More, Savior, Like Thee

Originally written September 11, 2004

Three years ago, I watched with the rest of the world as the hate of some men brought down the Twin Towers and destroyed the lives of many people and families in one life shaking event.

The morning had started out crazy as most morning are in a house with four little people. Our fourth child had been born three weeks earlier. I was not completely recovered from that experience and I was sleep deprived like most moms of new babies. That morning, I busily tried to get all four of the kids dressed and out the door for my daughter's second dance class which started at 9:15 MDT.

About 8:45 the phone rang. My dear friend in Texas, Kelly, called to let me know that something big was happening. To be honest, I didn't really have the time or the emotional strength to care. We talked for a few minutes while I finished dressing everyone and then out the door the kids and I went. We arrived at dance only a few minutes late and then I took time to breathe and figure out what was going on back East.

I remember turning on the van radio and listening to Peter Jennings talk about these planes that had flown into buildings. My brain struggled to wrap around and truly understand this momentous disaster. At that point, I'm not sure that many of us in the country really understood what was going on. The other early memory that I have is of running into Idaho Camera to drop off 35mm film to be developed. They had a television on there. I saw footage of the planes flying into the towers and the towers collapsing.

Then I went home. My oldest had afternoon kindergarten. I got him lunch and kept watching the coverage of the terrorist attack. It was surreal. I remember seeing the planes crash into the buildings over and over and still it didn't seem possible that anyone could get on a plane and fly it, themselves, and hundreds of innocent people to their deaths purposely. I saw the footage of the towers coming down. The dust and debris rolling endlessly. I saw people crying and staring. Still my mind couldn't comprehend this huge tragedy caused completely by human hate.

In the days that followed I tried, with the rest of the country to understand what had just happened. I also slipped, like many others, into a fog of depression. I wasn't doing very well physically and emotionally to begin with. The fourth baby's birth had been a bit of a surprise right from the beginning. Then when he arrived, the rest of the family started into a bought of stomach and intestinal flu. Tad was the only one to escape the sickness, and he tried his best to keep us all going,  and while he was able to take some time off work still pulled at him too.

It had been a busy and rough three weeks of struggle right up to September 11, and I wasn't in any shape to deal with the emotions that a major terrorist attach on my country brought into my life. But I had no choice in the matter.

I spent several weeks walking around wondering why, such a terrible thing had happened and trying to find the energy to work through it and move on emotionally. About the end of September, I came out of the fog induced by pregnancy, child birth, sickness, and terrorist disasters. Finally I began to be able to deal with life and process the events that occurred in Pennsylvania,Washington DC, and most of all New York.

Through the ensuing months, I began to be able to consider the events of September 11th and the thousands of years of history that lead up to them. Yet, I still don't feel satisfied and settled.

Nothing on earth, created by mankind, can fix the holes that hate rips. Nothing can truly help me understand how men and women harboring that much hate could be raised and allowed to unleash that searing hate on the world. I do not understand how there can be mothers and fathers in the world, so wrapped up in their own beliefs, culture, and selves that they could be intentionally cruel to people they don't even know in such a final way.

I simple don't understand that way of thought. And I feel pretty powerless before it's fury.

But I have determined that I can do something. Perhaps it is very small, but I feel sure in its own way, it is powerful.

I can love others, one person at a time. I can teach my children, and other children about caring for others. I can continue a quest in myself and others to move forward toward understanding and love of others even when we don't agree or even accept what they stand for. Other people have intrinsic worth. I can teach and show respect for that eternal principle.

Humans have faults. Humans are all different. Humans just won't always agree, but they can still find a way to value something in another human as small as that something might appear.

I can be a positive influence for good in the lives of others. I can value the people I call Children of God; in other words, everyone. And I can smile at people. It takes very little effort to smile, but it does so much good for so many people.

On September 11, 2001, so much was destroyed through hate. I may never in my whole life touch as many people as those few men did in their moments of angry destruction, but I am going to continue to move forward with love anyway. I am going to continue smiling at people, continue plucking the unkind and unworthy thoughts from my mind, continue striving to be a builder instead of a basher.

I add my voice to that of Phillip Paul Bliss, the write and composer of More Holiness Give Me:

More holiness give me,

More strivings within,

More patience in suff'ring,

More sorrow for sin,

More faith in my Savior,

More sense of his care,

More joy in his service,

More purpose in prayer.

More gratitude give me,

More trust in the Lord,

More pride in his glory,

More hope in his word,

More tears for his sorrows,

More pain at his grief,

More meekness in trial,

More praise for relief.

More purity give me,

More strength to o'ercome,

More freedom from earth-stains,

More longing for home.

