2016 Christmas Prose "Feed Yourself Full"

I want to teach my kids to fish

not with fishing pole and bait

but skills to feed themselves

I've been throwing fishes at them for so long

feed my family

put food on the table

A full pantry, a home cooked meal, and full bellies satisfy my mommy heart

But these days, the cupboards are pretty bare- Mom's away and kids fend for themselves

I'm okay with that...they're adults

They should be able to take care of themselves...right?

Making money has never been my strong suit

Good worker, hard worker...but smart worker...

not so much.

With Wall Street noise, frenetic battle between bulls and bears,

 I reflect on quieter times-

When a little fish and bread could satisfy the needs of many

When coins for taxes could be found in the mouth of a fish

 and a man could make a living by the the sea

All it took was a little direction to find the perfect spot to cast the net

and find it full

Inspired Worker!

Called to the work as fishers of men

Caring for both body and soul

I've thrown many a fish at the feet of little ones

Heartfelt fishing in hopes my faith might feed them

But they too need skills to feed themselves and be Filled with the spirit

Receiving the witness of the Risen Lord-

To one day handle him and see-that a spirit hath not flesh and bones

Partaking fish and honeycomb to make a point

Feeding himself

Body and spirit united

Experiencing Fullness

Relative Guilt and Shame

This morning I was thinking about guilt and shame sometimes felt while interacting with relatives. It was brought to my attention as my son accused me of guilting and shaming him during his visit. He suggested I was doing the same thing my father had done to me. I was repeating a vicious cycle and certainly not giving him a warm send off.  It was a moment of disconnection-a moment of separation.  Instead of gathering my chicks around me, I was scattering them with my words and anger directed toward actions and character. I reminded him not to condemn me but rather allow me to make a different choice.  Let me repent.  Let me change.  Let me be with you. Don't put me in a box and slap a label on me. I can communicate in a more loving, empathetic manner.

For some children, coming home for the holidays can be drag.  Coming home to "Utah" can cause anxiety as well.  It can be a trigger reminding them of the LDS values they grew up with along with cultural expectations of what "good" LDS kids do. Many believe Utah is too "judgy"-a  place chocked full of "guilty Mormons."   Guilt is not the same as shame though they are often confused and misunderstood.

Guilt can be extremely valuable and helpful.  According to Brene Brown, acclaimed shame researcher, guilt lets us know when we're not living according to our values and where we may want to change.  She notes that guilt suggests, "I  did something bad" versus shame's conclusion that "I am bad."  Being able to separate one's sense of worthiness from behavior is key in maintaining mental health and making necessary behavioral changes.  Even if we're continually making the same bad choices, it does not mean our behavior is permanently part of who we are-Here's a label...you're a damned soul.  Ms Brown states," When we see positive behavioral changes we can almost always track it back to guilt. "Guilt says, 'I've done something and I'm holding it up against my values-and it doesn't feel right...  Shame corrodes the part of us that believes we can change."  With repetitive wrong doing, she asks at what point our assessment shifts from "You've lied" to You're a liar"- or you've done something bad versus you're a bad person.  She suggests" it's that point in which I give up believing you can make different choices."  When a person starts believing the label, how can they make different choices?"

Of course, we can avoid  feeling guilty by placing ourselves in environments with different values and surrounding ourselves with people without expectations-who allow us to do anything we want and be whatever. We can find people without boundaries and limits-who don't say "Here's what's OK, Here's what's not."    We can also numb ourselves to silence the feeling of guilt by engaging in a multitude of unhealthy, unhelpful practices.

We can abandon the idea of coming home all together or connecting with that part of our past or the people who knew us from the beginning. Yet for many, home is symbolic for love and acceptance-a place of beginnings and becomings. It's filled with the people who really know us and love us no matter what;   People who would do anything for us-who want us to succeed and are there for us even when we don't. Home is sacred space-a haven from shame, or at least it should be.

If we can't be home, at least we can call.  But for some, that too induces guilt and shame.  Satan loves shame and tells us we're not worthy to call home through prayer-we're not worthy of any type of connection with our Maker.  He gives us alternative ways to feel good or feel god within us.

Since shame erodes our sense of worthiness for connection, perhaps the trend in new age spirituality is a way to circumvent shame and guilt.  It makes some people feel better to connect with a spirit essence of the universe imposing no laws or will upon them.  Why make all this effort to repent and be clean if God can dwell in a unholy temple anyway?  My body is a temple. Who needs a Savior if you can connect with god without any limits on my behaviors. Why all this holy and worthiness stuff. That's induces shame.  I should be able to connect with the power of the universe regardless-right?   Well then-why even take a bath?  Why even "deck the halls" for special visitors.  Hey-this is me-this is how it is...deal with it. I'm home. I'm here with you.

It's all so confusing.  Nevertheless, I know my Heavenly Father doesn't shame me.  He believes I can change!  He doesn't give up on me!  His calls for my repentance might not be all warm and fuzzy.  These behavioral observations or heavenly feedback may make me feel uncomfortable and yes, at times even guilty.  But I will not confuse that with shame. The antidote for shame is love and empathy. Love washes over any feeling of shame. I receive an amply supply of that feeling through the atonement of Jesus Christ.  He is my perfect empath helping me not only feel at home here on earth, but empowering me on the path leading back to my heavenly home.

Fool

This morning I was thinking about the importance of admitting my own stupidity and how it can open the channel to much needed guidance and support.  I suppose in the same manner, holding on to the idea, "I'm not that stupid" or "I would never do something so foolish" bolsters my pride rather than builds me up.

I so badly want to be "smart."  Having dealt with dumb blonde jokes my whole life, or being referred to as an "airhead", I suppose it's natural wanting to prove everyone wrong.  Lately, instead of using my mornings for thinking (as noted in the title of this blog) I've been focusing on education via the internet.  I'm trying to take more control of my financial future and learn investment strategies with limited risk.  The smart goal is to have enough knowledge and skill so my choices will look more like investing than gambling.  I'm not doing so well but at this point, I'm still willing to try.  When I've succeeded, it's usually been more luck than skill.  I'd love to attribute results to my own genius.  But the fact remains...I lose-whether it's my emotional side running the show or getting distracted-something seems to be getting in the way.  I have to figure it out asap.

This weekend I went with my mother to watch my kids shoot guns up the canyon at the Provo Gun Club. It was great to see my daughter's swagger as she shared her passion with her siblings.  I had ear protection most of the time, but it was easy to feel rattled inside as the powerful guns went off.  When it was time to leave, I couldn't find the keys to the car.  We knew I mostly stayed in the car.   I laughed with my mom saying "It's not like I just went out there and waved my hands in the air like an idiot and threw my keys into the air. They have to be here in the car somewhere. I'm not that stupid."  My daughter had a spare key and we left the range knowing the key would turn up later.

While sitting with my mom at the library listening to a fabulous chamber orchestra concert, I went over the details at the gun club and where the keys could be.  I tried to enjoy the world class musicians as much as possible but found my mind drifting.  Finally I said to myself, "You know Erin, you are pretty stupid and you would get out the car, get distracted and drop your keys in some random place."  At that point, I received a prompting to return to the gun range and look in the dirt even though I knew no one would be there and it might be closed.  I had to try.  My mom wasn't too keen on the idea, but we went immediately after the concert.

Miraculously, the gates were still open and we saw a few cars in the lot.  The head dude with the orange safety jacket came out to the car and asked if I was missing some keys and handed them to me.  He explained how lucky I was since he would usually be gone by now but was testing out some new gun and stayed later. What a blessing!  I was glad I had listened to that voice telling me to go back now and check.  However, I don't think I would have had the same result if I didn't admit previously that I was that stupid.  Perhaps I would have kept looking in my purse, car etc and missed the small window of opportunity to find the guy in the orange jacket.

How many promptings do I ignore daily?  What treasures could I find if I would only listen and respond immediately?    How many promptings are blocked because I'm too concerned with building myself up rather than being humble and teachable? It reminded me of a great scripture in the Book of Mormon in 2 Nephi 9:42

"And whoso knocketh, to him will he open; and the wise, and the learned, and they that are rich, who are puffed up because of their learning, and their wisdom, and their riches-yea, they are they whom he despiseth; and save they shall cast these things away, and consider themselves fools before God, and come down in the depths of humility, he will not open unto them."

