Tangible Proof

This morning I was thinking about the big pile of RT stuff  I need to move tomorrow to a new campus.  I already filled up a 15 passenger van with one load and dropped it off.  After assessing what remains,  I think it will take about 8 more loads.  Luckily, I think there will be a moving van to help tomorrow.  Why am I holding on to all this stuff?  

Our possessions are sometimes linked to our identity.  Right now, part of my identity is as a recreation therapist.  Part of my job is teaching DBT skills and pairing them with recreational tasks.  Since "recreation" is a broad term, this task can be anything related to movement, art, music, games- "everything but the kitchen sink." Well and in some cases, if I could figure out how to use a kitchen sink in an experiential activity, it would be in the pile too! 

Do I really need the pile?  Why can't I just bring myself?  Aren't my ideas for recreational tasks inside me anyway?  I remember one recreation therapist turned entrepreneur said he could keep a group engaged for hours with a single rope.  He is great!  Me?  Not so great.  I need props to compensate for personal insecurity.  I need props to enlarge my memory.  Seeing and touching an item helps me remember what I did in the past and what I can potentially do in the future.

I learn best through hands-on experiences-something to touch, something to hold in my hand. Being close enough to touch puts me in relationship with people, places, and objects. I form an emotional attachment to them. Material possessions also provide tangible proof of physical reality. But proof of what?

Proof we are successful financially.  Proof we are a winner.  Proof we are important.  Proof we are happy.  Proof we are good-looking.  Proof we went places. Proof people liked us. Proof we are amazing people.  Proof we exist and make a difference.  Proof we matter.  

Memorabilia sometimes provides tangible proof or worth, or at least that we existed. But so does every single item ever purchased by self or others.  Getting rid of anything can potentially assault a person's sense of worth.  But take it all away, what remains? 

 If we're still here on this planet, we have our body.  Our body is a form of physical proof.  Our body is the greatest storage unit of all. It has unlimited space. It is also a dumping ground.   Our body stores our collective choices over the years, our good and bad habits. Our body stores our collective experience both good and bad.  It stores our memories of relationships, both good and bad. memories of  Our mind, heart, and gut store our values and how we feel when we violate them or they are violated by others.  It keeps a perfect record of our transactions.  It is physical evidence, tangible proof of who we are and what we have chosen to become.  And others can see it-they see the external proof as well.  

But even the body will eventually be taken away.  And then what is left? What proof will we have that we existed,  especially if our ashes are scattered somewhere on the planet? 

Our spirit is a far superior storage unit.  It brings the light and life.  It stores the truth of what was, is, and is to come.  It is an endless reservoir of living water for those who believe. It is the great purifier, cleansing by the fire of sanctification.  Hardly a dumping ground! It is our life force-our energy.  Without it, we are just an empty shell.  Thankfully, no one can take away our spirit-ever.  

How wonderful the promise of a resurrection!  Both body and spirit will be inseparably connected through the atonement of Jesus Christ.  The greatest, most amazing tangible proof ever!  A material we will possess, not just a material possession.  Like Thomas, we sometimes doubt and exclaim,  "Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe." We want tangible proof. It's the great identifier of existence.  

How wonderful to see the church video on the Savior's appearance in the Americas.  It is another witness of the resurrected Lord.  He invited all

 "Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world."  

Since resurrection restores the body to it's perfect frame, as a child, I didn't quite understand why Jesus was resurrected with scars on his body.  I thought he would show up and say something like, "Here, look at my perfect body- this is what is in store for you!"  

But it wasn't just about what the Father did for Jesus by raising only him from the dead. It was about how it was accomplished by the Father's sacrifice of the blood of His perfect unblemished lamb. It was accomplished by the pain represented by those scars. We are the scars!  We are the marks.  I live inside of the Lord's resurrected body for I am "engraven on the palm of his hands."  That's me!  That's my sins!  He bears them.  He wears them as the great symbol of our connection. We are inseparably attached to him. 

I take upon His name in my efforts to seek connection with this holy being. I wear marks.  They are not engraven on my body but I wear them on the outside, close to my body, in hopes I will connect to His presence.  It reminds me of my great privilege to repent and be one with Him.  

God knows we care about physical stuff.  God knows we care about proof of our existence.  He knows and He looks on us with great compassion as we value our earthly possessions and mourn their loss.  He knows that seeing and touching items helps us remember what we did in the past and what we can potentially do in the future. 