More fit for the kingdom,

More used would I be,

More blessed and holy--

More, Savior, like thee.

Little increases bring forth great blessings

For the last several years, a couple of my children have participated in track and field events at their middle school. None chose to do high jump, instead they threw shot and disc and either ran the shortest races or the longest race. One did participate in long and triple jump. But despite their lack of interest in high jump, I have spent quite a large amount of time waiting in the parking lot waiting for practice to end, watching 6th, 7th, and 8th graders perfect the Fosbury flop style high jump.

Wikipedia describes the flop like this - 

"The Fosbury Flop is a style used in the athletics event of high jump. It was popularized and perfected by American athlete Dick Fosbury first in 1965 and whose gold medal in the 1968 Summer Olympics brought it to the world's attention. Over the next few years the flop became the dominant style of the event and remains so today. Before Fosbury, most elite jumpers used the straddle technique, Western Roll, Eastern cut-off or even scissors jump to clear the bar. Given that landing surfaces had previously been sandpits or low piles of matting, high jumpers of earlier years had to land on their feet or at least land carefully to prevent injury. With the advent of deep foam matting high jumpers were able to be more adventurous in their landing styles and hence experiment with styles of jumping.

The approach (or run-up) in the Flop style of high jump is characterized by (at least) the final four or five steps being run in a curve, allowing the athlete to lean into his or her turn, away from the bar. This allows the center of gravity to be lowered even before knee flexion, giving a longer time period for the take-off thrust. Additionally, on take-off the sudden move from inward lean outwards produces a rotation of the jumper's body along the axis of the bar, aiding clearance.Combined with the rotation around the jumper's vertical axis produced by the drive leg (think of an ice skater spinning round on the spot) the resulting body position on bar clearance is laid out supine with the body at ninety degrees to the bar with the head and shoulders crossing the bar before the trunk and legs. This gives the Flop its characteristic "backwards over the bar" appearance, with the athlete landing on the mat on their shoulders and back."

Just like in the high jump event, in life the bar constantly is raised. The bar could represent many different things in a person's life, but the constant is that it is inching upward as you continue to work. Once you get competent at a skill, more is expected. It gets rather tiring/discouraging to have this constantly advancing target, but it is important for our growth.

Elder L. Tom Perry told a story about his son, Lee, and a high jump bar. Elder Perry came home from a trip to find his son practicing the high jump in their basement:

"Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop. 

Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting-goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors. 

After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard. 

One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, 'How high is the bar?' He said, 'Five feet, eight inches.' 'Why that height?' He answered, 'You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.' 'How are you doing?' I asked. 'I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.' My reply: 'Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.' He replied, 'Then I might miss.' I queried, 'If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential? 

So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming."

Yesterday I thought about the bar. I thought about how in the LDS church raising the bar is a pretty standard phrase. I probably thought about it because Elder Ballard was part of a video we watched on the topic of our third hour class, "Making the Sabbath a Delight". A member of our bishopric spoke and lead a discussion using a video of a training workshop video made during the LDS April 2015 General Conference. In the workshop video, we saw then Elder Nelson, Elder Cook and Elder Ballard. Along with the three apostles, we heard from Sister Wixom and Sister Oscarson. 

I only remember parts of the talks they each gave. Really not much to be honest. But I do remember what the Spirit taught me. Our bishopric member asked the question, "Did your experience today during the Sacrament bring you closer to God?" (Actually I have no idea what his real question was. It was similar to that. Or maybe that is just what I needed to hear and remember. In any case, did you actually get something out of the sacrament today was basically the point.) His follow up questions was, "If the answer was no, why not?"

Now I have little idea what exactly happened after that question for a large part of the class. I was busy pondering my experience, or lack thereof, during the sacrament that day. My experience most days during the blessing and passing of the sacrament involves reading a General Conference talk on my tablet and trying really hard not to watch the deacons pass the sacrament because watching them DRIVES ME CRAZY. 

I generally have two, to three sons passing any given week. At one point in life I pondered whether it is my job to help them do a better job. The answer I have come to is basically no. Not my stewardship. So in order to keep any sort of spirit, I DO NOT WATCH.

