We’ve been setting records at work: records for most hours worked in a day, most hours worked in a week, the latest we’ve stayed at work, the most days worked in a row without a day off.
But the truck is loaded and on its way to Utah, my stake meeting is over, and I feel like I can catch my breath.
It’s only a brief respite, but I’ll enjoy it for a moment.
Some have said to me, Why do you do it? Why don’t you just say no? Why don’t you just leave at 5?
Indeed, why don’t I?
I’ve worked with people that see their job as a job, as a place to make money, and their right to take breaks and leave at 5.
I’m not one of those, at work or in the church.
For some reason I care about the business, I care about the owners, and I feel ownership in the success of both.
With church, I care about the business, I care about the owners, and I feel ownership in the success of both.
I feel a desire to do what needs to be done when it needs to be done, even if it's inconvenient.
I feel a reciprocal relationship: I help them and they help me.
When there’s less to be done, I’m fine to go home and do nothing.
I think I absorbed this from my parents. And my church experience has taught me sacrifice, getting outside myself, and working for a greater cause. I don’t think I can change any more than I can change my height or the color of my eyes.
(That is, until laziness or apathy or fatigue sets in.)
For now, while I can, I will do my part.
I do it for them, and I do it for me.
And I’m grateful that I can.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
Show Season
It's show season where I work, at Linda's Electric (Longarm) Quilters.
That means we are crazy busy printing hundreds of patterns that we roll and package by hand, ordering tons of product, planning booths, making signs and flyers, designing new products, seeing to a hundred details, etc. etc. etc. on top of our already busy, understaffed business.
The difference this year is that instead of one big show, we are doing 6 shows in the same time frame, all over the country, and with fewer people.
Another difference is that we are trying to get a new retreat in Wyoming built, ready, up and running as a business, arranging classes, food, lodging, advertising etc. for that.
Also, our small company decided this month to open a second store in Sandy, Utah--two weeks from now!! That's a whole 'nother business to start from scratch, staff, furnish, advertise, order for, etc. etc. etc.
Did I mention that we are not only understaffed, but the staff we have lacks the knowledge, experience and talent to do any of this?
Another difference is I have a stake YW calling that is very demanding right now. (Trek, YW Recognition, conferences, etc.)
I wasn't home a single night last week and I'm in charge of Stake Auxiliary training this week.
I tell you all this so you know why you haven't heard from me, and why you probably won't hear from me much for the next 6 weeks.
But reading fun and interesting blogs gets me through my exhausting days, and feeds my soul.
So carry on, and I'll pop in when I can.
"I still find each day too short
for all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see."
--John Burrough
That means we are crazy busy printing hundreds of patterns that we roll and package by hand, ordering tons of product, planning booths, making signs and flyers, designing new products, seeing to a hundred details, etc. etc. etc. on top of our already busy, understaffed business.
The difference this year is that instead of one big show, we are doing 6 shows in the same time frame, all over the country, and with fewer people.
Another difference is that we are trying to get a new retreat in Wyoming built, ready, up and running as a business, arranging classes, food, lodging, advertising etc. for that.
Also, our small company decided this month to open a second store in Sandy, Utah--two weeks from now!! That's a whole 'nother business to start from scratch, staff, furnish, advertise, order for, etc. etc. etc.
Did I mention that we are not only understaffed, but the staff we have lacks the knowledge, experience and talent to do any of this?
Another difference is I have a stake YW calling that is very demanding right now. (Trek, YW Recognition, conferences, etc.)
I wasn't home a single night last week and I'm in charge of Stake Auxiliary training this week.
I tell you all this so you know why you haven't heard from me, and why you probably won't hear from me much for the next 6 weeks.
But reading fun and interesting blogs gets me through my exhausting days, and feeds my soul.
So carry on, and I'll pop in when I can.
"I still find each day too short
for all the thoughts I want to think,
all the walks I want to take,
all the books I want to read,
and all the friends I want to see."
--John Burrough
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Continue
From Gordon B. Hinckley's biography by Sheri Dew:
"Elder Hinckley stepped onto the flagstone platform of Preston Station in the late afternoon of June 29 and spotted a young American waiting for him. Elder Kent S. Bramwell, a bright and enthusiastic district president from Ogden, Utah, vigorously shook his hand and then led the way to their 'digs' at 15 Wadham Road."
Kent Bramwell is my uncle, my father's brother.
"Elder Bramwell had no intention of breaking his new companion in gradually, and as they walked home he announced that they were set to hold a street meeting that night in the public square. The thought of preaching to uninterested passersby was daunting, and Elder Hinckley responded immediately. 'You've got the wrong man to go with you.' But Elder Bramwell was undeterred, and a few hours later the two missionaries walked to the market and began to sing. Gradually a crowd gathered, and both missionaries taught and bore testimony."
Elder Hinckley had a hard time at first. He wrote to his father to see if he could return home. His father and his companion had a part in his staying on his mission.