Yes, I want to be smart, but I also want to be a fool-a fool for Christ.

Tether

This morning I was thinking about tethering myself to lifesaving devices and their power to help us surface from the deep.  This has reference to a required demonstrable skill for a lifeguarding class I was required to take last year. To perform a deep water submerged victim rescue, the lifeguard performs a feet first dive, finds and holds onto to the victim's side, uses both hands in a coordinated manner to pull on the towline until reaching the surface then places the red tube between the guard and victim. It's not easy, especially in a stressful testing situation, let alone in real life.  The little 16 year old would be lifeguards did great but you can imagine how I did;  me performing under pressure-not a good mix.  It was miserable.  My wet hands were shaking so badly after pulling my classmate out of the water that I struggled for several minutes just put the stupid nitrile gloves on.  My CPR manikin had to wait a long time to get its' CPR.  In real life the victim would have been dead.

A couple of weeks ago I was in another situation requiring lifesaving skills during my Wilderness First Responder training to fill another work requirement. This time around the class was much more demanding. My training was full of hard core wilderness/adventure people with the likes of helicopter skiing guides who had been in avalanches, a guy starting up an outfitting business to hunt bears and lions, a medical director who oversees operations for climbing expeditions in Nepal, an OT whose husband did search and rescue or was in special ops or something intense, a seasoned canyoneering dude with a scar for every high risk mishap he's had in the last 30 years, and then there was me...Well, let's just say I didn't quite fit in as Mary Poppins full of sweetness and light who freaks out under pressure. 

I was put on the spot since I was grouped with the "recerts" who were suppose to already know what they were doing.  So in my group trauma scenario, my trainer set it up-"a bus load of tourist at a National Park just crashed into a tree;  you're x miles away from cell phone service; you are the first on the scene; now go respond."  Trying to act as point to triage and treat multiple victims had me running around the room like a foolish little girl who obviously didn't know what she was doing.  It was a joke.  I was a joke.

It wasn't much better when I only had one pretend victim as I tried to pull traction (which I have never done) on a dislocated shoulder and use a fake Epi pen properly.  When I'm super stressed, every little piece of information flies out the window-my mind goes completely blank.  Not only did I miss some key pieces of the assessment, but I apparently pretend shot myself with the epi pen.  Great. Though I nearly got a perfect score on the written test, I failed the practical and ended up staying for much of the remainder of the week to complete additional training.

It sounds funny now, but it was not funny then.  Since only 2 days prior to the start this wilderness responder class, I literally could not find the strength to get out of bed to return to the doctor and have my blood drawn. I was so feverish and dehydrated-my body wasn't cooperating. I was still dealing with this allergic reaction to "something" during much of this training.  I was itchy, puffy, uncomfortable and felt like my skin was drying up and falling off.  I was not in my best form during this training but I blame it more on my mental state.

All this performance under pressure stuff sent me head long into an emotional crisis of self evaluation.  I spent the following week staying in bed much longer, not because I was sick, but because I felt a little aimless and unmotivated.  Getting back on track at work was difficult after my absence.  I was a fish out of water.

Looking back at those weeks, I felt like I was submerged under water, struggling to breathe.  The only constant thread running through each morning during those weeks was reading a couple chapters of the Book of Mormon on my cell phone.  As I lay in bed trying to face the new day, it seemed like each verse spoke directly to me and gave me perspective and some courage.  It was a lifeline of faith, hope, and charity.  It was a lifeline reminding me of the vital and lifesaving doctrines of Christ.

This morning, when considering whether or not to share my testimony during sacrament meeting, the image of the red rescue tube came to mind and I equated it with the Book of Mormon.   It acted as a heavenly tether to the surface of the land of the living; all I had to do was reach up and keep pulling and eventually I would rise from the abyss and breathe again. Perhaps that's a bit too dramatic; I really wasn't that low but I know the Book of Mormon has dramatic, mighty power to save.  It is a buoyant object I can rely on-a great tether!

Event Will Go On-Rain or Shine

This morning I was thinking about 2 events that went on-rain or shine.  One was the Chalk the Block event held at the Provo Riverwoods;  the other a planned outdoor wedding up at a Sundance cabin for my fellow RT and office mate.  Both events could not be "rained out" or re-scheduled-even if they were happening in less than ideal autumn weather.  I referenced both of these events for my group yesterday about managing disappointments.  I asked the kids how they would go on if their dreams and plans were doused and drenched by forces they could not control.  I had them consider what types of rain storms blow through their life dampening their spirits and how they cope.

Though I'm sure the Chalk the Block artists are inspirational every year, interviewing the die-hards provided powerful examples of resilience.  These artists-many high school and college students had spent hours, even days on their pastel chalk drawings only to see their labors washed away by the rain. They came prepared to protect their art with tarps, duct tape, tents, canopies, leaf blowers, brooms-anything-as they labored to salvage their drawings...yet the rain kept coming. It didn't seem to let up-it kept pooling up, seeping under the protective coverings. It was perfectly understandable how some of these artists quit and went home.  However, it more surprising to see all the artists that literally went "back to the drawing board" to do their artwork over and over again.  Some reported going to their cars, crying, letting it all out, regrouping, and returning to their parking space to start again.  They were cold, haggard, and worn out physically and emotionally. How do you find the strength to keep going when things don't seem to let up?

By the time our students were touring the artwork, the rain had stopped.  The artists were making progress painstakingly redoing their work.  When asking the kids to consider what they had learned, they reported being inspired by the patience, persistence, and passion of these artists.  They saw examples of people who cried then tried again, who were passionate about art-who are driven to create-getting in the zone to work 11 hours straight; who honored loved ones and their memories by depicting them in their art, who shared a part of themselves and what's important to them to make the world a more beautiful place-if only for a brief moment.

As we drove back to campus I pointed out the sun shining through the clouds and how in a half hour, our RT would get her outside wedding.  It wouldn't be perfect-but it wouldn't be raining. It would be held in the forest, not in a tent.  Though she had been so anxious about her perfectly planned event being ruined-she had gotten her break. As I drove up and drank in the spectacular sunset and autumn colors, I couldn't help think the green, yellow, orange, and red leaves seemed more vibrant after the storm-how the sunset was particularly dramatic as it danced off the clouds.  I parked the car and made it to  the dance floor to witness my sweet co-worker like a fairy princess in her fairy like forest kingdom.  She looked absolutely stunning surrounded by her friends and family.  I cried.  I was happy to capture the image in my heart.  She was as inspirational as those chalk artists.  It was just what I needed.

The turn in the weather seemed to mimic my own depressed mood.  I was so sad this week. Like the gloomy clouds, colder temperatures, and incessant rainfall, I too was crying-not because I was spiritually moved, but because I was sad.  So sad and disappointed.  Sad for personal failures with work, home, and church, sad for my circumstances, sad for my children's heartaches, sad about other people's choices as well as my own.  Sad and unmotivated to keep going. I felt like canceling everything and staying in bed, and doing nothing-it's a rain out.

When a car accidently clipped me this week while riding my bike and kept on driving without noticing, I burst into tears like the crying clouds above me. It seemed to represented exactly how I felt lately-invisible, alone, bent out of shape, stopped in my tracks, aimless, out of place and beat up. Yet just when I feel like the rain is never going to let up, something reminds me that the sun eventually breaks through the clouds-the rain stops just enough to finish crying, dust myself off, and get back to work-even if it's redoing my artwork-my lifework for the upteenth time.  There will be those perfect autumn days when everything seems right and I'm soaring with the hawks while riding the zip line at Sundance but I realize that weather can change rapidly.  Each day is my main event and it will go on-rain or shine.

100th post-Why I write

This morning I was thinking about my reasons for writing this blog, especially since this is my 100th posting.  What am I trying to accomplish?  What's my purpose?  Does this blog serve anyone? What's my motivation?   Does anyone even care what I have to say?  Why do I care?  Am I only an attention seeking narcissist?