He loves us.  But he wants us to understand who He is.  He wants us to understand who We are.  He wants us to become one with Him, his Father, and the Holy Spirit. It is the ultimate proof of connection and attachment.  It is real. As real as any tangible possession. 

Seek and Find

 I know God is not a big ATM machine in the sky, but sometimes I still ask him for help in finding lost items. And I want to give him the credit when I find these items. 

Last Friday, while preparing for my trip to California, I noticed with panic that my drivers license had fallen out of my wallet- only my license, everything else was still there.  I knew I needed it for TSA at the airport to board the plane. I blamed Satan, of course, for deliberately taking it out.  Well him and my own careless, oblivios behaviors.  

While trying to retrace my steps, I apologetically asked for Gods help.  I tried to remain calm and was grateful to know I could still use my passport if it didn’t turn up.  When I got back home, I  carefully inspected my briefcase and still didn’t see it. I went to find my passport and decided I should go to the DMV to get a replacement license or at least get the process started. 

As I went to get my keys, I glanced down and noticed my license on the bedroom floor. I had not noticed it when I walked by to look in my briefcase on the bed.  For me it was an answer to my prayer, like it had miraculously been placed there. 

Regardless of my oversight, God really does help me focus on what is most important in my life.  He wants me to see what’s in front of my face or what I may have missed.  He helps draw my attention to the lost coin, the lost sheep,  the prodigal son and the rejoicing and great relief when these things are found.  He doesn’t want me to go carelessly go through life oblivious to the important details not to be missed.  

One detail I was drawn to today that I certainly don’t want to overlook is my gospel upbringing in Southern California. What a privilege it is to sit next to my mother at church.  Because of her,  I am not frantically searching for the pearl of great price.  What comfort  and joy it brings to me to join with my mother, my brother, my sisters who also feel like they have found the treasure and show their faith by attending church weekly. I notice it and it strengthens my faith. 

More than just finding lost items,  God continually tries to direct my attention to find great gospel truths crucial for spiritual travel. 

Become Love

 Like many other people, I’ve loved watching “The Chosen”  There have been many moments that touched my heart and mind. Last season it was when Jesus rescuing Peter when he tried to walk on water. I think I already wrote about that.

This season I was a little unsettled watching the still grieving Thomas’s angry and hurt reaction to Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. He wondered why Jesus did not help his dying loved one when he needed it,  He was all put out.  I think we all get put out, especially considering withheld blessings from faithful followers of the Savior. Why does he allow us to experience pain?  Why don't we get what we want, when we want it? Why doesn't he just wipe away all the tears right away?  

According to Steve Young's book on the "Law of Love", transactional questions get transactional answers.  We have to become love instead of expecting to selfishly get something out of our discipleship or any other relationship.  We help, we heal as an outpouring of the love we feel without expecting anything in return.  

The disciples portrayed in the series are like all of us-expecting something in return.  They expected the love and care the Savior showed for everyone would be extended to them personally in times of need.   This hopeful expectation of things being set right was voiced by Martha as she stated, "I know the he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day." There was a condition for this great miracle, "Believeth thou this".  Faith precedes the miracle. If we believe in Jesus then we get this or that.  Many blessings are conditioned on having faith in Jesus Christ and repenting. It's transactional.  It's conditional.  

Many blessings of healing require patience.  Jesus didn't heal everyone around him, nor did he heal everyone simultaneously. Like his response to little James, it was not his "time to be healed".  It was not the Fathers will to make everything right for them right now.  They would need to wait and trust in God's promises to heal and bless everyone. We will have to wait for the resurrection as evidenced by all the lovely and peaceful cemeteries around us.  But it will happen to everyone without any condition of belief.  

It’s not my time to be blessed. It’s not my time to be healed.  I'm so impatient. I want everything right now, and when I don’t get it, sometimes I throw a  angry temper tantrum like Thomas. Thomas compared his grieving experience with Mary and Martha's grieving experience and ultimate outcome.  His blessings compared with another person's blessings.  Where is the fairness.  Shouldn't we all just get the same things for Christmas, as if God were some type of Santa Claus in the sky.  I also have a tendency to compare what I have with others instead of recognizing and honoring our unique paths.

 Thomas stays with Jesus, he still on the path.  Where else is he going to go?  He could choose to "walk with him no longer" but he doesn't.   Most of the apostles continue to follow him and ultimately die for him. They learn to not only follow him but become his representatives and lead His church.  They become the healers and with his power and authority heal others, even raise them from the dead.  They reach out in Christ's love or charity. 