A number of years later President Hinckley went back to 15 Wadham Road. In his journal, he wrote:
"Marjorie and I went up into the bedroom where Brother Bramwell and I had lived and where I made an important decision in my life to think less of myself and work with greater devotion as a missionary.'
When called to be an Assistant to the Twelve, Gordon B. Hinckely began his first talk as a general authority: "I am reminded of a statement made by my first missionary companion when I received a letter of transfer to the European Mission Office. "Well, you must have helped an old lady across the street in the preexistence. This has not come because of anything you've done here."
Of course, Elder Hinckley grew up to be a prophet.
My uncle went on to become a successful business man, and held some important posts, including mayor of Ogden. But he didn't stay active in the church.
One of the guideposts of my life has been the saying,
Living the gospel is like shaving:
it doesn't matter how good a job you do one day, --
you have to do it again the next.
It isn't about what positions you have held--in or out of the church, or what good or nice things you've done in your life. There's no resting on your laurels.
It's about continuing to prove your faithfulness every day;
it's about staying on the right path;
it's about enduring to the end.
"Continue" is my friend Jill's favorite word in the scriptures.
It is a matter of life and death-- spiritually speaking.
So be not weary in well-doing.
"Elder Hinckley stepped onto the flagstone platform of Preston Station in the late afternoon of June 29 and spotted a young American waiting for him. Elder Kent S. Bramwell, a bright and enthusiastic district president from Ogden, Utah, vigorously shook his hand and then led the way to their 'digs' at 15 Wadham Road."
Kent Bramwell is my uncle, my father's brother.
"Elder Bramwell had no intention of breaking his new companion in gradually, and as they walked home he announced that they were set to hold a street meeting that night in the public square. The thought of preaching to uninterested passersby was daunting, and Elder Hinckley responded immediately. 'You've got the wrong man to go with you.' But Elder Bramwell was undeterred, and a few hours later the two missionaries walked to the market and began to sing. Gradually a crowd gathered, and both missionaries taught and bore testimony."
Elder Hinckley had a hard time at first. He wrote to his father to see if he could return home. His father and his companion had a part in his staying on his mission.
A number of years later President Hinckley went back to 15 Wadham Road. In his journal, he wrote:
"Marjorie and I went up into the bedroom where Brother Bramwell and I had lived and where I made an important decision in my life to think less of myself and work with greater devotion as a missionary.'
When called to be an Assistant to the Twelve, Gordon B. Hinckely began his first talk as a general authority: "I am reminded of a statement made by my first missionary companion when I received a letter of transfer to the European Mission Office. "Well, you must have helped an old lady across the street in the preexistence. This has not come because of anything you've done here."
Of course, Elder Hinckley grew up to be a prophet.
My uncle went on to become a successful business man, and held some important posts, including mayor of Ogden. But he didn't stay active in the church.
One of the guideposts of my life has been the saying,
Living the gospel is like shaving:
it doesn't matter how good a job you do one day, --
you have to do it again the next.
It isn't about what positions you have held--in or out of the church, or what good or nice things you've done in your life. There's no resting on your laurels.
It's about continuing to prove your faithfulness every day;
it's about staying on the right path;
it's about enduring to the end.
"Continue" is my friend Jill's favorite word in the scriptures.
It is a matter of life and death-- spiritually speaking.
So be not weary in well-doing.
"Continue in these things even unto the end,
and you shall have a crown of eternal life ."
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Talents
My mother was a simple farm girl from Soda Springs, Idaho.
Her only claim to fame was that their farm abutted Ezra Taft Benson’s.
My mother didn’t think she was anything special.
She didn’t think she could write.
She didn’t think she was a speaker.
She didn’t think she was artistic or creative.
I think my mother was mistaken.
My mother always had me write the family Christmas cards because she didn’t think she could write very well. Her small, even penmanship reflected the steadiness and consistency of her character. The notes she wrote on birthday cards were always the best part of her thoughtful gifts. When she did write a talk or memory, it was interesting and well-written. And she wrote daily in a diary for much of her life. I think of my mother as a writer.
I don’t remember my mother giving formal speeches, but I’ve heard her bear her testimony and have read talks she’s given. In her quiet, sweet way she spoke articulately and confidently, with humor, of those things that meant the most to her. I think of my mother as an orator.
Maybe my mother didn’t draw or paint, but using her eye for color and design, she decorated our house many times. She created several memorable Christmas cards with family pictures. Her hobby was shopping and her fetish was to have everything match. She knew the names of every shade of brown and beige there is. I think of my mother as an artist.
Mother may have admitted to being a musician, though only a fair one. She was the ward organist most of her life. She collected music and took us to concerts. But she never mentioned the beautiful alto voice she sang so softly with.
My mother thought that all of her children were smarter than she was, but she was a college graduate in a day when few women went to college. Mother was smart and wise.