 First of all, writers write.  I once had a friend who encouraged me go ahead and label myself as an artist, a musician or writer instead of waiting around until I was published, publically recognized or being paid for my work.  Being full of self-doubt, I waited for validation from other people to give that label to me after my works merited it.  However, I've learned the most important things I have done in life, I've usually done for free.  I'm the one doing the paying.  It's part of my life mission-a personal calling, if you will.  Regardless, she told me to-wear the label-own it-do it.  I feel compelled to create and feel joy as I share my expression with others.  My best art usually happens when I am creating to serve others instead of feeding my ego.  I can certainly tell when my work is missing the spark of inspiration.

I started writing after being released as a Relief Society teacher and wanted to continue taking time to think deeply about things, make connections, and discover and express truths. It's my own search for meaning.  It's also my way of adding my witness to the truths found in gospel of Jesus Christ-my little book of Erin.  All things testify of Christ and Heavenly Father's plan for our happiness.  The more I look for the connections, the more I see them.  Everything becomes symbolic. Everything becomes an opportunity for experiential  learning.  The gospel is the lense by which I view my world.  My daughter would argue my blog relies heavily on my boy crazy, "search for love" lense.  Nevertheless, relationships are central to God's plan as well. Our brain is designed for human connection and the development of empathy one of our highest aims.

I also used to write a post of "Weekly Blessings" on my facebook feed.  It was an exercise to notice that hand of the Lord in my daily life.  I could just as easily have done a weekly paragraph of my "Latest Horrible Things About My Life."  However, noting the good things in my world helps me keep a positive focus.  It fuels my drive for life instead of feeling depleted of resources- running on empty, instead of full. It's a great habit I want to reinforce and continue.  I have shifted this practice to my private journal though I do think there is value in a public declaration of the goodness of our God.

 And then there is the attention piece. I'm comfortable in the limelight-in front of the crowd.  Give me a empty stage and I'll dance across it.  Give me a mic and I'll use my most dramatic voice. Who doesn't want to be a star?  Who doesn't want people to like them?   I guess there are lots of meek, humble people who cringe at the thought of receiving any personal attention.  That's not me, though I appreciate their selfless examples.  For me, it's trying to use that attention to increase personal influence for good.  We can get attention and then turn that attention to the person in the big spotlight-The Savior.  I write because I want to seek for light and truth and encourage others to do likewise.

Does anyone even care what I have to say?  I know I sometimes get caught up in caring too much what others think.  Yet I know, most of the time, people are thinking about themselves-they're not thinking about me or what I wrote.  Being self-conscious is a waste of time because I'm just not that important.  I'm preoccupied with myself.  Which is easy to understand since I'm with myself 24/7.   In my mind, I see some secret someone reading my blog and really "getting me" and then really "getting it" Whatever it is.   I'm still going to explore and continue my writing for whatever reason.

Gold Medal State of Functioning

This morning I was thinking about Olympians and what it takes to win the gold.  The only olympics I watched this year was in preparation for an olympic themed school activity I put together this week. Using some concepts from Bruce Perry's Neurosequential Model of Therapeutics, I wanted to make each "olympic event" a somatosensory activity targeting sensory integration, self-regulation, relational, and cognitive domains. Knowing the students wouldn't remember anything but getting candy,  I held up my hand to represent  some very basic areas of the brain:  brainstem (wrist) diencephalon & midbrain (heel) limbic (palm) and neocortex (knuckles).  Then I opened my hand and challenged them to "HANDle it"; to handle each stessor that would come their way and use as much of their brain as possible.  Could they handle that challenge of exercising their senses?  Could they handle trying to direct their physical movements?  Could they handle being in a group of people and kind of get along?  Could they handle working to solve problems and create? 

The answer was "no".  In one fail swoop, I lost 3 of my would be campers to the relational, problem solving challenge presented in my olympic torch activity.  I  briefly shifted my focus to the ground to prepare one of the obstacles and looked up to find 3 boys at each other's throats, or in this case, eyes.  Great.  Just great.  Were they capable of getting along?  Did they have the necessary skills?  You betcha.  But because of the excitement and stimulation or fireworks or something else-it was just too much-They couldn't handle it.  I was reminded of the truth, "All functioning is state dependent." 

Olympic fails remind me of this as well.  How many times does the projected winner win?  Great skill combined with an optimal performance state of mind equals a gold medal.  I'm continually amazed at world class athletes who perform under pressure and are able to do their very best when the stakes are the highest.  Olympic fails are heartbreaking.  However, when athletes choke under pressure, I can sure relate.  

My most recent "choking" incident was during our ward's annual family tennis tournament. I play tennis.  I'm pretty good.  I practiced my basic skills in preparation for the tournament.  I'm not an athlete, but I'm athletic.  BUT you would absolutely never know it according to my piss, poor performance.  My mental game was off the charts in the wrong direction.  I freaked out, not only because I was in a game situation, but I couldn't block out a bleacher full of ward members glancing my way every once in awhile.  I realized, I had never played before spectators before.  I couldn't handle the stress and I played like a beginner.  My emotional state was a mess.  I cared too much about the judgments of others or even my own assessment of physical skills.  I wasn't anywhere close to "being in the zone" or giving a gold medal performance of skill. My functioning was state dependent

So where do I go from here?  How do I get that gold medal state of functioning?  I've taken to getting up early and riding over to the high school tennis courts to practice my serves and hitting tennis balls against a wall.  I'm making it a symbolic practice of putting on a little bit of stress, in a rhythmic, patterned, repetitive manner in order to improve my own brain functioning.  The stress of getting a fuzzy yellow ball over the net in a game situation is insignificant; optimal performance under stress is everything.  I want to be like Yusra Mardini, from the Olympic Refugee Team, who swam for 3 hours pulling a rubber boat to save 30 lives including her own.  I watched the little video clip and started bawling; how inspiring!  How much more important than winning a Olympic swimming race! That's optimal state dependent functioning deserving of a billion gold medals.  

Step In Time

This morning I was thinking about the production number, "Step In Time" from the broadway version of Mary Poppins.  This was the moment in the play when moved by artistic lyric and symbol, I brushed away my tears.  It was unexpected, since I've always hated this Disney classic, though I still refer to myself as "Mary Poppins" with treatment children.  However, I was open to seeing the broadway version of this musical while attending the Shakespeare Festival with my daughter this past weekend.  I was glad to hear from the festival's founder, Fred Adams, during the orientation how the musical version is different than the Disney movie and centers around Mr. Banks transformation.  It's also about the most important work we can do in this life. I know Mary Poppins gets top billing with her iconic magical umbrella, but I want to highlight Bert with his cleaning rod-that's what I'd put on my poster.  His work and the tools he uses are just as magical.

Bert is the first person we see in the play-he narrates it.  It helped that this Cedar City production had a particularly eye catching Bert.  Even the chimney sweep that came up into the balcony to sing made me smile with his handsome charisma.  But in the play and maybe in the movie as well, (I'm not going to watch it), Bert is represented as a jack of all trades, not just a chimney sweep.  He can do it all, and he doesn't seem bothered by his titles, reputation or lack thereof.  He just goes about doing his work with a cheerful attitude.  However, his most show stopping work is the big production dance number, "Step in Time" where he is covered in soot along with his helpers.  It was at this moment where I recognized that the lyrics leading up to this familiar dance ditty were different than the movie.  The lyricist, Anthony Drewe explains his effort to make a "textually more meaningful show-stopping sequence."  He stated, "our notion is that chimney sweeps, under the leadership of Bert, are like sooty faced guardian angels...The sweeps take up the call in this song lyric:

Brush away the dirt and soot, brush away your tears.
Cobwebs that aren't swept away hang around for years.
In all weather, up all hours, we can see for miles
Our idea of heaven is night out on the tiles.

We may look like a motley crew, smudged with tar and grime
But when you need a helping hand
We try to step in, try to step in, try to step in-just in time.

