God. He knows that I can do it, because the perfect, omniscient, omnipotent, charitable He is my companion.

This is what I am learning:
* We do very little in this job without the support of heaven.
* Our best efforts, though they may seem feeble, can be made sufficient through the Atonement of Christ.
* This process is as much about my growth and development as it is my children’s.
* My relationship is custodial. The Parent to whom these kids really belong is fully invested in their development.
* He is there to help and inspire. He guides and comforts.
* He can make things fine when I make mistakes, am too much a softy, over react, am too serious minded, worry, pester and grump.
* He can make me fine by bringing me peace, confidence, evidences of His hand, and by helping me hone characteristics like He has.

Julie Beck was right when she said that “forming families is a faith-based work”. (Teaching the Doctrine of the Family, CES Training Fireside, Aug 2009, Julie B Beck) It requires acting and pressing forward with our eye on Christ. He knows all. He loves perfectly. He can accomplish miracles with His great power. When I fail to see Him as my partner, then mothering is a scary and hopeless and overwhelming job. I love that Elder Cook talked of he and Sister Cook’s parenting and said that over time, “our faith increased and our fears decreased” (CR Nov 2007 Live by Faith and Not by Fear, Elder Quentin L. Cook) Yes, the work of family is a “faith-based” work, and I must be founded and reliant on Christ in this effort.

If I peek at my life with a space shuttle view, I can see that the entrance of these six little boys into my life have made my loftiest dreams a reality. I am whole and most satisfied because of this lovely opportunity to mother..... and I can do it, because of Christ. This is where the paper dolls and Cabbage Patch babies of yore were leading me all along.

The Price We Paid

First you must know this about me-- I cried tonight when I read Holden an Easy Reader book about the Titanic. Others' suffering makes me so sad.

That said, I just finished this great, big, history book about the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies written by Andrew Olsen. I am still letting this all sink in. The subject is so heavy and the lessons were not immediately comfortable and clear to me. But, as I let the story percolate it brought great insight to me into suffering and God and patience and loss and and and.....

The Willie and Martin handcart companies were independent groups with similar stories. They were both filled with European converts to the Church who were aided via the Perpetual Immigration Fund in traveling to meet the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. These people were largely poor. They were escorted by missionaries who taught them the gospel in England and other lands-- namely Brother Willie and Brother Martin, among others. Immigration was coordinated via Franklin D Richards in Liverpool, John Taylor in New York and a crew of outfitters in Iowa City, Iowa. These converts loaded onto chartered ships in England, boarded trains in New York or Boston, and then placed themselves behind handcarts in Iowa City to make the 1500 mile trip to the Salt Lake Valley.

This pattern had worked well for immigrant converts. Namely for three companies before the Willie and Martin groups, and several companies after them, too. The problem for the companies written about in this book was that they left late in the summer (Willie left Iowa City on July 15th, and the Martin company a week later. The groups were about 100 miles apart through most of the journey.), they had insufficient food supply to sustain them the entirety of the trip, communication gaps sent much needed resupply wagons full of goods back to Salt Lake without finding the companies, and the weather was uncharacteristically wicked that Fall with subzero temperatures and out of control snow.

These people were starving and frozen. They buried dead every day. They were exhausted from tugging handcarts, many filled with their sick and dying. Their husbands and fathers were compromised from night watches for beasts and intruders, followed by full-day pulls. One day after the next, the very same. For three months they watched everyone become emaciated and malnourished. They were all slowly fading and dying.

Eventually the news of these companies' existence and departure from Florence, Nebraska in August (Utah didn't even know) arrived at Church headquarters in Salt Lake. Immediately Brigham Young sent experienced and willing men and supply wagons into the blizzards to rescue these Saints. In time, they found the Willie Company and then drove on into the elements to find the Martin Company. At being discovered, the trial was not over for these people. The handcart pioneers still needed to travel many miles through daunting regions like Rocky Ridge and the Sweetwater River in order to arrive in the Salt Lake Valley. Still more died. Most of the travelers suffered for years and years from the effects of the arduous, unforgiving journey to Zion.