Mother was a wonderful cook. She loved pretty dishes and fussed over presentation. I shared many hours in the kitchen, in front of cooking shows, and reading cookbooks with her. It was her love of cooking that made cooks of her daughters, and now her granddaughters.
My mother was over 30 when she married, and she still tried to get as many souls into this world as she possibly could. Mother never wavered in her faith and testimony and duty where the Gospel was concerned. She single handedly reared eight children, all faithful still.
I sometimes describe my mother as “an old shoe,” a regular kind of girl.
But she was anything but ordinary.
Like my mother, I think my children are smarter and more capable than I am.
Someday they may realize that their talents and abilities, their intelligence and their values, lived long before they did. The seeds in the parents blossom in their children.
I hope my children will have the opportunity and the determination to magnify what they have been given.
Her only claim to fame was that their farm abutted Ezra Taft Benson’s.
My mother didn’t think she was anything special.
She didn’t think she could write.
She didn’t think she was a speaker.
She didn’t think she was artistic or creative.
I think my mother was mistaken.
My mother always had me write the family Christmas cards because she didn’t think she could write very well. Her small, even penmanship reflected the steadiness and consistency of her character. The notes she wrote on birthday cards were always the best part of her thoughtful gifts. When she did write a talk or memory, it was interesting and well-written. And she wrote daily in a diary for much of her life. I think of my mother as a writer.
I don’t remember my mother giving formal speeches, but I’ve heard her bear her testimony and have read talks she’s given. In her quiet, sweet way she spoke articulately and confidently, with humor, of those things that meant the most to her. I think of my mother as an orator.
Maybe my mother didn’t draw or paint, but using her eye for color and design, she decorated our house many times. She created several memorable Christmas cards with family pictures. Her hobby was shopping and her fetish was to have everything match. She knew the names of every shade of brown and beige there is. I think of my mother as an artist.
Mother may have admitted to being a musician, though only a fair one. She was the ward organist most of her life. She collected music and took us to concerts. But she never mentioned the beautiful alto voice she sang so softly with.
My mother thought that all of her children were smarter than she was, but she was a college graduate in a day when few women went to college. Mother was smart and wise.
Mother was a wonderful cook. She loved pretty dishes and fussed over presentation. I shared many hours in the kitchen, in front of cooking shows, and reading cookbooks with her. It was her love of cooking that made cooks of her daughters, and now her granddaughters.
My mother was over 30 when she married, and she still tried to get as many souls into this world as she possibly could. Mother never wavered in her faith and testimony and duty where the Gospel was concerned. She single handedly reared eight children, all faithful still.
I sometimes describe my mother as “an old shoe,” a regular kind of girl.
But she was anything but ordinary.
Like my mother, I think my children are smarter and more capable than I am.
Someday they may realize that their talents and abilities, their intelligence and their values, lived long before they did. The seeds in the parents blossom in their children.
I hope my children will have the opportunity and the determination to magnify what they have been given.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Thank You, Jennifer!
Six of my eight children and their spouses are together in Utah this weekend.
I am far away in Texas.
Sigh.
They are having dinner together and having a family baby shower for Valerie.
I am here and not there.
Pout.
The good of having a job is that I can afford to fly to see my kids.
The bad of having a job is that I'm not always free to go to my kids.
And what would this weekend be like for them without Jennifer?
I can't imagine.
Would they have a place to gather to eat and visit and play games?
Would anyone organize them enough to get them all together?
Would they even come to Utah if they didn't know they had a couch to sleep on and someone to feed and take care of them?
What, indeed, would this family be like without Jennifer's generous and gathering heart?
Jennifer has been shepherding her siblings since they were born.
They may not always have appreciated it.
But no one has done more for keeping our family close and in touch and in the same room as Jennifer has.
I especially appreciate it when I am far away in Texas.
Because of Jennifer, we are, individually and collectively,
better, stronger, happier.
There is no way to measure the depth and breadth and length of the blessings we receive at her hand.
There are no words to thank her for all she does.
Just thanks, and more thanks, and more thanks.
Thank you....
Thank you....
Thank you....
Thank you...
Thank you...
Thank you.
I am far away in Texas.
Sigh.
They are having dinner together and having a family baby shower for Valerie.
I am here and not there.
Pout.
The good of having a job is that I can afford to fly to see my kids.
The bad of having a job is that I'm not always free to go to my kids.
And what would this weekend be like for them without Jennifer?
I can't imagine.
Would they have a place to gather to eat and visit and play games?
Would anyone organize them enough to get them all together?
Would they even come to Utah if they didn't know they had a couch to sleep on and someone to feed and take care of them?
What, indeed, would this family be like without Jennifer's generous and gathering heart?
Jennifer has been shepherding her siblings since they were born.
They may not always have appreciated it.
But no one has done more for keeping our family close and in touch and in the same room as Jennifer has.
I especially appreciate it when I am far away in Texas.