(This is where the sweeps break into the familiar tune"Step In Time:)

Mary Poppins and Bert then do a duet:

Childhood is a step in time
Parenthood's the same
Never mind a chance to get it right

Don't is seem a perfect crime?
Don't it seem a shame?
When the steps aren't going right
or as smoothly as they might
That's when we step in, step in time

Just remember when you're low

Feeling in the wars

Someone's up your chimney

And it isn't Santa Claus 

if you need us, if you don't

Doesn't make much odds

We'll be watching over you

brushes, brooms, and rods

Though the musical number was great and I appreciated the new lyrics, it wasn't until the following scene where this guardian angel theme really played out.  I didn't remember this scene being in the movie.  Bert and his filthy crew are milling about the family room looking very busy.  It's a little out of place in prim and proper English household complete with maids in white pinafores. I'm not certain whether Mr. Banks could see them or not, thus the allusion to the angels.  It was Bert who gave the father the letter requesting his late night attendance with his superiors.  It was Bert comforting the father, assuring him  things would work out and encouraging him to go.  Mr. Banks is at his lowest-he fears he will lose his job and will be stripped of everything.  His wife assures him that his family is beside him, supporting him all the way; it's putting family first and being with the people we love.  

Observing Bank's despair about employment reminded me of my own friends who are currently unemployed and searching for their place.  Our work is so entwined with our sense of worth. Without ennobling work, we find our self drifting, aimless.  I too, search for identity through work and what my pre-retirement goals should be. Sometimes I'm career minded and feel I must get my masters degree right away.  Other times, I feel it would be fine to do menial labor-whatever it takes to make ends meet and clean up my own messes. I suppose in the end, there is really no such thing as menial labor, even if we have to get our fingernails dirty.    

Thinking back on the scene with the sweeps, I realize they are filthy because of US and our junk!  It is our dirt and grime.  Sweeps are  trying to make our homes all English prim and proper.  It is our mistakes, sins, weaknesses, infirmities, hardships they are trying to take on-bear if you will.  For me, Bert is symbol of our the Savior and Heavenly Father.  Who is a better jack of all trades?  All things are done under His direction.  He is certainly watching over us.  His ministering angels surround us. They are doing His work.  We minister to others in like manner-everyone pitching in to clean up the mess.  Everyone helping with each others personal transformation-helping people make necessary changes; letting Christ change us.

Instead of viewing chimney sweeps as degrading, menial labor, it is the most necessary of professions because it helps others become clean and be comfortable with the people they love. It exalts others to a different station.  Who wants to sit around in a filthy house, or travel in a filthy car? Or live forever with someone who is super messed up and unwilling to make any changes?  We want to be clean without spot.  Not only guiltless, but spotless-as if sins and impurities were  lifted out of us like a floating Mary Poppins umbrella.  Or better yet, with a Bert's cleaning rod stepping in just in the nick of time to make it possible.    

Cheerleader

This morning I was thinking about the role of a cheerleader in offering social support.  Being a cheerleader and wearing a uniform was instant personal attention but the megaphones, pom poms, microphones, exaggerated moves-were intended to grab attention and lead the crowd in cheers to unify support. The big crowd chants and cheers were the BEST.  Cheerleading power led to community service and doing something less frivolous than merely shaking my butt.  The athletes remarked how they played better when they felt the crowd behind them.  It was in these moments when I wore my red and white Lancer uniform with pride. 

I remember how exciting it was to wear my cheer uniform for the first time. It was much less exciting by senior year wearing our cheer get ups 4 out of 5 days a week to show "support" whenever any sport had a game.  Some of the cheerleaders complained about never getting to wear her own clothes. Oh the hardship!  I remember another incident sitting around with our squad in the bleachers arguing about uniforms and hurt feelings.  Can't quite remember the specifics now.  It was just selfish and ugly.  It was also ugly when some of the cheerleaders basically told the dance teacher  to f off while refusing to have any kind of organized class -mean girls unleashed.

Why is it that we have a tendency to pull each other down, instead of cheer each other on?  What is so threatening about others success that we feel like we have to make it all about us?  Can you truly be happy for another person and encourage them to be their best-even if they are better than you?  In those moments when people ascend to the throne, are we like the hag yelling, "Queen of Refuse" and throwing rotten tomatoes?  I saw that yesterday in my small microcosm of a little girls during an expression group.  It seemed like a good idea at the time-give them a microphone to sing and support one another.  It quickly became apparent whoever held the microphone, held the the scepter of power. It was the "all about me" show. Whoever held the microphone also became the target.  One little girl received quite the verbal lashing from her peers.  Group focus of expression and social support definitely not met. One particularly dysregulated girl, yelled "BOOOO" with so much venom, or in this case spittle drooling down her beet red face, it seemed like her head was spinning around and eyes were popping out.  Can you see it?  I sure could all last night, as visions of my own tribe of mean girls danced through my head.  It was no surprise that singer had difficulty ignoring the taunting, left the room crying, and stated how everyone hated her.

I contrast that to the feeling I had earlier in the week while participating in the temple to temple run/walk.  Throughout the 5k, there was such a spirit of community.  It was a family run-high school teens from x-country teams, kids on push scooters,  mothers strolling their babies, lots of people young and old walking, even a couple of people pushing a handcart in pioneer garb. There was more peer pressure to walk than to keep up with the fit crowd. Missionaries were sprinkled along the path giving us high fives; hair salon students were gathered on the corner banging gongs and chanting cheers; strangers were gathered near the finish line, all clapping and cheering everyone-one by one. The scene was so supportive of every individual effort-cheering us on to finish our race.  It made me cry as I thought of the truth of the moment.

I have people on the other side, and people living right now-people all around me who love me and are cheering me on with a great big smile. Together they chant and tell me to valiantly finish my race. My race might be not be of the same athletic caliber of my peers, but it is still my trek.  Some of these people are close to me, others are strangers I barely know me but they still add their voices. The sound of the crowd encourages me.  It gives me courage to keep fighting-keep pressing forward.  I need much less tomato throwing and much more pom poms shaking.  Oh how I need cheerleaders!

Mike Heritage?

This morning I was thinking about a Navajo woman I met last week with the last name of "Mike".  What the heck?  Wanting to learn more about the background of her very common name, I asked about her background.  Come to learn it was common practice for the U.S. Calvary to bequeath their first names such as Mike, Henry, George-whatever as surnames to individuals in her Navajo nation.  I was embarrassed and a bit outraged of yet another humiliation inflicted by the "white man" while attempting to strip these Native Americans of their national pride and heritage.  I suppose it could be seen as a way to pledge allegiance to a new nation and create a new identity, but Mike...come on- what kind of heritage is that? It just seems like your name should reflect where you came from and where you want to go, or more importantly, what you want to be.  We want to honor our names, respect our heritage and continue the legacy.

I treasure my last name O'Malley.  I love my dad.  I'm grateful for my genetics-the good characteristics, even some of the bad traits tie me to him and help me remember him.  While doing family history I give preferential  treatment to my ancestors bearing that surname or at least I seem to have more fervor learning about my Irish roots.  I don't have to be Native American to identify with the concept of "my people."  Summertime is a great season for family reunions and I continue to feel the power of gathering together with my people and feeling the strength and support stemming from family identity.

Today we conclude our celebration of Pioneer Day here in Utah.  It's a big deal.  People in Utah have all sorts of reasons to break out the fireworks.  The celebration is prolonged when it falls on a Sunday, making it "necessary" to celebrate the day before and after the Sabbath.  As part of this celebration I'm participating in a 5K Temple to Temple Run/Walk.  It's only fitting that we do some time of trek to honor our pioneers.  The little running bib says, "Today is dedicated to the memory of ...."  I wrote the name of my aunt who recently passed away after having her leg amputated. A couple of years ago, she expressed a desire for the temple work to be completed for her father even though she was not a member of the church.  I honor her today.  She is a modern day pioneer and I'm sure she's trekking with 2 good legs now.

Yesterday I had our choir "trek" around the picnic tables in the pavilion as we practiced our little pioneer song we're singing next week.  The lyrics are worth memorizing and internalizing.

"We left our home, to come to earth, we're working to pass the test.  We're learning of our true worth, with faith we'll do our best.  When Satan's winds will rattle, we will overcome.  We're trekking through life's battles and we won't stop till we've won.  We will endure to the end.  Our Heavenly Father will protect and blessing he will send, until we conquer this trek."