Unfortunately yesterday a few things came together. One was me not preparing during the week for the sacrament. One was me choosing to have the family travel together to church rather than in two cars. (I believe this was a good choice despite the outcome.) One was the person in our family, who shall remain nameless, but who gets to church three minutes before the meeting starts regardless of the time of day that the meeting starts. One was the eight new families who have moved into our ward and taken up all the room farther up in the chapel where it is easier to ignore the disaster being perpetuated week after week. (Okay it isn't really that bad; it is just a bunch of mostly 12 year olds trying to nonverbally coordinate efforts and serve everyone in a room roughly the size of a basketball court. Oh and a group of teachers and priests who haven't clued into the fact that we have far more people than two months ago and therefore we REALLY DO NEED THAT EXTRA TRAY OF WATER ON THE TABLE during the blessing of the water instead of sitting back in the prep room.) 

Probably the biggest distraction was me not being prepared. But when that cute new little deacon who has now passed for about two weeks about smacked my husband in the nose offering him the bread tray at eye level, my husband jumped. And I noticed. Then I got distracted from the talk I was reading. At which point, my mind zoomed to all the things I needed to get done Sunday, and then Monday, and then the rest of the week. 

I was like a freight train barreling down the TO DO LIST TRACK. Completely aware of the movement around me. Not enjoying the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

Now I suspect that the Holy Ghost said, “There she goes into Martha mode. Well so much for the plans I had to help her come closer to Christ this week. So much for the blessing of the Atonement today. Shift modes. I will give her some inspiration about what to get done on her list. She wants to carry on today, on her own, for yet another week."

So two hours later, facing the question, "What did you get out of the Sacrament today?" My answer to myself sounded a lot like, "I wish you had asked a month ago, when I had the best sacrament experience of my life. Unfortunately the answer today is not much."

Fortunately God is good and merciful and He takes us where we are and tries continually to redirect. And two hours after the sacrament and now almost twenty four hours later, I have a lot more insight than I did when I partook of the bread and water yesterday.

And most of what I have is this. God wants us to do better. He keeps encouraging us to raise our own bar so we can get closer to him. Today He is asking us to make the Sabbath Day a delight, but ultimately all of it leads back to becoming "even as I am, and I am even as the Father; and the Father and I are one." (3 Nephi 28:10)

They want us to be like Them. Their bar is high - higher than we can jump. And They can actually get us there, but we will never be able to jump it if we sit on the dirty parking lot and don't try. So we need to (in this case) keep coming to church on Sunday. Keep trying to find ways to improve our Sabbath Day worship. Praying for answers and blessings, and if it comes down to it, employ spit grit, and a whole lot of duct tape to drag ourselves to the meeting and get something more out of the sacrament today, than we did last week.

Because They can totally work with us if we keep going and practicing and running at that bar and trying. And we will get better at it, little by little. And eventually our weaknesses will be strengthens and our small and simple works will, with the help of the Lord, achieve eternal life.

Center on Christ

I grew up in a tough place. The climate was severe. Hot summers. Cold winters, and wind - Life draining wind all the time.

The Rock Springs, Wyoming economy seemed (and still seems) to be in a continual boom/bust cycle. The major careers in the area revolved and still revolve around resource extraction, also known as coal and trona mining. (Oil and natural gas extraction caused another boom starting in about 2000, after I was gone.)

The Blair brothers opened the first coal mine in Rock Springs in 1868 just before the arrival of the Union Pacific Railroad line. At one point Rock Springs and the surrounding Sweetwater County hosted 130 operating mines.

Coal mining fueled the railroads and the local economy, but took a hit in the 1890 depression. But mining rallied again in 1920, allowing men to make a larger wage of $8/ day in the mines bringing out coal. According to a Wyoming history essay $8 was the equivalent of $91/day in 2012. The Great Depression hit the area again, but due to neighbors helping neighbors, many weathered that storm and came out the other side.

Of course, Rock Springs was not always a neighborly place to live. For a rather small and desolate place, Rock Springs attracted all types of people. Robert Leroy Parker aka Butch Cassidy worked on several of the ranches that surround the town and he spent a brief time as a butcher in town, hence the nickname Butch. He left without causing problems in the little town.

Yet Butch was just a small note in the 1880 history of the town. The big news, that I was even taught in fourth grade, involved the Chinese Massacre. For a town that often seemed to embody cultural diversity, the Massacre was a huge black spot.

It happened on September 2, 1885. White miners attacked the Chinese miners who had been brought in by the railroad to help work the mines. When the conflict ended, twenty-eight Chinese were dead, fifteen were wounded, and hundreds more had fled the town. Most of the whites who caused the problem left soon after. And fortunately not all the Chinese fled, because Rock Springs boasted some of the best Chinese food anywhere thanks to their descendants a hundred years later.

In the 1950's when trains switched to diesel and cars took over the roads, the coal industry took a huge hit, but at that same time the largest known deposit of  trona was discovered. Out of work coal miners easily switched over to working in the trona mines east of Green River.