Because of Jennifer, we are, individually and collectively,
better, stronger, happier.
There is no way to measure the depth and breadth and length of the blessings we receive at her hand.
There are no words to thank her for all she does.
Just thanks, and more thanks, and more thanks.
Thank you....
Thank you....
Thank you....
Thank you...
Thank you...
Thank you.
Monday, March 13, 2006
God Doesn't Make Junk
A young man wrote into the New Era:
“My friends say I have an inferiority complex, but as far as I can tell, I’m just inferior. Everyone else is smarter, better looking and more talented than I am. I just am inferior.”
I know just how he feels. I am a middle child in a large family, and all my siblings are smarter, more capable, and more sure of themselves than I am. It’s just a fact: I am inferior.
I learned a long time ago you don’t have to look far or long in any aspect of life to find someone who is better than you are. Conversely, you don’t have to look far or long to find those who aren’t doing as well as you are.
It’s a game we humans play—ever comparing ourselves to others. I call this game Comparisonopoly. Instead of amassing properties and hotels, we amass evidence that we’re not as good as everyone else.
It’s not a fair game because we usually compare our worst with someone else’s best.
Like Phase 10, it’s a game that is always frustrating and makes you want to cry.
It is a game that nobody wins.
This is not a game Heavenly Father had in mind for our peace, our happiness, or our progress in this life.
Someone defined self-worth as
“When we know who we are
without having to show what we know, what we have, and what we can do.”
We may feel inferior, but do you think our Maker thinks for one second that we are?
"Now this is the truth. We humble people, we who feel ourselves sometimes so worthless, so good-for-nothing, we are not so worthless as we think. There is not one of us but what God's love has been expended upon. There is not one of us that he has not cared for and caressed. There is not one of us that he has not desired to save and that He has not devised means to save. We may be insignificant and contemptible in our own eyes and in the eyes of others, but the truth remains that we are children of God and that he has actually given his angels charge concerning us." --George Q. Cannon
Sounds to me like every one of us is pretty special.
“My friends say I have an inferiority complex, but as far as I can tell, I’m just inferior. Everyone else is smarter, better looking and more talented than I am. I just am inferior.”
I know just how he feels. I am a middle child in a large family, and all my siblings are smarter, more capable, and more sure of themselves than I am. It’s just a fact: I am inferior.
I learned a long time ago you don’t have to look far or long in any aspect of life to find someone who is better than you are. Conversely, you don’t have to look far or long to find those who aren’t doing as well as you are.
It’s a game we humans play—ever comparing ourselves to others. I call this game Comparisonopoly. Instead of amassing properties and hotels, we amass evidence that we’re not as good as everyone else.
It’s not a fair game because we usually compare our worst with someone else’s best.
Like Phase 10, it’s a game that is always frustrating and makes you want to cry.
It is a game that nobody wins.
This is not a game Heavenly Father had in mind for our peace, our happiness, or our progress in this life.
Someone defined self-worth as
“When we know who we are
without having to show what we know, what we have, and what we can do.”
We may feel inferior, but do you think our Maker thinks for one second that we are?
"Now this is the truth. We humble people, we who feel ourselves sometimes so worthless, so good-for-nothing, we are not so worthless as we think. There is not one of us but what God's love has been expended upon. There is not one of us that he has not cared for and caressed. There is not one of us that he has not desired to save and that He has not devised means to save. We may be insignificant and contemptible in our own eyes and in the eyes of others, but the truth remains that we are children of God and that he has actually given his angels charge concerning us." --George Q. Cannon
Sounds to me like every one of us is pretty special.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Hold Your Hat
"It is madness to wear ladies hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmuts!
Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews!
For the sleeping God may wake someday and take offense,
or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return."
--Annie Dillard
I think of this quote sometimes when I'm sitting in church.
Looking through the beam in my own eyes, I see complacency.
We don't seem to comprehend the glories of eternity;
we aren't particularly curious about knowing more;
we're not overly concerned about how it should change us.
I wonder when God, in his infinite patience, will have had enough.
I'll never forget sitting with the children for a Primary program one day. While we were singing the very moving words to "He Died! The Great Redeemer Died" the children were combing each other's hair, hitting each other, or chattering away. I just wanted to shake them and say, "Pay attention! Don't you get what this means?! Don't you know how blessed you are?!!"
I've had similar experiences since. I often want to go and shake people.
Sometimes the offending person is me.
I, for one, have determined to try His patience a little less,
by pondering, praising, and 'ppreciating.
At least on the days I remember this quote.
Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews!
For the sleeping God may wake someday and take offense,
or the waking God may draw us out to where we can never return."
--Annie Dillard
I think of this quote sometimes when I'm sitting in church.
Looking through the beam in my own eyes, I see complacency.
We don't seem to comprehend the glories of eternity;
we aren't particularly curious about knowing more;
we're not overly concerned about how it should change us.