As I learn of my true worth, I rely on my Heavenly heritage.  No one can strip me of my true identity-where I came from-who I am.  It may be hidden but the genetic material is still there-waiting to be uncovered.  Pres. Uchtdorf stated in April conference:

"The fundamental divinity of our nature remains.  And the moment we choose to incline our heart to our beloved Savior, and set foot upon the path of discipleship, something miraculous happens.  The love of God fills our heart, the light of truth fills our minds, and we start to lose the desire to sin, and we do not want to walk any longer in darkness.  We come to see obedience not as a punishment but as a liberating path of our divine destiny.  And gradually, the corruption, dust, and limitations of this earth begin to fall away.  Eventually, the priceless, eternal spirit of the heavenly being within us is revealed, and the radiance of goodness become our nature. "

I'm grateful for the opportunity to take upon the name of Christ every week.  I'm grateful for covenant names associated with temple worship. These names are fitting of our heritage-much more glorious than any kind of "Mike" surname. 

Spa Robe Coverage

This morning I was thinking about spa robes and being covered.  During my 2 days of being stranded at LAX last week,  my airline put us up for a night's stay in a pretty fancy hotel.  For me, a hotel is "fancy" when everything appears to be brand new, ultra modern and there is a white Egyptian Cotton spa rope hanging up in the closet.  Feeling a little beat up from the airport,  I was all over that action.  I took an insanely long hot shower with the massage shower head, used every drop of the free toiletries, tenderly put lotion all over my tired body, covered up in the white robe and slippers and plopped on the bed. Wrapping up in a clean, white, spa robe makes me feel special and that I deserve a great big hug. This is luxury.  It stood in stark contrast to flying on the cheapo airline that doesn't even serve water or peanuts, makes you pay to use the overhead bins,  and can't seem to replace or repair a plane to carry us back to Provo.  Happens the original plane had some type of malfunction due to a bird flying into the engine. Go figure.  Utah Lake IS one of the best places for bird watching in the state of Utah-perhaps not the best place for an airport.  Nevertheless when we finally landed at 3:30 a.m. Saturday morning, the flight attended reminded us that even though it had taken them longer than expected, (2 days versus 1 hour) the airline had flown us safely to our destination.   I admit, I felt relief when the plane's wheels finally touched down at our rinky dink airport. Besides our fancy hotel, the company fed us expensive airport food for 2 days and gave us 200$ worth of airline credit  All these perks including the spa robe reminded me even though we were at their mercy and had no control over the situation, they made an effort to take care of their passengers-or at least they tried to. They had us covered.

If I'm not covered, then I'm exposed, naked, vulnerable, unprotected, unsafe; it's flying by the seat of my pants. Stiff penalties are levied against those who drive without insurance coverage.  As a society-we demand it.  We know accidents happen-all the time.  Bad things happen- all the time.  The sky is falling-all the time.   We want to know when those bad things happen, someone's going to swoop in and fix it-make it all better, or at least for the other guy we accidentally hit and maimed. That's the law.  Coverage isn't luxury, it's necessity.  Who wants to drive a dented up piece a junk all through high school?  My then 15 yr old son wished my insurance covered his mishaps when taking my car in the dead of night while I slept.  With my income, I couldn't afford to make it all better one my own and my insurance surely wouldn't cover that situation.

With my beat up life, I can't afford to fix it on my own.  I metaphorically drive around with a huge dent in my door, the convertible top is busted and won't retract, the headlights are busted,  rearview mirror is swinging, the vinyl is ripped.  It doesn't even come close to having the new car smell it use to have. We kept driving that car and tried to make the best of it.   Recently someone noted how with my first marriage, I had been trying to make the best of a bad situation but how I could have made different choices to influence my children for the better.  Just because my "relationship car" still had workable, good features-it didn't make it a keeper. Focusing on the good part doesn't make the whole good. It's lost it's inherent value-the Kelley Blue Book buyback price.  No one could swoop in and fix it and restore it to factory condition.  Since the premium of covenant keeping wasn't paid, I didn't have coverage.

I want to be covered.  I want to be protected.  I want the embrace. More luxurious than any spa robe or superwow comprehensive car insurance is the coverage offered through the Savior's grace.

Russell M. Nelson states, "  In Hebrew, the basic word for atonement is kahar, a verb that means "to cover" or "to forgive."  Closely related is the Aramaic and Arabic word kafat, meaning "a close embrace"-no doubt related to the Egyptian ritual embrace.  References to that embrace are evident in the Book of Mormon.  One states that "the Lord hath redeemed my soul...; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.Another proffers the glorious hope of our being “clasped in the arms of Jesus." I weep for joy when I contemplate the significance of it all. To be redeemed is to be atoned—received in the close embrace of God with an expression not only of His forgiveness, but of our oneness of heart and mind. What a privilege! "

Jesus Christ swoops in and makes it all better-my very own hold harmless clause.  Through his grace I am justified.  Jesus Christ also enables me to be a changed person as I continue to repent.  Through his grace I am sanctified. Through his continuous atonement and my continual conversion,  He is able to separate out my evil and my desire for evil and lift it out of me- remove it, burn and purify, make holy, so the whole is good. Though I beat myself up for past choices, I had faith in the atonement then, and I still do.  His incomparable grace wraps me up helping me to feel I am being cared for-even pampered at times.  "...These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."  (Revelation 7:14)   I join my voice to Nephi as he pleads, "O Lord, wilt thou encircle me around in the robe of thy righteousness." Now that's coverage!

Getting Naked

This morning I was thinking about getting naked-stripping off layers-standing there totally exposed-vulnerable-and unprotected.  I don't consider myself a physically loose person.  In terms of experience and exposure-I've had little. I don’t know what it would be like to get drunk, wake up in some random’s bed, gather my clothes and sheepishly make my way out the back door.  Yet emotionally, I think I did that recently.  At least I know what it felt like to have impaired judgement, let loose, freely express myself, lose control, share intimate details about my life, stand there emotionally naked, be judged according to my various flaws and performance, and then proceed to get dressed-put the layers back on, retrace my steps and leave, not as friends, but as mere acquaintances.  It’s got me scratching me head asking, “What the hell was that?”  That was me being loose topped off with a pinch of stupid.  What was I thinking?

Recently I bumped into what my daughter refers to as a "cuddle whore".  I found myself cuddling with a stranger then following it up with some emotional intimacy.  Cuddling is it’s own drug.  Complete with the release of oxytocin, it’s pretty easy to feel bonded to someone after cuddling.  It’s super dangerous, even if it’s labeled as harmless, meaningless cuddling or pretend bonding. I think it’s actually more potent than kissing.  Cuddling makes me feel like I’m with someone I can trust; Cuddling creates an environment where I feel safe and protected-like no matter what has happened in the past, or whatever storm is currently brewing- it will all be okay…Trust me.

I don’t have a lot of experience with cuddling either.  Primarily, I cuddled with my first husband.  It was the cement holding our marriage together-making me feel safe in an unsafe relationship for 23 years..  So when I had the opportunity to cuddle after all these years, I must admit it was warm and wonderful.  Even though it stressed me out enough to get the mother lode of all cold sores the next day- it was worth it…I think.

Perhaps if I would have just called it quits after joining this guy’s cuddle harem and being another notch in his belt,  I wouldn’t have felt that "morning after" sensation-like I just had sex with a stranger.  If I would have kept it casual- friendly-but on the surface.  I should have followed suit when he gave me a fake name and profession.  Why share any truth and risk exposing myself? Instead of being irritated, I should have admired his flippant response to my honest inquiry. Who wants people to just throw up all over them?  Keep your insides to yourself-thank you very much!  Why do you have to dig so deep Erin?  No, it was the cuddling in conjunction with the next couple days of personal disclosure;  after all-this guy could only ever be a friend-he was not interested in a relationship with me.  He was only a consultant.  A teacher.  A potential safe friend.  The all-wise Yoda Cuddle Master.

  Because I didn’t feel like I had to impress this guy at all, I could totally relax and say whatever.  I stripped away all pretense. I felt I was genuinely sharing what was going on in my fractured mind. I sought greater clarity.  I was ready and willing to learn.    I didn’t mind being called out on all my crap.  I could take responsibility for my actions and own my past decisions.  I could try to examine my past dysfunctional patterns I tend to perpetuate.   I could be confronted and accept objective feedback from a person who did not know me, love me, or admire me.  I could just stand there naked and not be afraid.  Or at least I thought I could.