And again because of coal the Rock Springs economy boomed when in the 1970's, workers flooded into the area to build the billion dollar Jim Bridger Power Plant which still supplies coal fired power (electricity) to parts of the northwest, including the Idaho house where I currently live.

The climate was tough. The jobs were hard. And the people were rough.

Money flowed out of the mines. Much of it into the pockets of people who ran the railroad, but because coal was vital to the rail industry, large amounts also went back to the workers. Many of the people of Rock Springs came as immigrants from Europe and Asia to work in the mines. Many had money because they were miners. Others provided services to miners. Some services legal (food, housing, education). Some not so (prostitution and drugs).

The town was in a perpetual boom/bust cycle, and so were the people.

Like I said, the people were rough. But mostly they were good. Many believed in God. Many went to church. Rock Springs had many denominations: Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Episcopal, Christian Science, Seventh Day Adventist, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, Latter-day Saints, Baptists Free Evangelical, Congregational, and Jehovah Witness.

A history of the Catholic Church in Rock Springs 

written by one of my high school English teachers, 

Gloria Tomich can be found here.

Some went to church every Sunday. Some went for Christmas and Easter. Some just claimed a religion but never really went. Some didn't claim anything and ridiculed the those who did. And probably that is what made all of them who they were. Because, despite the ever popular belief that God doesn't matter, people have to have something to hold on to. They have to root themselves in some kind of bedrock. Center themselves firmly with faith in something. Otherwise the whims of the world and that continually blasting wind will blow you away.

It took me years to come to an understanding of what exactly helped me get through my teens, in that place, with some people who were quite good, some who were quite confused, and some who were just plain evil. (I say this with the authority of a girl who went to school with multiple murders. Some were just stupid kids who walked the halls of my high school during the days and partied in the hills on the weekend. Not all of them and the passengers in their trucks made it home. Another who I sat in front of in chemistry was just a messed up, drunk and abandoned kid. Then there was the one who had us all a bit terrified that one week in winter; he was bad news.)

So what was it that helped?

Let me tell you a childhood memory. I went to elementary school back in the olden days when they  actually had swing sets, slides, and merry go rounds on the playgrounds. And not only that they put them on black top. No spongy rubber or bark for us. I loved the swings, kind of liked the slides, but spent most of fourth grade on the merry go round. Ours was red.

We of course liked to hang onto the bars and lean back with our feet on the edge. Or better yet sit on the bar with a foot hooked around the standards near the edge and essentially do a back bend. If you were really good, your long hair could drag the ground. And yes the thing was spinning the whole time.

It wasn't safe. It was crazy. But we did it. (Okay my hair never touched the ground. That was TOOOO SCARY!)

Many years later I was thinking back on that experience and the tough times that were a part of growing up in Rock Springs schools and it occurred to me that when somebody stood in the center of the merry go round (not that we did it much), it was much less likely that they would go flying off into space, crashing disastrously on the black top. And if they sat down in the center and held on focusing on staying right there. They moved very little.

For me becoming centered on Christ and His standards was the thing that kept me from flying off into the arms of disaster. Did I want to be more popular? Yes. Was I willing to stand up let go of the standards and try and hold onto with my fingertips and toes on the edge like many of my friends seemed to be doing where the wind could grab you and batter you. No. I really wasn't.

And that saved me from pain. Sure I was kind of lonely some times. And sometimes I cried. Definitely I felt left out and odd, but all of those feelings ended when I left and went to college with people who could have fun without drinking, drugging, or giving up a part of themselves for someone's momentary pleasure.

Because I stayed pretty much stuck to the center, I had none of the habits and broken relationships to move past.

So looking back, am I glad I came from such a colorful and varied place? Yes. Am I grateful for all the people I knew there, many who were kind and good examples to me and some who were kind and rotten examples? Yes.

But mostly -- I am glad that I don't have that stupid wind to fight any more.

I am stronger because of where I came from. I am stronger because of all the people who taught me good and bad. I am stronger because I had to constantly battle against the wind both figuratively and literally. I am stronger because I clung to Christ. I cling still.

Surrendering Control = Peace

As the days go by I have noticed something. My kids are growing up. It is a good thing. A happy thing. Frankly it kind of excites me. Yes I miss the little chubby hands in mine and the snugly warm chunks of sleepy clean toddlers in fuzzy pajamas after a bath. I miss the delighted look after a light bulb clicks on and suddenly they are walking, talking, reading, biking... 

And sometimes I even miss the dependence. The complete need for me. Mostly I don't because it was exhausting, but as the parent of teenagers, I do get tired of being "stupid" and "out of touch". And I do feel that tiny bit of utter panic as they launch themselves into the world.

