Being Happy

 This morning I was thinking about being happy.  A friend asked me the other day if I was happy, especially since my circumstances had changed since I last talked to her.  I was single and now I'm married. If she had any idea of how my family circumstances had changed dramatically during the last 4 months, she surely wouldn't have even asked the question.  2021 was a devastating year for my family with a series of unwise choices and unsettling events that would firmly attest to the unhappy state of affairs. Does that wipe out any chance for family happiness?  What can I do differently?  What would I do differently? What I am suppose to do?

I believe happiness is a state is of being rather than a series of events or circumstances to create a desired state.  A state of being is related to the choices I make every day- the habits I form, the character I create through those choices.  I believe there are happy choices to be made everyday.  I think it is possible to be a happy person swimming in a sea of unhappy circumstances.  

Like the plaque hanging on my front door, I "choose happy" everyday.  Not only is it a personal choice to choose happy, but I believe I can choose to live the laws/commandments/principles of truth tied to happiness.  I choose to make and keep happy covenants.  The more of these happy commandments or happy laws I can keep, the more light and truth can fill my body-my very being to BE happy.   I crave light.  Light makes me a happy person.  I want to gather light, gather sunshine, gather happiness every day. 

 But more than following an endless to do list of happy commandments, I have a testimony of Jesus that sees me through the many hard times- He is my safe place.  I choose to believe in Jesus Christ and exercise faith in him. The most important thing I can do to be happy is to strengthen my testimony and seek to be valiant in my testimony of Jesus.  As I do so,  I draw peace and happiness into my soul-daily.  He takes care of my quest for joy and well being. He helps me breathe.  He helps me have hope even in great darkness.  

Though my circumstances change, though I change, though everything I see changes and  crumbles around me, I stand on an island of faith that is firm and unchanging.  I am so grateful for the Rock of my Redeemer.  I rely on it to keep me rooted in truth- my stabilizing influence to manage my torrent of emotions.  Because I know who He is, I have a better idea of who I am and can tap into some of that steadiness.  With this steadiness and enabling power of His atonement , I seek to make the happy choices, day after day, to be true to Him.  I know as I do so, he daily takes care of my happiness-not a someday I'll be happy- but here and now.  I am happy.  

Sometimes people get confused when happy choices of keeping covenants and commandments do not lead to happy circumstances.  It doesn't make sense to them.  Happy choices should have happy consequences-your life should look happy and if it doesn't then you are doing something wrong.  But that surely doesn't take into consideration other people's choices and unfavorable events.  I can pray for them to choose happy choices, I can pray for their favorable circumstances but sometimes the outcomes are out of my reach. Yet there are things I can still do. I can seek light- always.  I can seek truth.  I can be obedient.  I can love without expectation of anything in return.   I can try and help others feel the love of the Lord and reach out in service. 

My circumstances do not control my happiness.  I refuse to let circumstances or the choices of family members control my happiness.  My circumstances do not help me become a happy person. My choices help me become, or be happy.  I choose to believe.  Though circumstances change, I want to be the same ME that believes in Him and His power to save, to redeem and help me BE a BEING of happiness.       

The First Noel

 This morning I was thinking about "The First Noel".  The lyrics explain the history of the first Christmas carol-"The first noel, the angels did say-was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay-in fields where they lay keeping their sheep, on a cold winter's nights that was so deep.  Noel, Noel-Noel, Noel- Born is the King of Israel. "  We sang it last week in church as the closing song.  

Earlier in the meeting,  I provided the piano accompaniment for a flute solo in an arrangement of "What Child is This/Coventry Carol."   I played about 70% of the notes correctly but put as much emotion as I could into it. That was to be expected, even with 20 hours of piano practice during the week.  The song was too difficult for my current level of expertise on the piano but I wanted to serve the sister who asked me to help, especially because I was her ministering sister in my previous ward.  Though I am no longer part of the ward, it is my responsibility and privilege to serve-no matter how inconvenient or time consuming.   It was her response to the common practice question, "If there is anything I can do for you-please let me know."  She reached out and I said I would help.  I wanted her to feel loved. Though service meets needs for sure, ultimately, compassionate service amplifies the love of the Lord.  It is His love, not mine.  I don't really even know this sister more than a acquaintance.  

Though I would like to say that it was love that motivated my 20 hours of practice, it was really to avoid public humiliation.  I would be a different pianist if I practiced 20 hours a week on my own, without the threat of making a fool of myself.  I have a process for these piano assignments.   Here it is:

Step 1:  Receive an assignment-selected by other people with a set day for performance- A goal            with a deadline and a line of accountability-or someone I will be reporting to.  This urges me    forward.    

 Step 2:  General Assessment of the piece.  After sight reading the piece, I need to come to the                 conclusion that playing it on the piano is a distinct possibility or "I can do this!"  In this case, I             thought the piece wasn't too hard though that assessment changed as the week progressed. It         seemed impossible.  

Step 3:  Learn the notes-one by one.  Figure it out slowly, page by page. Get the general feeling or     emotional tenor of the song and how it should sound. 