I wonder when God, in his infinite patience, will have had enough.
I'll never forget sitting with the children for a Primary program one day. While we were singing the very moving words to "He Died! The Great Redeemer Died" the children were combing each other's hair, hitting each other, or chattering away. I just wanted to shake them and say, "Pay attention! Don't you get what this means?! Don't you know how blessed you are?!!"
I've had similar experiences since. I often want to go and shake people.
Sometimes the offending person is me.
I, for one, have determined to try His patience a little less,
by pondering, praising, and 'ppreciating.
At least on the days I remember this quote.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
If only...
I've often thought,
I could be a perfect mother if I had perfect children.
I could be an ideal wife if I had an ideal husband.
I could serve often and well if I didn't have to work, or be sick, or have too many kids.
I could be so valiant if I were in better circumstances.
Life sure seems to get in the way of our wanting to do all the right things.
Maybe, just maybe, that's how it's supposed to be.
Anyone can drive a car down a straight road.
But it takes focus, skill and experience to negotiate curves, roadblocks and traffic.
I've come to believe that it is in common, everyday living that we develop character.
We may spend our days mopping floors, working on an assembly line, changing diapers, sitting in a photo booth, or sick in a hospital.
Whatever our circumstances we have opportunities to develop Christ-like characteristics of love, kindness, patience, devotion, holiness.
It is not for us to walk an easy road, but to be pure among the impure, to choose the right in the midst of storms, to be valiant in the dark.
Every day, choices.
Every day, shaping a character.
Every day, molding an eternal identity.
"Hell is not a place full of fire and brimstone and little red figures with pitchforks. Hell is the understanding that if I was sarcastic to my daughter when she was a little girl, she will be sarcastic to my grandchildren, and it will be my fault. Hell is the realization that every time I tell a lie because the truth is embarrassing, I am voting to make this a more deceitful world for my family to live in.
"And heaven is not harps and wings and bright sunshine. Heaven is the awareness that every time I did something good, even if nobody thanked me for it, and every time I held back the angry word and resisted temptation and nobody could possibly have known how hard it was for me to do that, the world is changed by the good thing that I did. Permanently changed for the better." --Rabbi Kushner
I could be a perfect mother if I had perfect children.
I could be an ideal wife if I had an ideal husband.
I could serve often and well if I didn't have to work, or be sick, or have too many kids.
I could be so valiant if I were in better circumstances.
Life sure seems to get in the way of our wanting to do all the right things.
Maybe, just maybe, that's how it's supposed to be.
Anyone can drive a car down a straight road.
But it takes focus, skill and experience to negotiate curves, roadblocks and traffic.
I've come to believe that it is in common, everyday living that we develop character.
We may spend our days mopping floors, working on an assembly line, changing diapers, sitting in a photo booth, or sick in a hospital.
Whatever our circumstances we have opportunities to develop Christ-like characteristics of love, kindness, patience, devotion, holiness.
It is not for us to walk an easy road, but to be pure among the impure, to choose the right in the midst of storms, to be valiant in the dark.
Every day, choices.
Every day, shaping a character.
Every day, molding an eternal identity.
"Hell is not a place full of fire and brimstone and little red figures with pitchforks. Hell is the understanding that if I was sarcastic to my daughter when she was a little girl, she will be sarcastic to my grandchildren, and it will be my fault. Hell is the realization that every time I tell a lie because the truth is embarrassing, I am voting to make this a more deceitful world for my family to live in.
"And heaven is not harps and wings and bright sunshine. Heaven is the awareness that every time I did something good, even if nobody thanked me for it, and every time I held back the angry word and resisted temptation and nobody could possibly have known how hard it was for me to do that, the world is changed by the good thing that I did. Permanently changed for the better." --Rabbi Kushner
From a Rabbi
Harold Kushner, a Jewish Rabbi, spoke at a BYU Forum in 1994.
(He said BYU was the only place he got to be the Gentile.)
I wasn't there, but I love what he said:
"I am a traditional Jew, and I observe the biblical dietary laws. There are certain foods I don't eat. I suspect most of you assume I go around all day saying to myself, "Boy, would I love to eat pork chops, but that mean old God won't let me." Not so. The fact of the matter is, I go around all day saying, "Isn't it incredible? There are five billion people on this planet, and God cares what I have for lunch. And God cares who I sleep with. And God cares how I earn and spend my money. And God cares what kind of language I use.
"Do you see what this view of God does? I am not diminished by being told there are certain things I may not do because they are wrong. Rather, it enhances me. It turns me into a real human being, somebody whose deeds, whose decisions, whose choices matter at the highest level.”
If we sometimes wonder if what we do matters, if we matter, we can remember this.
Sometimes we think we don’t count for much, when the truth is that every thought we think, every word we say, every act we do, counts.
Sometimes we think that because God loves us no matter what we do that it doesn’t matter what we do, when the reality is, because God loves us, it matters at the highest level what we do.