Yet I shouldn't. I shouldn't worry and I shouldn't feel a frantic need to run their lives. I know that. I know that deeply. Every time I feel that frantic need to jump into a situation and start damage control I remember.

con·trolkənˈtrōl/
noun
the power to influence or direct people's behavior or the course of events.

About this time two years ago in January 2013, my oldest child was struggling in a class, I was struggling as a parent. I wanted to help him. I wanted to take over and make this work, even do the work. I fretted over his ability to understand the material. Was the teacher any good? Was my child the problem? How would he get scholarships if he got a low grade in this subject? I worried that he was not going to survive this class and while I did my best to remember how to do that stuff, I was slightly put out that I was taking this class again twenty five years later. I got an A the first time. (Thanks Mr Varras!) Why did I have to do it again?

During this season I was praying for help. Praying to know what I could do to assist this child. I remember distinctly the impression that came. It was a clear impression to be still and let this child swim or flounder and/or sink on his own. I saw that this was his life and his problem. If he didn't get a scholarship that was not my worry. I had done all I could do when I was in high school to qualify for a scholarship. If this child didn't he would have to figure out another way on his own. 

This child needed to figure it out himself. And he did. In ways that astonished me. His grade still wasn't what I wanted, but he received a scholarship for part of college anyway. Then he went and learned about other funding options on his own and in a way that impressed me with his thoughtfulness and planning.

I grew and matured greatly due to that experience. 

I had always believed that I had a responsibility for my children's education, and I do. I need to teach them to be responsible. I need to make sure they get the skills and knowledge they need to be successful in life. I need to teach them about God and His plan for us. And I need to make sure that they can work both physically and mentally. I don't need to sit in their classes and keep track of their assignments. I never need to do work for them, but I do keep tabs on their grades and remind/advise/nag when needed. 

So far somewhere around the time they turn sixteen, I find it becomes important for them to take over nearly complete control of their choices with school and life. Not that I've opened all the boundaries and made our home and their lives in it a rule free zone. Nor have I stopped checking grades and being a sounding board for them, but I have to trust that I have taught them enough and not follow behind them out in the world like I did when they were learning to ride a bike and cross the street.

President Boyd K Packer of the Twelve Apostles related this story about control and children,

"Several weeks ago I had in my office a four-star general and his wife; they were very impressive people. They admire the Church because of the conduct of our youth. The general’s wife mentioned her children, of whom she is justly proud. But she expressed a deep concern. 'Tell me,' she said, 'how you are able to control your youth and build such character as we have seen in your young men?'

I was interested in her use of the word ‘control’. The answer, I told them, centered in the doctrines of the gospel. They were interested; so I spoke briefly of the doctrine of agency. I said we develop control by teaching freedom. Perhaps at first they thought we start at the wrong end of the subject. A four-star general is nothing if not a disciplinarian. But when one understands the gospel, it becomes very clear that the best control is self-control.

It may seem unusual at first to foster self-control by centering on freedom of choice, but it is a very sound doctrinal approach."

He goes on to explain, 

"The temptation your children will face will not come at home nor in the seminary class. It will come later, when they are away from both teacher and parent. One day you must set them free. When that day comes, how free will they be, and how safe? It will depend on how much truth they have received."

So last Thursday as I watched a mom of another teenage boy struggle over choir tour we are involved in planning, I reflected back on what I learned and how it is working out for me to live by that inspiration. I must say I am feeling peace. 

She wants to control all aspects of the trip so that no one will make a poor choice. She is worried that they won't have an educational experience. She thinks that if she is vigilante enough and has enough rules and enough service, educational, and competition filled activities planned for every second, she will stop the kids who want to find drugs and alcohol and sex on this trip.

I have my doubts, but wish her luck. She has an uphill battle against 128 kids, their ideas, their parents' ideas. And frankly the reality that you can't control much beyond your own  thoughts, appetites, speech, temper, and desires. 

Some, even many, of those kids are going to go and have a lovely trip choosing to exercise self control. A few will choose to try and do something stupid. A repeat of pretty much every high school trip ever taken.

Life is full of choices. And we all get to make them. Sometimes they are good. Sometimes our choices are not good. Sometimes they affect us and others and bring on the storms of life. Paulo Coelo, the author of the book The Alchemist said,

"I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature." 

I like to think that most storms in nature and life don't catch me by surprise, but some do. Some are truly furious, but they don't have to crush us. We don't have to fight them. We don't have to control them. We usually can't do either. But we can be patient. We can keep our head down and endure through them. Sometimes we can even take shelter in a doorway and find the beauty in them as they go by.