 Step 4:   Link up the learned pages.  Start to play one page after another.

Step 5:  Speed it up.  Look at the tempo and try to follow it with the same emotional expression. This     song was ridiculously fast but since I was accompanying a flute, I didn't want her to struggle with         breath control if I was playing it too slowly.

Step 6:  Learn how to turn my own pages.  Though I used to tape all the pages together or have               someone turn pages for me, I want to follow the example and process of turning pages how       some accomplished pianist do.  I want to self-reliant when I haven't memorized the piece.

Step 7:   Slash and Burn.  Take out problematic parts and make changes (at least to turn the page).  If I'm still getting certain parts wrong after hours of practice- it will only get worse with nerves.  Give    myself a chance to succeed.

Step 8:  Account for performance anxiety.  Though I say I don't care what anyone thinks, I usually do    enough to feel a little nervous about wanting to play it perfectly, or at least do my best.

Step 9:  Don't miss a beat.  If I mess up, go on to the next measure-plow through it and act like it was    supposed to be that way. 

Step 10:  Be an instrument.  After it is done, remind myself of my main goal-to be an instrument in the   of the Master Musician- the Lord.  As an instrument, my musical performance is a vehicle for others    to feel the spirit and increase the spiritual nature of the meeting.  It is to add, not detract. It is not a        vehicle for my own aggrandizement. 

Though it is service, like all service, we are the ones that truly benefit.  We are the ones who grow and change.  I've listened to hundreds of musical numbers throughout the years and I've felt the power of music to make me feel emotion and the spirit of the Lord. But when I'm the person providing the music- I make literal changes in my piano playing ability.  I'm better musician because of the 20+ hours of practice.  I exercised my finger muscles, my brain muscles, my back muscles-and now they are stronger.  But it's more than that.  Though it's my musical gift to give, and I try to give it with much love-I'm the one who ends up feeling loved.  

Like the drummer boy, "I have no gift to give" but I play my best for Him and try to honor Him.  As I sat down after playing this latest piece, I said in my mind, "I love you!" to my God.  My song was for him. I felt his presence and his love.  

When we came to the final song, I started thinking about MY First Noel-the first time I sang this song with my mother in the church pew and all the times since I have sang or played Christmas songs to honor him through the years.  It was a parade of memories of the many instances I have felt the spirit through church music at Christmas time.  It was accompanied by a flood of tears.  I couldn't sing a single word but I felt them.   This latest piano song was yet another Noel to offer praises and affirm what I know to be true, "Born is the King of Israel."  

Obsolescence

This morning I was thinking about obsolescence-the process of becoming obsolete, outdated and no longer used, no longer produced.   This is a recurring theme in my life especially having celebrated my 58th birthday and steadily marching towards obsolescence.  

While vacationing in Laguna Beach last week, I received a call from HR notifying me of the formal reduction of force for our entire Recreation Therapy department on both campuses including my current job as Recreational Therapy Supervisor.  Not only would I not be coming home to a job but there was no longer  a Recreation Therapy department at the residential treatment facility I have worked in for the last 11 years.  Though recreational therapy was an integral part of the program since the 70's, at this present moment, the program has been cut.  This was part of administration's strategy for the proposed consolidation of campuses.  Happy Birthday!

The news was not only heart breaking and disorienting but left me and my department feeling devalued, unimportant, expendable, and obsolete.  Our services were no longer needed, no longer wanted, no longer valued. Though I pushed my reactions inside to focus on my vacation and family, my body fought back by getting sick, reminding me that I would need to process these issues eventually. 

I had similar thoughts and feelings about obsolescence when I learned BYU eliminated their Therapeutic Recreation degree.  This past month, I  hired one of their last graduating students from the program.  Her first day ended up being her last. Regardless, my degree no longer exists at BYU-it is obsolete.  And yet, this was the college major I sought personal revelation concerning the field which I should enter.  My patriarchal blessing stated, " It will be a field of great interest and excitement to you. The knowledge that you gain will be of great importance to you and to your family throughout your life and it will be of  importance to your brothers and sisters in the gospel.  You will be able to influence many people and enable them to have greater joy and happiness because of the training and skills you develop."  

 My choice to major in this obscure major "felt right" being a conglomeration of everything I was interested in.  It was the everything degree. However as a generalist, I didn't feel too marketable when it came down to specific skills. Already in '87 I was disillusioned with my degree after a poor internship experience and outside influence.  Many times when people would ask me about my college degree, they would scratch their heads and say they never heard of it or had never heard of a Recreation Therapist.  RT is used to fighting for it's existence and struggling with its' identity.  But, it wasn't part of my identify as a full-time homemaker as my BYU degree sat in my scrapbook box for the next 20 years.  I would refer to it as "my useless degree."  

When financially strapped, I returned to my BYU advisor who originally recruited me to the degree to ask advice, he said it would be wiser if I ignored my degree and pursued employment in the business sector as a secretary or executive assistant. Awesome...Great...thanks for confirming the obsolescence.  As I passed BYU over the years, I would feel a wave of resentment towards the whole institution feeling duped and just plain stupid that I hadn't chosen a different field.  So it was helpful and even healing when I decided to dust off the degree and put it to work. I repeated my internship, I took a couple of classes, I passed the certification test and fulfilled licensure requirements.  I completed additional certifications to increase my odds at being hired at that same facility.  My degree became useful, not obsolete. 