This story was heart-wrenching to me. One reason was that the author kept the reader personally familiar with the individuals in the companies. As I followed those families for nearly 500 pages, they became so much more real to me. Real, and thus, their story so much more tragic and sad. I have a tendency to insert myself into nonfiction and belong to what I am reading-- losing children, dying husbands, discouraged mothers, being cold, feeling hungry,etc. This habit left me feeling melancholy as I imagined myself living out the experiences of these people.

But still, the story brought with it an inspiring tale of faith and perseverance. I was, again, touched by the testimony of Francis Webster who traveled with the Martin Company. In reminiscence of the journey decades later, Francis stated boldly, "We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but...every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities. I have pulled my hand cart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said I can go only that far and there I must give up for I cannot pull the load through it. I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the Angels of God were there. Was I sorry that I chose to come by hand cart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Hand Cart Company."

See? Totally inspiring.

I am going to bullet point the things that I gleaned from and am still thinking about after having read this book. But, a word of caution-- remember that not one of these things is true independent of the other learnings. Some may seem like paradoxes, but united, they are a symphony. They all work together and are only true, not parceled, but when they are considered in full.

* God does not always fix things.
* Sometimes it is about just enduring.
* No one is exempt from trial.
* Your confidence can not be in people, it must be in God.
* You must trust the prophet.
* While God can do miracles to bless people, He doesn't always do it in the way we ask.
* People can be overzealous and over optimistic.
* We must use our common sense in some situations.
* There are blessings in following our leaders.
* Eventually a rescue will come, but sometimes it is at the very edge of our capacity.
* Most relief comes via other people.
* Most relief comes in the sharing of the burden, not in making it disappear.
* Faith can persist in great trial.
* When you see clearly your personal weakness or inability to equal a task, it can strengthen your dependence on an omnipotent God.
* In the gravest of times, there are always blessings to count.
* Sometimes we don't see the fruits of our labors.
* Just striving, persisting and doing your best is blessed by God.
* Your physical health doesn't have to influence your spiritual health.
* We almost always learn the greatest lessons looking back on the events.
* You can feel more amicable to the trial and see the great value on the other side of it.
* Work must accompany prayer.
* Faith is moving forward, trusting what you can not see, but knowing God is at the helm of your life.
* Most often, we are strengthened to bear the trial instead of the trial being taken.
* In the midst of the trial it may seem that God has deserted you. This is NEVER the case.

Some of these above lessons bring wonderful comfort in trial, but some bring a pragmatic, hard-to bear look at suffering. I learned that I need to be comfortable with both. Thank you, Brother Olsen, for your scholarship. I learned so much. Not all of it comfortable, but every morsel true and helpful.

A note from Andrew Olsen:
Valerie, Thanks for writing and sending this. Your review is very kind, and you've outlined the lessons we can learn from the handcart experience in a very powerful way. I've already referred a couple of handcart friends to your blog because I think it's so well done. I'm glad the book and the experiences of these pioneers have been a blessing in your life. Thanks again for your thoughtfulness. Sincerely, Andrew

This Time it was the Windows

Each time I visit Nauvoo something new strikes me profoundly. This time I fell in love with those star windows that completely surround the upper level of the Nauvoo Temple. I bought myself a six inch, stained glass replica at the Mercantile and I am happy to have it hanging from my pot rack in the kitchen. They tell me that the inverted star was a symbol of Christ from the 3rd century AD and that the pioneers used it in their architecture so that all who came upon the temple would know that it was a house of worship built to Jesus Christ. I admired their beauty for days.

While the boys waited for Ziggie's pizza on Friday night, I walked across the street to the Allyn House. This is the souvenir shop where the above display of the temple windows rests. I did not realize it until that moment, but the owner of the shop is Charles Allen, who made ALL of the windows and the front doors for the rebuilt Nauvoo Temple. Because it was already "all about the windows" for me during this visit, I purchased his book, "The Window Maker", and read it completely over the next couple of days.