Maybe I like a little flattery every once in a while.  Or how about a sincere compliment.  Or heck, maybe even a little positive focus-what’s good about me or even praiseworthy.  Sometimes even a little lie can help build confidence when it comes to my naked appearance in the bedroom.  I loved that about both of my husbands. I knew the truth about my bodily imperfections, but they made me feel like I didn’t have any.  There was less judgement and more acceptance-even unconditional love. Whatever.  That’s okay.  I’m not a victim or a saint.  I could have made different decisions in regards to my family relationships.   I can still make different decisions.  I shouldn’t mind honest feedback of being messed up.

What I did know, was it was time to put my clothes back on.  It was time to detach and pull away.  I had enough info.  I wasn’t thirsting for more analysis or knowledge.  Whatever it was-it was coming to an end.  My takeaway is learning from my experience.  I have some great information (Of course I just lost my red notebook containing that information while being stranded in the airport for the last  6 hours, but hey, I remember some things).   I have some additional insights.  I want to change for the better. I have increased awareness, including a little more empathy of being intimate with strangers…or lets just say, what NOT to do.  It’s embarrassing. Perhaps I can be more modest with the sharing of personal details.  I can proceed with caution instead of being so gullible and  trusting.  According to my “Yoda” on the hill, when you’re not healthy enough for a intimate relationship, you shouldn’t remain sequestered in your room watching Netflix all the time-you need to get out and interact, but  you need to have consistent and firm boundaries. That’s why he sticks to cuddling.  I think it applies to emotional boundaries as well when deciding how much to reveal to another person and vice versa.  The “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” can be a recipe for disaster.  Maybe he had it right all along when the only thing I knew about him was that he was Fernando the Drug Dealer.  So who I am?  Hmmmm- Let’s see…Well, I’m Shaniqua the street walker getting naked with strangers.

Clutter Chaos Creation

This morning I was thinking about clutter, chaos, and creation and their relationship with each other. Last month I dealt with other people's clutter.  Motivated by a desire to help these individuals feel less overwhelmed by their messy, cluttered living spaces and having some organization skills, I found myself navigating in a sea of chaos.  Most people wouldn't dare to let you in rooms of their disaster areas of their homes.  It's just too personal and embarrassing.  These individuals took a chance and trusted I'd help without judging, taking advantage or being disrespectful while sorting through their personal possessions.  Typically, when a  visitor comes, we'd rather show them our nicely decorated, clean living spaces.  It's better to keep the mess hidden-it's too much to organize.  However, no one wants to drown in their own stuff.

When dealing with clutter, perhaps I'm just willing to take it on-go inside the proverbial "belly of the beast"  Yuck!  When I'm sizing up chaos, I try to follow some basic principles. Have many containers big and small to put items that are alike. Take it slow and careful.  I am not a de-junker who simply throws all the stuff quickly and randomly into boxes and gets rid of it to clear the apartment for the next tenant.  No matter how tempting it is to start fresh and clean without any stuff, sometimes I must deal with it piece by piece and decide first what it is, how the person might value it and where it could possibly go.  Sometimes I have to do micro-organizing with lots of little items.  I scatter the pieces in a large space so I can see what I'm looking at- then gather things and synthesize.  As I clear areas of shelves, drawers etc, I start to view these areas as potential spaces to put the like things I have gathered.  Deciding how each area will be used requires imagination and insight into the person's values.  The goal is to have easy access to the things that matter most.  What's the good of organizing if you can't find anything? Once everything has a place, it becomes a maintenance task-basic household cleaning.  It's the good ole' have a place for everything and put everything in it's place.

Objects represent values.  Usually after a while, a pattern starts to develop of the different categories of stuff.  It's not as broad as we would like to think.  These areas I'm trying to repurpose must represent these values, even showcase them or protect them.  By organizing a person's stuff, I can support them in what they value and hopefully give them access to do what they want to do.  If you love fixing things-here's all your tools organized.  If you love crafts-here's all your supplies organized-go at it.  If you love flying kites-here they are-go and use them and don't just let them sit around as cool Christmas presents you gave 5 years ago.   Here are your resources!  Do something with your life man!

I can't multitask when organizing.  I need all my wits about me.  It's the gathering and synthesis that requires creative energy.  It's starting with chaos and then putting things together.  That's how I create. It's my big bang theory.   About 20 years ago I tried to explain my creative process in a book I wrote for primary choristers.  I stated, "If you were to step inside my head, you might not like what you see.  For one thing, it would be a mess-much like my house.  Utter chaos is what my creativity thrives on...Chaos requires tremendous flexibility of thought as I take one starting point and essentially blow it apart into many different ideas.  I make the giant mess on the floor.  Then I focus my attention on the task at hand and clean the mess up.  These are the same steps I use in my creative process:  The initial idea or starting point, the chaos of thoughts and finally the focused synthesis of ideas."

This week I should have been embarrassed as I showed someone my cluttered, chaotic mind.  It was a mess, or as he called it"nutzo" and "scatterbrain."  Talk about a mess of wires of neural activity! Yet, I don't want to de-junk and yank out all my tangled wiring and throw it in a pile.  I can become a master organizer to de-clutter and create. I can use that scatterbrain quality to blow things apart in my inner space and start to gather and synthesize concepts-get down to the nuts and bolts of my "nutzo" mind.  That's hardware my friend and can ultimately help hold things together-to make important neural connections. I can group similar concepts, sort things according to my highest values, establish a place for them so I can ultimately find and access these resources and utilize them fully.  As I examine ideas, I need to first figure out what they are,  decide their value, and then create a place for them and access them-put ideas into action.  I'm certain there will be ideas to discard.  I don't have to keep everything.  But there is all sorts of good stuff I will find as I organize my cluttered mind.  I too, will be able to use my resources and can go about the business of living life in a creative yet organized manner.   I can do something with my life!

Polka Dance Partner

This morning I was thinking about partner dancing and my polka dance days.  Dancing is a great way of connecting and trying to move together as partners. I had a wonderful dancing friend, Michael Gilmore all through high school.  We actually made up a routine consisting of random musical theatre dance moves, disco, swing, and even a little polka.  When doing the polka, we needed a lot of space, especially if we were going to circumvent the entire dance floor.  Though I'm sure it didn't always get attention in a good way, I didn't care.  It was more like a roller derby- trying weave and bob and not run over anyone.  We both supplied the power with our feet but Michael navigated.  He would choose the direction, taking the lead as I tried to stay in step. After a couple times around the dance floor, I would get so dizzy and out of breath, Michael would have to steady me so I didn't collapse and fall over. Maybe he didn't get as dizzy because he had more control over where we were going. Regardless,  it was more than dancing-it was an adventure!  We loved the journey.

The men I married had distinct ways of partner dancing indicative of our journeys together. My first husband had the capability of being the most fabulous dancer ever; I knew he could confidently lead me around if he wanted to- but he didn't want to.  It was like he was waiting for me to make a move and then he would match and mirror it.  He astutely observed my every move then joined in like he was saying, "look we're the same."   He established rapport, then paced and led.   Ultimately he would be the one in control, but he didn't give that impression at first.  It was more subtle.  Instead of feeling in sync,  I remember feeling frustrated because our movements lacked purpose, seemed disorganized and weren't cohesive.

My second husband just stood there limp and made an attempt to hold me while we went in a circle. There was little tone, little energy, and definitely no direction.  He was open to learning and willing to try anything.  I remember teaching him some basic concepts like-have a strong frame-hold me tight, choose a direction, move with confidence.  That didn't work out so hot.  He let me have complete control and do whatever I wanted.  If I really wanted complete control of expression, I might as well just dance by myself, shake it, flip my hair or spin around. There are all sorts of ways to move it.

I suppose there is some of my attention seeking polka ways in my heart today.  At least it rises to the surface when dancing in my foofy dress that twirls when I spin. I knew I would get good use of it during the singles conference dance with the old men last weekend, many which know how to partner dance.  It's always an adventure meeting someone for the first time and trying to figure out what to do and where to go while dancing.  Some people just make excuses- I don't dance or I'm too cool, or I'm too cool for YOU.  Others are willing to learn and thrust you into a teacher mode.  Some just expect you to mind read and then get frustrated when you're the idiot partner.   Some guy's "routines" are pretty easy to figure out after a few minutes- like learning their circus tricks.  Others-not so easy. Sometimes these circus tricks are their sly way of breaking boundaries and getting way too close or pretending any second they are going to go in for some romantic kiss.  Or perhaps they have some roaming hands I'd prefer they'd keep to themselves.  Some can be completely unpredictable and harsh while yanking around my body parts.

