Improve the Moment

 This morning I was thinking of my stress response and how to improve the next moment as a way to exercise faith.  It was only a week ago, that I felt cold/flu symptoms and was reminded I should test for Covid.  I  tested positive and spent the majority of the week quarantined, trying to recover.  On Monday, my boss called saying that he was not only Covid positive, but that administration had decided to discontinue our day treatment program and suggested I contact HR within the larger corporation for possible opportunities utilizing TR (Therapeutic Recreation).  I really wasn't in the state of mind/body to receive or respond to this news, nevertheless, the door was closing and it was time to find another open door.  

Though not feeling well, I took slow, deliberate, micro-steps to totally accept what is and do my best to "improve the next moment" and "make decisions aligned with my values".  These are concepts I have been studying with DBT continuing education credits online.  I found my PHD doppelganger on the internet with whom I seriously would like to do a Vulcan "mind meld" with. She even has a daughter named "Hailey!" (https://www.docsnipes.com).  Anyway, practicing radical acceptance and improving the next moment are crucial distress tolerance skills I not only want to teach others, but first practice myself.  And I just so happen to have plenty of stressful events giving me a perfect opportunity to practice them.  

Not once this week did I feel panicked or even emotionally triggered, especially since I had received similar news 16 months ago.  With the assurance that "everything will be okay" I spent my time reaching out to HR, talking with other clinical directors, completing additional counseling CEU's, learning and creating music in "Bandlab" for future use with students,  updating my resume and casually looking on "Indeed."  I was magnetically drawn to a position that I originally passed on 16 months ago, but now felt prompted to take action and apply for it.  I texted the clinical director and asked if I might be considered.  She texted back "Absolutely!"  I set up an interview for next week and will most likely be offered the job. 

My current employer wanted me to show up for work on Friday, so I masked up, stayed away from the students and started to gather my belongings from the day program.  During my first year with this company, I have worked 3 separate programs providing recreational therapy services.  First a clinical boarding school, then residential treatment, then a IOP day program. In many ways, it has been an incredible opportunity for learning, growth, innovation, flexibility, creative expression and clarity.   I have no regrets.  I am sad that our day program is closing.  I invested heavily and feel a keen sense of loss. I had great hopes that will never come to fruition.  I know I am not the only one who is experiencing loss due to this financial failure.  Yet hope is a real thing.

Hope shines brightly.  Better days are ahead.  I have one last week with my current students.  During this time we will focus on distress tolerance and the IMPROVE acronym combined with various recreational tasks. I will encourage them to make slow, deliberate, steps to totally "accept what is" and do their best to "improve the next moment" and "make decisions aligned with their values".  It will become a template for my future work.   

I feel peace.  I feel directed, even led to which next steps to take for well-being.  My object of faith is not in some super-wow youtube psych counselor or latest greatest evidenced based mental health practice but rooted in Jesus Christ.  Faith in Jesus Christ, Hope in Jesus Christ energize and infuse me with acceptance of what is and power to move on.  He supercharges my meager capacity to IMPROVE the next moment.  

It Will Be Okay

 Last weekend my mother was having difficulties with her vision and went to the hospital.   She learned she had a "mini" stroke with some clots, A-fib heart irregularities, and some type of aneurism.  The neurologist considering everything that was going on in her body, said to her, "You are one lucky woman!  My mom felt like the he didn't really sympathize with her vision complaints compared to what losses she could have been experiencing.  Yet for my mom, working vision is crucial to her daily schedule.  She loves to read, watch TV, browse Facebook posts and drive herself places-all requiring a certain degree of visual acuity.  

Generally speaking, my mom has been pretty healthy over the last 85 years.  She has experienced some issues requiring medical attention including surgeries, brief hospitalization, chronic conditions requiring ongoing medication, but on the whole, she has been high functioning across most domains.  I know she will not live forever, but I'm always hopeful she will be like her aunties that lived into their late 90's.  I know aging is a series of managing losses. It's not pretty whether we're watching love ones age or going through the process ourselves.  

When I got the call that my mother was in the hospital, I couldn't help but wonder if she would be okay.  Or is this when she dies?  What abilities might she lose? What will she be able to do?  What will her quality of life be like for the next 10 years?  Will she have 10 more years?  Questions like these not only go through my mind, but they most assuredly go through my mom's mind as well.

Why else would she comment to the nurses something like, "It's alright if I die because I have 3 children with active temple recommends." She answered questions to curious nurses who asked what a "temple" and "recommend were.  She invited them to be in her hospital room when she received a priesthood blessing from her son.  She wanted them to see.  She has made a covenant to be a witness of Jesus Christ at all times and in all places.   She wanted to share her faith, that truly, "Everything will be okay."   