I was fascinated by the detail Brother Allen shared into what it took to make these windows with 19th Century techniques. It was so inspiring to read his journal entries that described "sash" and "jamb", white pine with low humidity, 2.35 miles long of 3/8" putty applied by hand, and true Dutch paint and it's unique properties. I also loved reading about the constant flow of revelation that Mr Allen described as he worked at solving problems and securing every detail and supply. The book was such a testament to the Lord's hand in our lives.

Also included in the text of the book, Brother Allen shared his feelings about the project. While filled with gratitude for the importance of what he had been asked to do, Brother Allen still struggled with feelings of inadequacy. He felt heavily dependent on prayer to show him what to do in a work that he sensed was bigger than he was. He knew that the commission to build the windows was from God, but still struggled with the day to day challenges of the job. He received answers to complicating factors and things that were befuddling in the night, at dawn, while driving, through other people. He worked long and hard, woke in the middle of the night worried, and needed frequent reassurance. 

Laying on my Nauvoo hotel room bed with a view of the magnificent Temple out the window, I wondered a little what Brother Allen was so worried about. For heaven's sake, his product was heart-stoppingly beautiful. The windows were stunning and perfect. He was perfect for the job. It was obvious to me that God had used Brother Allen's unique gifts to work a miracle.

Midway through the book, I realized that Charles Allen and his window-making mission was becoming a "type" to me. Yes, this window maker was starting to tell my story. On page 99, I wrote in the margins, "I am so moved by this obscure application to MY mission-- God-given. The night-wakes with insights, feeling the need for specific direction, the uneasiness, the need for reassurance, the feelings of inadequacy. I see in Charles Allen's miracle, mine. The miracle is the silent hand of the Lord."

While my mission is not window making, I am equally committed to mothering. I want to do a good job. I want to do it in a way that pleases the Lord. I want to build a beautiful temple. Like Brother Allen's story, it is sometimes hard to tell, in the middle of construction, what the product will be. I feel discouraged and unfit. It's hard to measure success or progress. I struggle for answers. I wonder if I am really building anything at all.

But sitting in my hotel room with that gorgeous edifice shining through the window, I understood some things. Despite the uncomfortable journey full of doubts and discouragement, Charles Allen's mission was completed in the beautiful Nauvoo Temple. I wished that Brother Allen had been able to see the profound loveliness of his mission while he was struggling so he didn't need to stress so much during construction.

And right then and there, I knew the partial answer why. Because there I was, some years later, staring at his finished product in awe. Knowing some of his struggle but, here I was looking at the product of his efforts and it was glorious. Maybe, just maybe, my temple would be lovely, too. That idea filled me with faith and hope.

And further, I can't even express how grateful I am for this inspired application. I am amazed and grateful by how the Lord speaks to us. Why did I feel so drawn to the windows this time in Nauvoo? Why would I have left the family to walk to the Allyn House? Why, when inside, would I have had the good fortune of meeting Brother Allen's wife? Why would I have found my way to the corner of the store where his books lay? Why would I have paid the exorbitant price for the book? How is it that Lord can take someone else's story and make it yours? The answer to all of these questions is because I needed this message. "You're at ground level and it is hard to see progress, but YOU are building a temple and it will be glorious."

I bought myself a six inch, stained glass replica of the star windows at the Mercantile and I am happy to have it hanging from my pot rack in the kitchen to remind me of this dear message.

(I sent this post to Brother Allen. Here was his response.) Dear Valerie, Thank you for sharing your feelings after purchasing and reading Window Maker after a visit to our store. I am always humbled and overwhelmed by what people get out of my experiences as written in Window Maker. I am glad the book was of help to you and hearing your testimony makes writing the book so worthwhile. Sincerely, Charles W. Allen)