“This knowledge endows every day, every walking hour of our lives, with a sense of our significance,” that what we do has meaning, that how we live matters, that our choices are of eternal import.
Isn’t that nice to know?
(He said BYU was the only place he got to be the Gentile.)
I wasn't there, but I love what he said:
"I am a traditional Jew, and I observe the biblical dietary laws. There are certain foods I don't eat. I suspect most of you assume I go around all day saying to myself, "Boy, would I love to eat pork chops, but that mean old God won't let me." Not so. The fact of the matter is, I go around all day saying, "Isn't it incredible? There are five billion people on this planet, and God cares what I have for lunch. And God cares who I sleep with. And God cares how I earn and spend my money. And God cares what kind of language I use.
"Do you see what this view of God does? I am not diminished by being told there are certain things I may not do because they are wrong. Rather, it enhances me. It turns me into a real human being, somebody whose deeds, whose decisions, whose choices matter at the highest level.”
If we sometimes wonder if what we do matters, if we matter, we can remember this.
Sometimes we think we don’t count for much, when the truth is that every thought we think, every word we say, every act we do, counts.
Sometimes we think that because God loves us no matter what we do that it doesn’t matter what we do, when the reality is, because God loves us, it matters at the highest level what we do.
“This knowledge endows every day, every walking hour of our lives, with a sense of our significance,” that what we do has meaning, that how we live matters, that our choices are of eternal import.
Isn’t that nice to know?
Friday, March 10, 2006
Opinions
I’m getting a reputation in my later years for being opinionated.
That is so funny to me.
Maybe because I grew up in the middle of a large family and no one ever asked my opinion. It wouldn’t have done any good; I didn’t have one. I didn’t need one.
Much of my life I was just a milquetoast that went along with everyone and everything. I guess everyone’s gotta grow up sometime.
My children will tell you that in my maturing I have become more blunt and outspoken. That's not a compliment to me. But I saw it happen to my own mother, so maybe it’s normal.
When I do express an opinion, I am well aware that someone else will see it differently, that someone smarter will see a larger and more accurate view, and that opinions change more often than Paris Hilton’s outfit, even mine.
So of what use are opinions? Not much, unless they are based in truth. But they help us get by in this vastly complex and incomprehensible world. They make us sound like we know something. They let us feel, if only for a moment, like we are somebody.
I like to think that if I have an opinion, it’s because I’ve lived long enough or thought hard enough to have one. Even then most tastes, preferences and opinions can be explained by physiology or experience, not by any great intelligence.
And you will find that there are a great many things in this world about which I have no opinion at all.
So forgive me the few I have. It’s all there is to me.
I promise I’ll try to put some thought behind them.
And I'll forgive you yours.
That is so funny to me.
Maybe because I grew up in the middle of a large family and no one ever asked my opinion. It wouldn’t have done any good; I didn’t have one. I didn’t need one.
Much of my life I was just a milquetoast that went along with everyone and everything. I guess everyone’s gotta grow up sometime.
My children will tell you that in my maturing I have become more blunt and outspoken. That's not a compliment to me. But I saw it happen to my own mother, so maybe it’s normal.
When I do express an opinion, I am well aware that someone else will see it differently, that someone smarter will see a larger and more accurate view, and that opinions change more often than Paris Hilton’s outfit, even mine.
So of what use are opinions? Not much, unless they are based in truth. But they help us get by in this vastly complex and incomprehensible world. They make us sound like we know something. They let us feel, if only for a moment, like we are somebody.
I like to think that if I have an opinion, it’s because I’ve lived long enough or thought hard enough to have one. Even then most tastes, preferences and opinions can be explained by physiology or experience, not by any great intelligence.
And you will find that there are a great many things in this world about which I have no opinion at all.
So forgive me the few I have. It’s all there is to me.
I promise I’ll try to put some thought behind them.
And I'll forgive you yours.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
At the Feet of a Prophet
One June we were in Salt Lake City for a family wedding. Afterward my father wanted to go see one of his friends. This friend had been the Regional Rep where Dad lived, but also happened to be the personal secretary to the President of the Church. So we went to the old Church Office Building to visit D. Arthur Haycock.
Brother Haycock met us in the foyer to say hello, then disappeared, saying he'd be back in a few minutes. After a while he returned, and said to us, "The Prophet will see you now."
Gasp.
My very first thought--no kidding--was, Oh! What am I wearing?
Of course I was fine; I had just come from the temple.
But I laugh at myself, even now, that it was my first thought.
You'd think I would be more worried about what he might see inside me.
And in fact, the closer we got to the Prophet's door, I was.
We had the awesome opportunity of visiting with President Harold B. Lee that day.
He asked a little about us, and told us some stories, teaching us about the importance of serving in the Church. Maybe that's why I don't say no.
Throughout my life this experience has reminded me to always dress appropriately, but to pay even more attention to what the Lord sees.