Though "The Chosen is a great show about Jesus, it is also a wonderful show about the disciples journey as they learn what it means to come to Jesus, follow him and what they become as a result.  I look forward to the following seasons as we see the transformation of ordinary people into beings of who reach out to others with God's love in powerful ways without expecting anything in return.   

I want to become this type of being-one who has the ability to follow Jesus Christ not just because of all the great blessings I will receive or accomplish, but that I might be filled with his love, and daily reach out to others in healing, loving ways with no thought of reward. To become love.  

Blue Angel Squeeze

 I recently watched the awesome "Thunderbirds" air show with my sister at Hill Air Force Base.  In preparation, we watched a Blue Angels documentary on Prime.  So worth it!   What amazing humans!  The documentary does a great job explaining what these pilots do to prepare for these incredible air shows, like the one I just watched.   It surely increased my appreciation and awe as I paid the minimum price to just watch as a spectator.

One memorable scene that has stuck with me was when they were training the newly selected recruits.  They were required to get inside a centrifuge type pod as it spun around to experience the G forces Blue Angels have to be able to withstand in order to execute their amazing aerial maneuvers. They were closely watched and monitored.  Their trainer encouraged them to squeeze their butt in order to direct their blood flow so they would not pass out while being under such intense pressure.  Even the new "boss" of the Blue Angels passed out showing just how difficult it was to withstand the pressure.  It also was a clear example of how difficult the transformational process is from pilot recruit to  Blue Angel performer.  

This ability to withstand the G made me think of Jesus Christ- the person who withstood the pressure of incredible forces without passing out. I know what emotional stress and pressure feels like, but cannot imagine my pressure being multiplied exponentially by the collective weight of everyone's pain who has ever lived or will ever live on this planet. He had a mission to fulfill much more demanding than aerial acrobatics. How did he do it?  

The Savior did not pass out or at least I don't think he did.  The Savior did not have a single earthy spectator for his amazing feat, monitor his well being, or even see if he would pass out. Instead, the Savior's would be spectators passed out from sleep and exhaustion.  

What kept the Savior awake? Perhaps the angel that came gave needed encouragement and ideas on how Jesus could withstand the pressure without passing out.  I highly doubt he told him to squeeze his butt, but perhaps it was the squeezing of his veins directing his blood to different places.  Blood squeezed out through every pore from the intense pressure.  I don't know how he did it, but He did!  

Though I missed the amazing show in person, I have the privilege of at least imagining the scene as I try to remember what the Savior did for me every single week.  I see his body laid before me under the sacred cloth concealing the emblems of his flesh and blood.  I partake and remember the amazing skill it took to accomplish the most important aerial maneuver that was ever performed.  Not only do I observe the sheer power of the amazing Father/Son/Holy Ghost team of flying performers, but also the power to raise me up to the skies to hear the roar and soar with the Blue Angels/Thunderbirds.   

Good Therapy

 We just finished participating in the "Battle of the Bands".  For me, it is my seventh battle.  It is a real battle between the forces of creation and entropy- everything is continually falling apart and it's my job to see if I can put it together and create some order out of chaos.  And it is chaos!

It is not a requirement.  We do not have to go.  No one is forcing us to go.  However, co-workers sometimes expect it because I have shown up with our groups in the past. I have created an unspoken expectation.  My equivalent day programs or short-term residential programs in other cities do not go.  Perhaps they know better.  Perhaps they are afraid of looking like a fool.  I obviously am not afraid of looking like a fool since our music offerings are usually inferior, sometimes even a joke compared to the other programs. 

Other programs have more time to work with their students and resources, better equipment, trained music instructors and sometimes even dedicated music programs specifically designed to prepare students for performances.  Their focus is music.  My focus is therapy and music is just one of the many recreational tasks in my toolbox to combine with DBT skill-building to improve patient outcomes.

I have some basic music skills that I expose all students to in preparation for the Battle of the Bands:  

How to play a basic rock beat on the drums

How to execute 6 chords on the piano playing every other white note. 

How to play many notes on the bass guitar using only the E string, or simply using the open strings. 

How to play an adapted power chord on an electric guitar tuned to "drop D" holding down the first two strings while baring the notes on the fret up and down the neck of the guitar.  

That's about it regarding my non sophisticated, unambitious music skills. All students can learn the above techniques if they are willing to listen to and follow directions.  Armed with these basic skills we can realistically prepare a 3 or 4 chord pop/rock song.  Simple is the name of the game.  