When talking with her over the phone, she shared the above experience and casually mentioned that she called her team-primary teacher to let her know that she would not be there that Sunday for the lesson for the children.  She's that dutiful.  She's that committed. 

As our phone conversation continued, I thought about my mom's faithfulness and testimony of the Savior and made a connection to my recent studies from the week's "Come Follow Me" lesson.  I thought of Job's faithfulness through all his adversity and his testimony that "I know my Redeemer liveth."  I was overwrought with emotion and could not speak.  I wanted to but was physically choked up.  I had to say what I was thinking and feeling to my mother in the hospital.  Finally I sputtered and sobbed the words out, telling her how very grateful I am to have her life long example of faith in Jesus Christ. Not only through words, not only through church service, but also through her daily choices in everyday living-the good, the bad, and everything in between-my mom believes in Jesus Christ and wants to follow him.  This I know.

Though I was emotional, it was a sweet spiritual experience that helped me feel the spirit and reinforce my fasting that day in her behalf.  Oh how I love my mom.  Oh how I appreciate her example of faith.  And with this faith, I too can move forward into this new stage of life and our mother-daughter relationship. 

She is back from the hospital now recovering and doing her best to do what she can to access her daily routine. She has a lists of appointments as well as new medications.  She will make necessary adjustments.  Life will continue to change. She will not be able to come to Utah to visit rather it is my turn to come to California more often.   It will be different for sure, but taking a page from my mother's playbook, "It will be okay."

Universal Knowledge

 I'm not a think on my feet kind of gal.  Whenever someone asks me a question, I freeze and all the information I have previously learned becomes jumbled and irretrievable.  This is not good practice.  Especially when the information is of vital importance and the person asking the question is one of the most important people in my life.  My son was using a new system of note taking that looks like a complex star chart.  Like all of us, he was trying to make sense of his place in the universe, especially in the grand scale of time and historic existence.  If we can't wrap our head around the answers, the information can wrap up our head in a big jumbled mess of confusion.   

There surely is a universe of information-like stars in the sky, like grains of sand, like the atoms swirling around, like digital data in cyberspace.   It's overwhelming when trying to make sense of it all or try to organize it in a helpful way.  Or to know where to start?  What knowledge really matters and when does it matter?  Why do I exist?  Who am I? What's my purpose?  How does it all fit together?  Does it fit together?  Is it chaos?  What is "it" anyway?  Is it possible to think too much?  

Simplicity helps.  I know who I am, where I came from, why I'm here, where I'm going.  I learned the  standard gospel answers years ago contained in The Plan of Salvation, Plan of Happiness, Plan of Redemption,   Rather than rehearse all the knowledge I've been acquiring over the past 59 years, I want to simply it even further.  In all the learning, learn wisdom.  Supposedly, my gray hairs suggest that through the years I've acquired some deal of wisdom.  At least that's my goal as in Proverbs 4:7 reads "Wisdom is the principal thing...and with all they getting get understanding".  The more I understand about the plan, the more I see how everything fits, every piece of knowledge comes together in a great, organized whole, complete, creation or world.  God's construct is big enough and expansive enough for all truth.  I don't have to leave anything behind, cover my eyes, or pretend it doesn't exist.  Faith and questions can exist together.  I do not have to choose between science and religion.  

I know things.  I really do.  But of all the things I know, the most important is not what I know but WHO I'm trying to know-my Father.  Even though I'm about as significant as cosmic dust particle, My Father in Heaven KNOWS me and cares about me.  I share the lyrics from my very first solo I sang as a young child  "I know my Father lives and loves me too.  The spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true.  He sent me here to earth, by faith to live His plan.  The spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can." 

 My greatest quest for knowledge is not only know He lives and know His plan but to know my Father who already knows me!   That will only be accomplished through daily efforts to connect with him.  I want to connect to his power.  He makes sense of the chaos and inner turmoil.  Little by little, I'm developing my relationship with Him.  Each time I feel His spirit in my heart and head telling me something is true or what I should do in the next moment, I know him better than before. That's my priority.  He's my priority.  And if I know Him, he'll teach me everything that is most important for me to know in order to sift through the sea of knowledge to find the treasured truths.  