"..Let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel;
But let it be the hidden (wo)man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit." 1 Peter 3:3-4
I would like to say (as Cyrano de Bergerac):
"I carry my adornments on my soul.
I go caparisoned in gems unseen."
President Lee taught me:
The gospel isn't about being; it's about becoming.
Brother Haycock met us in the foyer to say hello, then disappeared, saying he'd be back in a few minutes. After a while he returned, and said to us, "The Prophet will see you now."
Gasp.
My very first thought--no kidding--was, Oh! What am I wearing?
Of course I was fine; I had just come from the temple.
But I laugh at myself, even now, that it was my first thought.
You'd think I would be more worried about what he might see inside me.
And in fact, the closer we got to the Prophet's door, I was.
We had the awesome opportunity of visiting with President Harold B. Lee that day.
He asked a little about us, and told us some stories, teaching us about the importance of serving in the Church. Maybe that's why I don't say no.
Throughout my life this experience has reminded me to always dress appropriately, but to pay even more attention to what the Lord sees.
"..Let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel;
But let it be the hidden (wo)man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit." 1 Peter 3:3-4
I would like to say (as Cyrano de Bergerac):
"I carry my adornments on my soul.
I go caparisoned in gems unseen."
President Lee taught me:
The gospel isn't about being; it's about becoming.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
To Be a Princess
When I was in junior high, I read a book about the royal family in England.
If you were the child of a king or queen, you had a very strict upbringing.
You had to learn how to walk, how to sit, how to talk, how to be proper.
There were many things they could never do because it was beneath their station, and things they had to learn to do because they were royalty.
I’ve never forgotten that, because I’ve always felt that we too are of royal birth.
Even more than being the children of a King--the King of Kings!--we are the offspring of God. There are things that are beneath us, that we must never do, and things we need to learn to do because of who we are and whose we are.
“Once we know who we are,
the royal lineage of which we are a part,
our actions and directions in life
will be more appropriate to our inheritance.”
Russell M. Nelson, BYU Speeches 1989
When I was young I used to watch grown-up women. I watched how they walked, how they talked, even how they sat.
I got it into my young-girl head that when I grew up I wanted to be a woman of dignity, of grace, of refinement.
Obviously, I didn’t make it! Not even close.
But how much worse would I be if I hadn’t had that goal?
OK, I've given up on the grace part, but I still have it in my mind to try to be a person of dignity.
Given an eternity, I might come close.
If I act like a noble princess, someday I may even be a queen.
In the Kingdom of God, anything is possible.
If you were the child of a king or queen, you had a very strict upbringing.
You had to learn how to walk, how to sit, how to talk, how to be proper.
There were many things they could never do because it was beneath their station, and things they had to learn to do because they were royalty.
I’ve never forgotten that, because I’ve always felt that we too are of royal birth.
Even more than being the children of a King--the King of Kings!--we are the offspring of God. There are things that are beneath us, that we must never do, and things we need to learn to do because of who we are and whose we are.
“Once we know who we are,
the royal lineage of which we are a part,
our actions and directions in life
will be more appropriate to our inheritance.”
Russell M. Nelson, BYU Speeches 1989
When I was young I used to watch grown-up women. I watched how they walked, how they talked, even how they sat.
I got it into my young-girl head that when I grew up I wanted to be a woman of dignity, of grace, of refinement.
Obviously, I didn’t make it! Not even close.
But how much worse would I be if I hadn’t had that goal?
OK, I've given up on the grace part, but I still have it in my mind to try to be a person of dignity.
Given an eternity, I might come close.
If I act like a noble princess, someday I may even be a queen.
In the Kingdom of God, anything is possible.
A Trip to the Dentist
I went to the dentist today.
I'm one of those weird ones that almost likes going to the dentist.
Before they took my x-rays, they took my blood pressure.
It was very low.
They were very surprised.
Most people's blood pressure rises at the dentist's.
Not mine.
The dentist chair is my place to nap.
I didn't go to the dentist for many years because I couldn't get away from my children.
Then I figured out it was one of the few places I could go without them.
It is also one of the few places I could stop moving and just sit.
So I was glad to go to the dentist and get a nap.
One of my dentists was named Dr. Rough. OK, it was Ruff.
Sure, sometimes the dentist hurts, or it's really uncomfortable.
But while they're scraping, digging, pulling, cutting, poking, pushing, and spraying, I just think of all the good they're doing.
And if it hurts (which Dr. Ruff never did), I just push my thumbs together.
They gave me that funny gas once, but I told them never to do that again. I didn't need it to calm me--I was already falling asleep--and I can't stand not being in control.
I've had fillings, root canals, crowns, bridges and oral surgery--twice.
When I come out of the dentist, I may be puffy and swollen and sore.
But I know my teeth are clean, and fixed, and they won't hurt for awhile.
And I got my nap.
What's so bad about that?