Back to my story.

A little over a year after the experience with the high school class, I watched that child turn eighteen, graduate from high school and then head three months later to a country where crime is rampant. He is serving the Lord there. Many would say not to worry, he will be fine. He is in the Lord's hands. And he is, but that is no guarantee that he will be safe. Missionaries have been kidnapped there. Raped. Killed by accidents. Not murdered yet, but lots of other people are murdered, daily, it isn't out of the question.

I truly have no control of any part of this situation.

A mother from church whose oldest son is the age of my youngest son asked me, "How do you do it? How do you let them go to such a scary place?"

The answer is two fold and has to do with the things that I can control. One - I have taught him self control and personal responsibility and thanks to the urging of the Holy Spirit; I watched him demonstrate those skills while he still lived under my roof. Two - I have faith that he is doing what he is supposed to be doing right now in his life. I have faith that he has been sent through inspiration to teach the struggling people of Guatemala about the plan of salvation and our Savior. 

I expect that he will return safely, but if not (Daniel 3:17-18), it is okay.

A great article about how to achieve this state of peace is found here.

Sacrifice Brings forth the Blessings of Heaven

As 2015 starts I have, as in years past, created a vision statement for my year. You can look back here to see 2012, here for 2013, and here for 2014.

I just looked through those statements. I see that I had tremendous growth in my personal approach to life in 2012. That was when I gave up having to control everything, let go of worrying about achieving perfection in everything, and pretty much quit worrying over what others might think of my efforts.

2013 included a complete shift in my attitude toward exercise and my desire to do it. I stopped fighting it. I started doing it, and now that is a habit, a pursuit I enjoy doing 3-6 times a week. In some ways it was a big change. In others, it was just a simple choice followed by a year long daily slog through the things that would have held me back. Because I had loosened the tight hold on other things, I was able to pick up this opportunity to control something about myself and move it along.

In 2014 I just tried to stand strong because lots of change outside of me occurred. I did lots of things, some of them really difficult. I did them nearly everyday because that is what the year required. I did new things like help launch a child into the world, like literally into the scary world in a dangerous place where anarchy and war are not that distant. The child is in Guatemala working to bring himself into submission to the will of the Lord and attempting to teach others the blessings of sacrificing an old way of life, or set of traditions, for a better way of hope and growth.

When I first considered my "mantras" for the last two years, I felt at first like I had not done much. Not like 2012 which saw me totally changing a part of who I have been for 45 years, ie. a worrywart. But as I have written this, I see that the last two years have been hard and they have included lots of change. What stayed constant was my peaceful approach to life that God blessed me to see the need to achieve in 2012. Instead of fighting the change and trying to control it but being battered and tossed in the process, I have been riding on the change like a surfer rides a wave. It is a much more fulfilling way to progress.

What I now see is that over the past two years, I have maintained that ability to be at peace and accepting of what comes. I have maintained that new habit until it has become a part of me.

So when I look inside, ponder, and pray for guidance on where I should focus, I keep getting the word sacrifice. I think I know what that means. I think it is time to change myself again. It is time to sacrifice my will and some of my comfort in order grow and become a better me. A person more in touch with myself, my significant people, and my God.

We each have the right to make choices. It is our birthright.

Choosing to sacrifice is difficult. It goes against lazy. It often negates comfort and ease. But choosing not to sacrifice is still a choice.

Choosing not to sacrifice leaves me fighting to either stay somewhere that I don't belong or stagnating and slipping backward into less than I want to be. And ending up bruised and battered in the fight.

Choosing to sacrifice parts of myself that are holding me back will lead to growth and becoming more than I currently am. If I do it with the guidance of the Spirit, it will lead me to becoming more than I can imagine. It will take me to what God wants me to become, which is really the heart of sacrifice, forgoing my will in favor of the will of the Father.

So this year's theme is SACRIFICE, GROW, BECOME.

And I know that at least part of that sacrifice involves the goals I set in 2012, but didn't achieve. I am kind of excited about it. I have a plan. And I think I have better tools than I did then. We will see.

Variations on Water II

All of the pictures in this post came from my friend David Andersen, a talented and inspiring photographer. 

 If you want to view more of his work visit his website: http://david-andersen.com/

I imagine the love of God like a river flowing slowly and calmly forward. Ebbing and teeming with power around me as I stand firmly on the river bed.  It is warm and golden, sparkling in the light. 

We are born standing in the river.  Sometimes things happen to pull us out of the river and make it hard for us to feel the love surrounding us.