Then there are a few partners that just have "this way." It's hard to describe.  It's this way of moving that makes me feel safe and secure.  Like I'm with someone strong, confident, capable, yet responsive to me;  that won't just watch me, but that will watch out for me. They have a great way of holding my hand or putting pressure on my back to increase clear communication. They make it easy for me to succeed. They lead, yet I don't feel like I'm being controlled or driven. They are taking me out for drive-hopefully somewhere interesting.

Maybe "this way" has nothing to do with the dancing at all.  Maybe it's just the well placed comment, or the look in their eye, or here's a concept- WHO you are dancing with.  What kind of man is he anyway.  Is he a good man? Is he a smart man?  Is he a caring man?  Is he a leader?  Will he be safe? Will he protect me?   Does being a strong leader mean he will try to control me or manipulate me for his own gain? If he's driving, will there be still be true equality in the partnership?

All attempts to connect and move together seem to be a dance. There's a requirement to take action-move-be responsive.  I find myself stumbling over my thoughts, my words, while trying to have a fluid conversation.   I misinterpret cues. I bump into people. So if I get dizzy from a potential whirlwind tour, will my partner catch me so I won't fall down?  It's always good to hope.

Ahhhhhh...Freak Out!

This morning I was thinking about freaking out and being able to move on.  Last week when beginning our uphill hike to Timapanogos Cave, one of our very physically capable students became extremely anxious about walking on the nicely paved trail.  As she cried, screamed, shook, and plopped on the ground she cried, 'I'm going to die.  I'm afraid of heights.  I don't trust myself.  I don't trust you. I'm going back"  It wasn't like we were standing over a dangerous precipice but the sheer size of the mountain  and the distance to reach the cave made her visibly upset.  It was overwhelming for her. As I tried to comfort her, listen to her concerns and assuage her fears, it looked like this was going to be a "no go".  I gave the tour tickets to another therapist and stayed back to help, knowing it was much safer for the group to stick together instead of splitting supervision. There was no going back, at least, I sure didn't want to.  No matter how many times I assured her  I would help keep her safe- she could hold my hand and I would guide her- I've made this trip several times with no mishaps-look the toddlers are doing it-you can too...she just wailed.  I was at a loss.

As the group went on, I noticed she was concerned about where her peers were and had some competitive urge to catch up with them.  I could work with that.  I encouraged her to look directly in front of her feet at the trail and not look around at the view, stay close to the mountain side rather than the edge, and hold my hand to "find the group".  Besides I told her we needed to give one of the students their inhaler.  Motivated by purpose we took off though she continued to cry and whine. Once we reached her peers, it occurred to me that she might feel more in control of her situation if I placed her in the front of the group and made her in charge of when and where we stopped for our breaks and how fast we walked.  This seemed to work even better.  I continued to look down to model the head position I wanted her to assume and tried to keep up with her.  She went pretty fast. Over time, her cries subsided.  Another peer did the "I'm so scared" routine, so I had her join us in the front. The first student had a chance to comfort another peer and give her suggestions of what was working for her.

Miraculously (at least considering her freak out at the beginning) she made it to the cave.  She enjoyed taking pictures of the view.  She appeared fascinated by it, and had to be coaxed to take a seat and get away from the edge.  She was literally facing her fear and desensitizing herself to it.  It wasn't that scary, she didn't die.  She made it! On the way down, she didn't complain at all or express any fear but this time the freak out came from another student about to lose control of her bladder.  Once again, I put her in front-giving her needed control. As she cried and wailed and said she couldn't go on-we kept pressing forward counting down the markers until we reached the bathroom successfully. Hey two miracles in one day!  Though I barely saw or appreciated the glory and wonder of the Timp Caves due to our rushed tour of hyperactive, impulsive students, I was more impressed with the wonder of these 2 students and their success in handling their freak outs.

I'm thinking about my own freak outs.  On the outside, they are surely not as dramatic but if someone were to film my inner dialogue and emotional reactions, perhaps they would be just as ridiculous, random and irrational. Instead, I try to keep up with my peers. At times I keep my head down and look right in front of my feet-just a few steps deciding what to do in the moment.  Having a defined purpose propels me forward.  I set my own pace.  I look for ways to help others and share what has worked for me.  I try not to lose control mentally and emotionally and just go to the bathroom all over myself.  In a world full of daunting challenges, it's easy to feel overwhelmed.  It's easy to feel not only uncomfortable but to double over in pain and squeeze my knees together.  "Let it Go" is not always the best plan of action. At times, I wish I could go back to the car or magically be transported to the restrooms But I can't. I have to use my muscles-contract them and hold the position in order to build strength.  Like these students,  I try to face my fear-get comfortable with the view and be OK with it.  I also have to "hold it" until I reach my goal.  Control is key-especially when moving forward.  Sometimes the goal IS to just move. Movement is life, especially goal oriented movement or exercising faith unto repentance.   

"And thus he shall bring salvation to all those who shall believe on his name; this being the intent of this last sacrifice, to bring about the bowels of mercy, which overpowereth justice, and bringeth about means unto men that they may have faith unto repentance. And thus mercy can satisfy the demands of justice, and encircles them in the arms of safety, while he that exercises no faith unto repentance is exposed to the whole law of the demands of justice; therefore only unto him that has faith unto repentance is brought about the great and eternal plan of redemption." Alma 34:15-16

 Freaking out and waving my hands randomly in the air can be reserved for retro disco dances.

Random Hugs

This morning I was thinking about receiving random hugs and the meaning behind them. While seated on the back row of the church, a little girl about age 3 or 4 came up and stood around waiting to give me a hug.  She smiled and looked at me like I was a Disney princess, celebrity or at least someone she already knew.  I gathered her in and gave her a big hug.  I was touched by the pure love, generosity, and innocence of this small child and her willingness to reach out to me. When the meeting was over, another child, this time a toddler boy did the same thing.  Perhaps he was mimicking his sister.  I don't know if they belonged to the same family or if the mother sent them over because they thought I needed a hug.  I don't know.  It has just never happened to me before.  And the more I think about it, the more I realize we all could use some random hugs from people we don't know, especially children.

Later we gathered for ward conference to talk about ministering to one another.  I felt prompted to share the experience I had earlier in the morning.  The thought, "And a child shall lead them" came to my mind as I thought of these sweet children.  They were showing me how to reach out and share the love of the Lord with everyone I see. They were not afraid to approach me.  They were not concerned about what I would think of them-or if they would be rejected.  Their gesture was so natural and sincere, it makes me want to follow their example of showing love. They were teaching me-leading me.

I was reminded of the scene in the Bible when Jesus said, "Suffer the little children to come unto me, for such is the kingdom of God."  I usually focus on how the children must have felt, being so close to the Savior and feeling his love.  But  today, I thought of how wonderful it must have been for the Savior to receive hugs from sweet little children.  Maybe they were also random kids.  It would be a great lifelong goal to have the love and light of the Savior fill my countenance-so much that others would want to be near me and I could draw them in to love and comfort them.  Through the example of the Savior, I learn that a simple touch can heal. 

I love giving side hugs and fist bumps with the children at work.  It's some of the best work I do.  Some severely traumatized students cannot tolerate touch at all.  I give them space, respect their boundaries, and give them love and attention in other ways.  Sometimes I can give a mental hug with a sincere compliment, thoughtfully listening, giving special consideration, letting them lead, or spending individual time with them.  My new work schedule (T-S 11-7) provides an opportunity to do just that.

It's been a real adjustment staying later in the evening and working on Saturdays but it is needed, and I can see the need firsthand.  It feels right to reach out to the children-to play with them-to be with them.  Perhaps these little hugs I received this morning were to help me accept my new work schedule and not resent the change.  Kids need hugs and so do we, no matter how random they may appear.  I can embrace it!

Baby

This morning I was thinking about being a baby.  I say I love people.  I say I want the best for them.  I say I rejoice when people make positive changes.  Yet does it all somehow threaten my position?  Why do I want to be the most loved? Why do I want to be the most special?  Because I am selfish, prideful and jealous.  Because I'm a baby.