 You'd be surprised how many students cannot execute these simple skills whether it's because they can't coordinate movements or understand the directions, they are too hyperactive to focus on any task for enough time to learn the skill, or they flat out aren't interested in learning or willing to learn.  They get frustrated and give up quickly. Even if they can execute the skills individually, when coming together with their peers, it is often impossible to stay on a beat.

Some have such a profound sense of learned helplessness, that they don't even try saying it's too hard. They get so overstimulated and overwhelmed by the loud musical sound that they refuse to even come into the group room.   Other students are the exact opposite.  They think they can do anything regardless of structure and rules.  Their own will reigns supreme. What they want to do governs their choices no matter the impact on others or equipment.  They see musical directions as an offense or Erin telling them what to do, trying to control them.  They are hypersensitive to anything resembling judgment, criticism or truth.   They throw the instruments down in anger, remove pieces and parts as potential implements for self harm or play with them like expensive toys to be broken for their amusement.     

I'm at the mercy of whoever admits to or discharges from our program.  Some are gifted musicians and come to us with an amazing voice, guitar, or drumming skills. That makes preparation easier and I can usually build our songs around them.  My music leaders this time had limited music skills and limited ability to manage their big emotions,  When dysregulated they acted on their emotional action urges leading to unsafe behaviors including self-harm, suicidal ideation and attempts, running away, assault, property destruction, and substance abuse. Besides unsafe behaviors (all of which literally happened the month leading up to the performance, there is also illness-this time one wing came down with influenza a week before the performance. It's hard to plan and prepare with such an unpredictable roster of would be musicians. One cannot ignore or discount the fact that all participants are teens in treatment! That is why it is such a miracle when they actually come through with the performance. That alone is inspirational to me!

 The week before the performance is usually a complete disaster as each selected song sound absolutely terrible because the students don't know what they are doing and they aren't playing together.  I usually don't throw our hat into the ring to compete in the "Battle" until a couple days before.  

This time I was "in charge" of the event so there were extra responsibilities including finding volunteer judges, preparing score sheets, being the emcee directing the show, finding songs to engage the audience during the intermission, assigning seats, and getting a count for the pizza.  I think I did a pretty good job.  The transitions were pretty smooth between numbers, I helped implement the new procedure of having students introduce numbers and participants, the judges quickly determined winners, and we ended early.

Adapting recreation for people with special needs should be my strong suit, but each time I'm astonished at the amount of energy and flexibility required simply to show up prepared to contribute anything.  There are always obstacles, disappointment and discouragement.  

A unique alchemy miraculously transforms the participants into a band.  They start to work together and even practice on their own with their peers.  I don't have any control over this process. I like to think I do.  I send out emails to encourage independent practice and give students verbal reminders.  During groups I frantically wave the tambourine around and enthusiastically call out directions like a high pitched cheerleader.  Ultimately, it's out of my hands if they band together. It either happens or doesn't.  It is at that moment, I get to step back and watch.   Even if they sound pretty good in practice, it doesn't guarantee they will perform well once we get to the venue.  

I get to practice a whole lot of "radical acceptance."  At the recent show, things went wrong as they always do.  During one song, they were painfully off beat.  One song, the electric guitar wasn't plugged in or turned up so no one heard the capable guitar playing. Students played the wrong notes, were out of tune, forgot lyrics, laughed, cursed into the microphone, but they said they had fun!  It was an exciting experience! 

 All in all, though we were the worst-performing group this time, I still am glad we participated.  They all made incredible progress in a very short span of time. They engaged as best as they could.  They expressed themselves using music. All the students held it together!    I don't believe there were any safety issues or emotional dysregulation during an extremely stressful activity-at least I didn't see it.  That is a huge win.  It gives these students a chance to get outside their comfort zone and thus becomes a fabulous recreation therapy activity.

It is also an amazing team task and one of the best experiential activities out there at my disposal as a Recreation Therapist.   I've always been averse to the traditional "team building"  or contrived experiential activities.  They're just a little too hokey for my taste.  Though the perceived threat of the "floor being lava" can be motivating, it's more powerful to have real live stressors like the threat of social embarrassment in front of a crowd of your peers.  These threats require each participant to pull together and address the challenges as a team.  

It is a utter miracle when a bunch of very diverse teens come together to form a band and work on a common goal.  It's inspirational for me to see how they start to work on their sound together and improve with practice, giving each other helpful feedback.  It's amazing when they turn to each other and say, "Hey, we sound pretty good."   And they did, especially using my judgment criteria of staying safe through stressors and coming together as a team.  They are winners in my book.  It's good therapy!