Sometimes as we grow, we decide that we don't really like the river as much as we think that we would like the grass on the side of the river, or maybe the mountains in the distance. So we decide to climb out of the river. We wander away from the river and wonder why we feel so unsettled, so discontent, even sad.

Often we are afraid to completely leave the river, so we stay where we can trail a foot or toe in it, but not allowing of ourselves to step into the warmth and glow.

Elder Dieter Uchtdorf said at a General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in October 2009:

 "Think of the purest, most all-consuming love you can imagine. Now multiply that love by an infinite amount—that is the measure of God’s love for you.  

God does not look on the outward appearance.  I believe that He doesn’t care one bit if we live in a castle or a cottage, if we are handsome or homely, if we are famous or forgotten. Though we are incomplete, God loves us completely. Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly. Though we may feel lost and without compass, God’s love encompasses us completely. 

He loves us because He is filled with an infinite measure of holy, pure, and indescribable love. We are important to God not because of our résumé but because we are His children. He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken. God’s love is so great that He loves even the proud, the selfish, the arrogant, and the wicked.

What this means is that, regardless of our current state, there is hope for us. No matter our distress, no matter our sorrow, no matter our mistakes, our infinitely compassionate Heavenly Father desires that we draw near to Him so that He can draw near to us."

God loves all of us. He loves us when we choose good and when we choose bad. He loves us unconditionally because we are His children. All of us. He wants us to be near Him and feel His infinite love for us.

Back to the river-

If a river is God's love, God wants us to be in the river. His river of love surrounding us, supporting us, giving us the comfort and the blessings we need every day. If we have made poor choices, God wants us to forsake them and return to His river of love. He wants us to step in and allow Him to heal us with His all consuming love.

And more than that, He wants us to trust Him. He wants us to have the courage to lift our firmly planted feet from the rocks and sand below

and allow Him to support and direct our course through life. He has the power. Do we have the courage to trust Him?

Even when we can't see through the fog of life?

Or wonder what direction He is taking us?

Do we relax and let Him support us? Lift and take away our burdens? Do we layback and relax in His love at the beginning, through the middle, and at the end of the day?

Do we have the faith and the hope that he is guiding us somewhere ever more beautiful than we can get to on our own? Even more beautiful than He has already brought us across the ripples of life to?

Do we really trust that He has plans which will take us in the morning to even more beauty than we already see? Do we?

Looking for the Blessings

Today I came home from work with an overwhelming urge to call an individual who had aggreed to help one of my children. This child has been silently struggling.

I had done all I can to fix the struggle, but it was beyond my abilities. I reached out to several people and organizations for ideas on what to try next. I was exploring several options and avenues hoping to find something that would work. During one of those calls a glimmer of a path appeared.

I have often felt the influence of the Holy Ghost in the way I felt it that day last week. For me that influence is like going to the eye doctor. There I sit, peering through the optics trying to make out something as the optician says, "Is one clearer, or two?" Blurry images swim in front of my eyes, until a quiet click opens a clear view and I say, "That one is the one."

Talking with a helpful advisor last week, a person was mentioned, and I thought, "There. She is the one."

So on Monday, I called her and left a message. And waited. And waited. And got distracted by other issues and other children. Today as I drove home I felt a need to call right now. So I came in the house and checked my messages. Nothing.

I got distracted by the things that always distract me when I get home from work, but the urge was still there. So I looked for the number, which fortuitously was right on my bedside table, and Ms. V answered. She was so gracious and kind and willing to help.

I hung up grateful to her and grateful to a loving Heavenly Father who was mindful of my family's need and sent much help this week from many directions, but most especially remembered this important need and sent promptings at the perfect time to remind me to make a call for my child.

Gotta Have Faith

All of the pictures for this post come from here-

Today I finished reading the Book of Mormon. I don't know how many times through this is. I haven't kept track. It isn't that important to me to remember that.

What I want to remember is the feelings I have had over the last week about faith.

Faith is and has been a concept that has jumped out at me for many years since I was in high school. By faith I mean, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and His, our, Eternal Father.

"Faith is knowing the sun will rise, lighting each new day," says a line in a children's song. A simple yet profound thought.

Do I have faith that the sun will rise each day? Yes I do... but, then, maybe I don't. On the dark and hard days do I know that good things will return or that maybe they won't, yet all is still well? Do I really have faith or just an expectation due to something that happens over and over without fail, and then when it doesn't come as expected do I wait upon the Lord or not? What is my reaction in the trial of daily life? Is it one filled with faith and hope?