I saw this grand pecking order and perceived threat with the arrival of each new sibling. Usually it was for the child closest in age.  Hailey picked on Blake.  Blake picked on Chase.  Chase picked on Chelsey.  Chelsey picked on Cole.  Whether it was biting, pushing, shoving, hitting,stealing, screaming, blaming or poking them in the eyes.-the threat was real.  When attention was diverted away from them, perhaps they wondered if they were still mommy’s special baby.

  

I’m definitely not above the fray with all this pecking order business.  It wasn’t too long ago when my sister had to live in the same bedroom with her own bratty baby sister.  I have a visceral memory of scratching each other and getting blood on the pink wallpaper during one of our sisterly spats.  Maybe it never really was an option to escape from Utah and my own drama and go live under the same roof as my mom and sister once again.  But my sister offered it to me, again and again because she loves me and I love her. We are SISTERS and friends.

Recently, my mother said my sister is the most beautiful she has ever been in her entire life.  She’s eating right, exercising diligently, and taking care of herself and the needs of her family. She and my mother are there for each other, continually serving, giving needed support and attention to each other.  My sister’s children and grandchildren surround my mother with meaning, purpose, and opportunities to give and receive love.  It is a beautiful, precious and vital situation.  

My sister is focusing on the positive, learning new skills, increasing her professional competence and continuing to show love and compassion in practical , generous ways. She’s pressing forward as she tries to meet the heavy demands in her life, including her new responsibilities as Relief Society President.  As she reaches out to care for others, I am positive she is feeling the love of the Lord for each and every sister in her ward-even those who may consider themselves a bit different from the white fluffy, homogeneous flock.  This may be in part why she was recently was drawn to a painting by Minerva Teichert entitled, “Rescue of the Lost Lamb.”

As I look at the painting, I also think of when the Savior stated, “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd."  In a way, it’s a gentle reminder to the children of Israel saying,”Hey, I have other children too, it’s not just all about you.  You’re not the only special ones. They have needs too. I care about them just as much as I care about you. I want them back too-I want them safely back in the fold of God.  We really are just one big global family.   

I felt this global sentiment during our most recent general conference-especially when listening to Dieter Uchtdorf.  Besides his wonderful German accent, his voice reminds me of our international community of saints.  I was touched when he got all choked up and had difficulty conducting the meeting after listening to a talk about helping refugees.  He too had been a refugee, nurtured by others.  Now he is on of the most powerful, poised, and beloved leaders of the church.  When talking about "monuments of hope and man's ability to create new life from ashes,' instead of talking about our local Provo City Center Temple, he made it much more international with his eyewitness of war torn Germany and the rebuilding of Dresden's  Lutheran church Frauenkirche.  Then he zoomed out even farther and made it global as he stated:

You may feel that your life is in ruins.  You may have sinned.  You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt.  But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.  He will rescue you.  He will will lift you up and place you on His shoulders.  He will carry you home. 

As our Father, God wants us all home.  We are of one-fold, part of the same family. As the family circle enlarges, we can fully trust that our position is secure.  God has an unlimited supply of love and attention for everyone-We are all heirs to ALL the blessings pertaining to the kingdom of God. He places each one of us close to his heart.  Each one of us IS the special baby of the family.

Stand

This morning I was thinking about standing with Freddie. After contracting polio in California, Freddie couldn't stand, being confined to her bed the majority of her life.  Freddie moved with her husband into this area from San Diego to be close to her son in residential treatment at Provo Canyon School.  Freddie joined the church back in California, graduated with her Master's Degree at Stanford, had a successful career as a speech pathologist, married a man she loved, adopted a child, organized civic events and shared her  testimony of Jesus Christ.  I was called as her visiting teacher during the last 4 or so months of her life and tagged along with my stellar partner,  one of the women in our ward who had been coming to her house for once a week during the last 8 years.  After her husband's passing, her neighbors rallied around Freddie enabling her to stay in her home as per her request.

It was important for Freddie to live as independent as possible though she was utterly dependent on others.  During these years she served as compassionate service leader in the ward-the one in charge, encouraging others to make their specific needs known, depend on each other, and reach out to serve with LOVE.   She was busy, productive, positive and  happy-even though she couldn't get out of bed.  Her attitude in dealing with adversity could be emulated as she reminded everyone that they too had infirmities requiring attention -hers were just more visible.  Her very presence in the neighborhood became of symbol of need, of service, of faith, endurance, of Christlike love.  She was our celebrity, our Yoda, the one that was "always there" with her open door, ready and willing to receive a visit and share wisdom.  Where was she going to go anyway?   But she did finally go and now she is free to stand on her own two legs.

As a woman known for taking charge of every detail of her care, using her God given agency to control everything she could do instead of what she couldn't, Freddie planned out the specifics for her funeral.   It fell to me the honor of giving the opening prayer for her funeral, not because I had a special relationship with her or was important in any way; I barely did anything for her and hardly knew her.  During our brief time together, I had the privilege of pouring my heart out to her while relating personal troubles, introducing my sons as they sang with their guitars and listened to her life story, and scouring Provo for sugarless popsicles.  That's about it.  Nevertheless, I stood at the post as one of her visiting teachers. The title "Visiting Teacher" constituted a special relationship of utmost importance to Freddie and she wanted to remind us how important this Visiting Teaching relationship should be for us as well.

Each funeral musical number was also planned by Freddie.  I loved hearing the bagpipes play through the parking lot letting me know the funeral was about to begin. I was especially moved when she requested for all the sisters in the congregation to stand and sing together, "As Sisters in Zion."   Though we were separated and sprinkled throughout the congregation, yet we were bound together. It was at this moment I felt like I was standing with Freddie, testifying of the importance of standing together as women, as "sisters in Zion" to  relieve burdens, build faith in God and strengthen families.  It was yet another symbol of all the Relief Society ladies throughout the years teaching me how to serve-how to love. I was overcome and could only look down at the hymnbook and mouth the words as tears streamed down my face and I was filled with a warm,  powerful, loving spirit of the Lord.

I rushed from the funeral to a wedding and then to Cedar City to assist my uncle whose wife had just had one of her legs amputated due to her diabetic condition.  Her other leg was black from gangrene and may be amputated as well.  She continued to exert effort-she used the strength that remained to sit up, to lift her spoon to her mouth, to transfer her weight to the side of her bed. I was privileged to witness my aunt's first attempts with assistance to stand on her remaining leg.  Bearing weight...that's what standing really is.

While attending Relief Society in my uncle's ward, I learned more details about the song "As Sisters in Zion" and added 2 more  sisters I am privileged to stand with. Janice Kapp Perry, wrote the music along with scores of other primary songs that have touched my heart through the years and built my testimony of the restored gospel.  I had a brief stint in her ward and received a meaningful compliment from her regarding a song I wrote using the words of the Relief Society Proclamation. At this time, I also attended a powerful musical fireside where she led us in singing some of my most favorite primary songs. Once again, I stood with the great ones, had tears running down my cheeks and was filled with the spirit.

The words for the song were written  by pioneer Emily Hill written during their trek as she and her sister assisted a struggling widow with 5 small children cross the plains.  I'm inspired by this woman referring to her experiences with the Martin-Willie handcart company as "child's play" compared with the pain she later felt after being deserted and disgraced by her 1st husband and trying to survive and care for her family's essentials of life.  Continuing to have setbacks and struggles, she and her 2nd husband still remained steadfast and full of faith.  When referring to her desire for her children to develop that same faith she wrote,"I fervently hope that each and all of them may seek and obtain for themselves a knowledge of the truth (called Mormonism), for I know it can make them wise unto salvation, and may they be willing if needs be tot endure reproach and privation for principle's sake.  I doubt not that all my troubles have been for my good, and today I am more than thankful for my standng in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints."

She was thankful for her standing.   She stood faithful and true.  I am grateful to stand. I am so privileged to stand with these courageous women. They offer encouragement to me to help me stand up even when I can't use my legs. They assist me in standing upright so I can bear the weight. Though separated by time and space-as sisters we really do stand together.  Though at times we may be bedridden, our faith in Jesus Christ helps us to hear the Healer's voice beckoning us to "Rise up and stand forth."