My "everything" degree, became my "everything" job.  I tried to do everything in my power to meet needs and expectations of students, staff, administrators and RT interns and employees.  I was all over the place.  It was exhausting but worth it. With an ever changing business landscape and shifting populations from pediatrics to adolescents, it felt like a new job every couple of years with an endless parade of wonderful people coming and going.  It was my work family. It was continual service using recreation as tool to bring about change, even if it was as small as helping someone feel a little bit better for a moment.  It was spreading sunshine and love.  It was exciting work. It was meaningful work.  It was my career. I felt useful as a professional.  I felt valued.  I was heavily utilized. It helped me forge a unique identity apart from my previous roles in the home and at church.  Though entering into the workforce as a older woman and surrounded by young professionals, I never felt obsolete... until now.

I've also felt a little obsolete in my role as a mother of 5 with children ranging from 25-32.  Though this is to be expected as an empty nester, it was amplified by this past year's worth of family therapy sessions that left me feeling de-valued and powerless as a past and present mother. I have changed and continue to change.  That in part, is a remedy for obsolescence.  It's keeping up with the latest developments in any discipline.  It is being open to new learning and applying it in ever changing circumstances. 

If obsolescence is being no longer used, no longer productive, then my personal antidote is being useful and productive throughout my life.  My definition of what this looks like may change through the years, but the commitment is the same.  I can do this.  I will do this.  Help is wanted.  I can help. I am valued.  I am wanted by someone, somewhere. I will continue to influence people and enable them to have greater joy and happiness because of the training and skills I possess now and through further development.  Obsolescence be damned!  

No Unhallowed Hand

 This morning I was thinking about a Netflix series I watched about Mark Hoffman, master forger of historical documents. The work of his hands was so painstakingly flawless, had he been killed by his own bomb, the truth about his forged documents might never have been discovered. Instead his reputation would have remained intact as a very successful, if not very lucky and fortunate dealer of expensive historical treasures.  He unearthed them much to the amazement of those around him.  He reported saying, "Fooling people gave me a sense of power and superiority."  In the series, it flashes back to an early childhood experience of  burying and digging up a jar of money with his own hands and enjoying the reaction of those around him as he said, "I found the treasure!"  

It must have given him secret delight when he could deceive others, knowing he had in fact created the historical documents with his own hand. He must have been so proud of his own work. I know my hands are pretty clumsy.  I can barely write legible script let alone use pen and ink to do beautiful signatures.  He was an artist of extreme precision.  It I would have created something so perfect, I think I would be tempted to worship the works of my own hands as well!  

 I found it curious that when he tried to commit suicide in prison, he was left with irreversible tissue damage to his right forearm.  His hand would never be able to perform his deceptive work again.  If God preserved his life once resulting in his exposure to the world as forger, the second time,  his attempt left his hand cursed for the rest of his life.  God did not let him die.  Perhaps that was on purpose.  It also left us with a symbol-his useless member-his damaged limb.   I think Mark Hoffman fits the bill of having an "unhallowed hand."  In both cases, it reminds me of a great quote by Joseph Smith.

“The Standard of Truth has been erected; no unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing; persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent, till it has penetrated every continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done.

 I am grateful for the hallowed hands of Joseph Smith who unearthed a great treasure-the Book of Mormon and was able to translate it by the gift and power of God. Plenty of people doubt it's authenticity and origin of the book-golden plates hidden, angel Moroni's instructions, seer stones.  Opponents point out that the book is not what it claims to be.  It's a fake.  Joseph Smith is a fraud-just another treasure seeker fooling a bunch of people.  Only a fool would believe it!  Rather than a translation of an an ancient record, critics claim the Book of Mormon is the work of Joseph Smith's own hand, not the Lord's.

To examine the authenticity of the Book of Mormon, we don't have to seek out testimony of renown experts of antiquities or have religious suspects hooked up to a lie detector.  The witness is much more personal, much more powerful, much more convincing.  Moroni (the same angel that personally instructed Joseph) strongly encourages us to find out for ourselves if the work is real, authentic, and true.  "Ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true;  and if ye ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.  And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things."

Over the years, I have received so many witnesses in my heart and mind, even personal revelation to recognize the hand of the Lord and the voice of the Lord in the Book of Mormon.  It is another testament of Jesus Christ-companion scripture to the Bible. It as real as anything to me. I have found the treasure!  In addition I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.   He sealed his testimony of the truth with his own blood.  God allowed him to die as a martyr.  

As instructed by present day prophets, I do not refer to myself as a "Mormon."  Rather I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  A member-a limb dependent on adequate circulation as part of the body of Christ.  I don't want to be a useless member or dead limb of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  He can use my unskilled hands as an instrument to accomplish his work. I want my hands to be hallowed, blessed, and consecrated.