As I've read the end of the Book of Mormon, my heart has anguished for the pain filled stories of Mormon and Moroni, a father and son living at a time of great turmoil, evil, and war. Their lives were never easy. Mormon began leading armies as a young man. He obviously married and had at least one child. The story of his wife is never told. Did she die in child birth? Did she die later during the never ending war? Did she leave him alone with this son to raise by her own choice? The story doesn't say. I hope that she was a faith filled support for Mormon and Moroni for all of her days, but that history isn't written in the pages we have.

I was born of goodly parents. I was raised with truth and knowledge of a plan of happiness for all mankind in my life. I was taught about having faith in this plan. I remember reading and underlining lots of scriptures about faith. When I first began underlining I used both red and blue for scriptures about faith. There are so many of them.

Today as I read the book of Moroni, I came upon many of those old favorites. They shined forth as beacons of hope amid the depravity and terror of the stories of war and hate. I know that Mormon and Moroni saw God. I know that the Brother of Jared saw Jesus Christ. Those men believed and hoped and worked until they knew. But despite their faith, it still was hard to live through the grief and pain.

The Jaredites were planning to leave their home land. They built - according to the direction of Jehovah, the creator of the earth - eight barges to carry them across the sea. Now one has to wonder how long these builders took in noticing that it was really dark and awfully stuffy in these barges. For whatever reason, they didn't ask until they were finished. It could had something to do with the fact that they seemed to think that the Brother of Jared, their leader, was the only one who could talk to God.

Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe others prayed. Maybe they got direction. Most likely, if they did, the direction was to "be still, and know that I am God." In other words, "Be patient. I have it covered. In due time, I will make known the plan. And in this case it will be to your leader."

So they finally asked through the Brother of Jared. If you have read the story, you know that he was told to make holes in the top and bottom of the boat. I don't understand how that really helped, but I watched a youtube video that made some interesting suggestions. Maybe youtube man, the Brother of Steve, is right. I don't know. I choose to have faith and believe that this really happened regardless of my lack of scientific knowledge in how it actually happened.

I chose to accept that when Mahonri Moriancumer, the Brother of Jared, came in prayer, having worked through the problem of getting light in the barges, that he truly saw the finger and then the actual body in spirit of the Lord Jesus Christ. I have chosen to have faith in this story.

But here is another thing, that I haven't heard anyone ask about in this story.

There were eight barges. From everything we read, they were not hooked together. I know if I had been one of the Jaredites, I would have wondered how they were going to stay together in the time it took to cross the sea.

Maybe the spiritual high of the rocks shining after Mahori's conversation with the Lord got them to shove off, but at sometime during those 344 interminable days, they must have wondered if they would ever reach the promised land. Sometime during those days and hours as they were bashed about in the dimness, because how much light could two stones give off anyway, they must have struggled with doubts and worry? With little or no ability to communicate with their brothers and sisters in the other barges, they must have wrestled to keep their faith in the Lord and His plan.

And isn't that how it is today? We struggle to hold onto to our faith and hope through a world dim and dark. A world of noise and distraction. A world of pain and even evil.

I love Mormon and Moroni's accounts in the Book of Mormon so much because they lived through the awful kinds of things we live through today. The heart of men failed during their lifetimes. Men's affection towards each other became cold. They hardened their hearts toward the spirit and love, and fought until death. They tortured and killed innocent children. They raped innocent daughters and probably sons. They lost their humanity, and through it all Mormon and Moroni watched and prayed and probably cried.

Yet they never lost their faith, their hope, and their charity towards others.

Moroni repeats his father and finishes his book by saying about faith, "And Christ truly said unto our fathers: If ye have faith ye can do all things which are expedient unto me." Maybe he was talking about the Jaredites. Maybe the Nephites. Maybe his father. Maybe himself. Maybe he was talking to us.

Truly this section of the plan of salvation, the one we are living, is trying. It is hard. Things happen that have no explanation. Things come that we don't want. We lose people. They die. They leave the belief system that we hold dear. They wander and become lost. It is saddening. It is grief and sorrow inducing, but we can not give up our faith and lose hope. We can not allow it to change our hearts toward hate.

We have been born onto this earth and placed in families like unto the barges of the Jaredites. We can't always control where those barges are going because we were also given agency. And as great as agency is, it causes pain too.

But through it, we can chose to have faith, ignoring the logic, and enticing, and pull of Satan and the world. God has a plan. Moroni says, "...he [God] worketh by power, according to the faith of the children of men." 

 God's plan will win in the end. His plan will end in happiness if we have faith. It will. I know this is true.

 

And if you need a few more stirring words to keep you going in the battle like Mormon and Moroni try these from Jeffrey R Holland.