Temple Souvenir

 

A couple of people yesterday asked if they could keep their laminated appointment cards as a souvenir from the Provo Temple.  I said "no" in line with our directive that no one was to take anything from the Provo temple for memorabilia.  I am not a rigid, letter of the law kind of gal, but I just couldn't do it.   I did not want them to remember their temple experience in the Provo temple with this cheap man-made item and man-made protocol for giving priority seating to those making appointments for temple service. That's just stupid.  My opinion, I know but you already have your memento if you're wearing your garments.  

As part of my calling as an assistant chapel coordinator, I collected these appointment cards from patrons before they entered the endowment room.  Some thought I was the great ticket taker and if they didn't have their "tile" with the right time listed they couldn't enter the room.  Many would apologize if they left their card somewhere.  One regular patron would always joke, "The dog ate it."  Some would look to me as if they had did something wrong if they didn't have one, as if they were being judged.  

I was looking at them, but not to judge but to visually greet them by making eye contact and smiling.  I saw so many people through the door! The spirit testified of the worth of each soul.  Like counting the Lord's sheep and treasuring each one, no matter their appearance.  I was also looking to see if they had any special needs. 

 As in all areas of the temple, workers are there to help, not judge.  If you forget words, we will help you remember.  If you need something, we will try to get it for you-headsets for translation of the endowment into your own language.  If you want to spend some special time with your family member receiving an ordinance, we'll take you up to have some quiet time together before everyone else arrives.  If you need to use the elevator, we'll help you find your way.  If you are cold, we will get a shawl or bring a bottle of water.  We'll show you to the restroom.  We'll make sure the tissue boxes are full so can use them if moved to tears.  Each detail is designed to improve patron experience.  

At first I was anxious about my calling within the temple since I appreciated the 30 minute rotations to various areas in the building including laundry, locker room, office, baptistry, initiatory, chapel, endowment room, veil, celestial room.  It made the 4-hour work shift go quickly and it did kind of make me feel like an angel flying up and down the stairs from one post to the next.  So the thought of standing still in the chapel for 4 hours seemed like torture. Provo is a standing temple-think sentinel angels don't sit down to take a break. Fortunately, my duties were focused on running around the temple trying to meet needs of patrons and that kept me alert. It was also one of the few posts in the temple where you could occasionally chat with fellow workers and patrons which met my need to socially connect. 

With my aging knees, I learned to fly around the temple using the elevator and hike around the flat circular corridors to accomplish my various tasks.  To myself, I referred to them as my incense burning duties. It wasn't so much about how small and insignificant each duty was, it was where I was serving-in the temple of our God.  It gave me an ample window into this aging temple, one that was literally falling off the mountain and would certainly not be standing when the Savior returns in the Millennium. Yet for an aging temple, it was infused with youthful vitality and color from the missionaries, young students and international patrons.  It was a busy, face paced temple requiring efficiency protocols. 

It's understandable how people wanted to take just about anything from the Provo temple before it was de-commissioned and demolished. The garage sale in me screams, "Well, it's going to be thrown out anyway, why not spread a little joy-let it be used for something different-even something to hold onto to remember this very special building?"

As I've walked the halls of this very unique building (my old bishop referred to it as the "Disco Spaceship Temple") I've had similar thoughts.  What are they going to do with all these beautiful items-crystal chandeliers, antique furniture, marble tiles, artwork, gilded mirrors, etc?  So many precious things.  In a trash heap?  I heard that the minute the Provo temple closed yesterday, crews came to strip the temple and put items locked up in the basement to prevent theft.  I know some of the items will be used in other temples but where is everything really going to end up?  Who will use them?  How will they be used?  So many precious things.  Destroyed perhaps. Transformed for sure. 

The more I think about it, it would probably be right and good, even best to destroy all these precious things and offer them in a huge sacrificial ceremonial fire. That way they would not fall into the hands of someone who did not understanding the nature and purpose of ritualistic worship.  These precious things are certainly not more precious than the life of our Savior.  All things in the temple point to the great and last sacrifice of the Father's beloved son, Jesus Christ.  Most covenant making is done before a symbolic sacrificial altar.  As President Barry stated yesterday, our covenants are not just transactional (we promise to do this and God promises that) but our covenants are transformational.  We are changed through our covenant making and keeping.  We are sanctified.  We become holy.

 I have been changed in my short service in the temple- even if it's only in an attitude that "No, you can't keep your appointment card as a souvenir."