I'm one of those weird ones that almost likes going to the dentist.
Before they took my x-rays, they took my blood pressure.
It was very low.
They were very surprised.
Most people's blood pressure rises at the dentist's.
Not mine.
The dentist chair is my place to nap.
I didn't go to the dentist for many years because I couldn't get away from my children.
Then I figured out it was one of the few places I could go without them.
It is also one of the few places I could stop moving and just sit.
So I was glad to go to the dentist and get a nap.
One of my dentists was named Dr. Rough. OK, it was Ruff.
Sure, sometimes the dentist hurts, or it's really uncomfortable.
But while they're scraping, digging, pulling, cutting, poking, pushing, and spraying, I just think of all the good they're doing.
And if it hurts (which Dr. Ruff never did), I just push my thumbs together.
They gave me that funny gas once, but I told them never to do that again. I didn't need it to calm me--I was already falling asleep--and I can't stand not being in control.
I've had fillings, root canals, crowns, bridges and oral surgery--twice.
When I come out of the dentist, I may be puffy and swollen and sore.
But I know my teeth are clean, and fixed, and they won't hurt for awhile.
And I got my nap.
What's so bad about that?
Thursday, March 02, 2006
It's a Beautiful Day
Do you ever think about what you want written on your tombstone--
what bumper-sticker slogan capsulates the essence of your life?
It may vary at different ages and stages of life,
but for now I choose Mr. Rogers' song,
"It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood."
I find myself singing that a lot
(though more often in sunny Texas than I did in dreary Washington).
Every day there is so much that is beautiful and good around us.
Each day, so much to be thankful for.
Sure life has its snags and drags, it's trials and it's tragedies.
But even when something terrible is happening to us,
or lots of little things go wrong,
there is so much that's going right.
Just look up and around, and you'll see
that "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood."
When I die, and people read my tombstone, and wonder "Why?",
maybe they'll look around the cemetery and think of resurrection, and of eternal life.
Maybe they'll think of me, and how happy I am.
Maybe they'll hear me singing--louder than ever,
"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!!!" --
In yours and mine.
This is the day which the Lord hath made.
It's a beautiful day.
Won't you be my neighbor?
what bumper-sticker slogan capsulates the essence of your life?
It may vary at different ages and stages of life,
but for now I choose Mr. Rogers' song,
"It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood."
I find myself singing that a lot
(though more often in sunny Texas than I did in dreary Washington).
Every day there is so much that is beautiful and good around us.
Each day, so much to be thankful for.
Sure life has its snags and drags, it's trials and it's tragedies.
But even when something terrible is happening to us,
or lots of little things go wrong,
there is so much that's going right.
Just look up and around, and you'll see
that "It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood."
When I die, and people read my tombstone, and wonder "Why?",
maybe they'll look around the cemetery and think of resurrection, and of eternal life.
Maybe they'll think of me, and how happy I am.
Maybe they'll hear me singing--louder than ever,
"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!!!" --
In yours and mine.
This is the day which the Lord hath made.
It's a beautiful day.
Won't you be my neighbor?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Reflections on a Plateau
I am always saying to myself,
"Look at you, and after a lifetime of trying,"
said Florida Scott-Maxwell at age 82
I’m not that old, but I’ve said this to myself many times.
All my life I’ve wanted to be good. I’ve tried to be good.
But over and over I seem to come up short.
There seems to be this other person lurking between my deep-down goodness and what enters my mind and comes out of my mouth.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the same girl I was when I was 8 years old.
Personality is a pretty persistent thing.
So are character flaws.
Have I made any progress at all?
I still battle my natural tendencies, but I’m not the child I use to be.
I have learned much, I understand more, I am better than I was.
And I realize that I have the faith to go on:
faith that God will forgive my frailties, fill in the gaps, and make me whole.
Overcoming the world, including my self, is an uphill battle.
What counts isn’t how near perfection we get,
but that we are willing to try in spite of minimal gains,
and that we never give up.
So, onward march! I have a mountain to climb.
"Look at you, and after a lifetime of trying,"
said Florida Scott-Maxwell at age 82
I’m not that old, but I’ve said this to myself many times.
All my life I’ve wanted to be good. I’ve tried to be good.
But over and over I seem to come up short.
There seems to be this other person lurking between my deep-down goodness and what enters my mind and comes out of my mouth.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the same girl I was when I was 8 years old.
Personality is a pretty persistent thing.
So are character flaws.
Have I made any progress at all?
I still battle my natural tendencies, but I’m not the child I use to be.
I have learned much, I understand more, I am better than I was.
And I realize that I have the faith to go on:
faith that God will forgive my frailties, fill in the gaps, and make me whole.
Overcoming the world, including my self, is an uphill battle.
What counts isn’t how near perfection we get,
but that we are willing to try in spite of minimal gains,
and that we never give up.
So, onward march! I have a mountain to climb.
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