Where to start digging?  I say, the "Come Follow Me" app.  Each morning I like to click on the icon picture of Jesus and see what my "Come Follow Me" reading assignment is for the week.  It has been the BEST thing I relied on during Covid to feel connection.  It's the best thing to connect with him now.  Followed with prayer and listening to the spirit, that's about as simple as I can make it as a way to navigate through the sea of knowledge.  It makes sense.  It's simple.  It's my easiest, most simple way to approach universal knowledge and not get sucked into a black hole.  

Bound

 This morning I was thinking about boundaries and being bound. Some hear the word  “boundaries” and immediately think of limitations;  You can’t do this or that or our natural aversion to the word “no”.  In a world full of “Yes you can!”  Boundaries seem to counter the claim,” I manifest all with my awesome biology of belief.”  Boundaries tend to impede on our God given agency.

Historically, in order to exercise this agency, God put in place a boundary-you can eat of any tree in the garden, do whatever you want but of the tree of knowledge of good and evil thou mayest not eat. This boundary created the perfect conditions for Adam and Eve to actually exercise their agency.  The violation of this boundary resulted in separation and disconnection.  Their spirit body would be disconnected or separated from the physical body at death and God’s children would be separated from his presence during their mortal journey.

Many spiritual practices seek to restore this once had connection with our maker.  We pray, we express gratitude, we ponder scriptures, we go to church , we serve, we obey commandments with the intent of feeling the spirit of the Lord. We strive to be connected with Him and be connected with other humans.

Back to the first humans in the Bible, Once they violated the boundary with the tree of knowledge of Good and evil,  God put another boundary to prohibit them from eating from the tree of life.  This time with cherubim and the flaming sword to guard the tree and protect the way of life.  Now  that’s a firm boundary!  initially, they could eat of it and now they couldn’t

circumstances had changed.  

At the same time God set up a special kind of boundary called a covenant.  It’s main purpose is to bind us to him-to tether us to him.  We can still be connected even with the incredible forces of separation swirling around us and the swirling forces within us…our appetites and passions.

We covenant to keep our appetites and passions within the bounds the Lord has set.  This includes sexual relations only with those we are legally and lawfully wedded to. This includes appetites related to the word of wisdom.  This includes the payment of tithes and offerings when perhaps passions would dictate spending money on wordly pleasures first or make them the first priority. All is done to protect this bond between us and the Lord. 

“I the Lord am bound when you do what I say, but if ye do not, ye have no promise.” Instead of viewing being bound as a restrictive negative concept, I can view it as a positive , secure attachment. something I can bet my very life on-life line!  Think of the actress Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton in the final scenes of “Twister” in the eye of the tornado.  They definitely would not be together forever or whatever if their chain or strap didn’t hold to the pole they were bound to.  They would have just gotten sucked up into the tornado. 

 Covenants are the chains binding us to our loved ones past and present.  Covenant chains bind us to God. Under the proper authority, these chains hold.  God designed then to hold-a welding link. 

 

I don’t think I’ve ever thought of my covenants as boundaries but I suppose they are things I can or cannot do ( obey, sacrifice, consecrate) I gladly use my agency and choose to bind myself,  to forge an unbreakable bond with him, the author of my salvation.

It just doesn’t make sense to me to resist and complain about boundaries like sex or drugs or other lifestyle commandments and in the same breath say we.want to go to the temple.  For we are really saying we want to make covenants in the Temple to bind ourselves more fully to God.  

First we need to be comfortable with the chains that safely bind us to Christ now.  We will realize these covenant chains safety secure us to the only true bedrock foundation of Jesus Christ. May we cherish the commandments. and see then as our way to connect with God.  Remember, these binding covenants represent a two-way street between each one of us and the all powerful, unlimited God . He is bound to us too!  We are connected. 

Hoodlum Boys

 This morning I was thinking about my hoodlum boys-that is the budding juvenile delinquents I've had the chance to work with during this past year.  I use the "Yakety Yak" reference to "hoodlum friends" because it reminds me of my dad.  For he was, in some respects a hoodlum.  However, it's not quite a fair label for my students but it some cases it surely fits. I mean who thinks it makes sense to shoplift while renting ski gear and then explain to me how he needs to commit a more serious crime, "like murder or something" so he can be sent to a specific prison to avenge the gang death of his cousin?  Or thinks that ganging up on a peer and attacking him in his sleep leaving him with a broken nose is fair game?  Well, sometimes my students did.

Working with this population of teen boys rounds out my experience in working with at risk youth from ages 7-18-both male and female.  When taking on a new job, I was required to straddle 2 programs and provide RT services for both.  The one dealt with more behavioral issues of students in residential treatment, the other serviced a less acute population requiring only day treatment.  With changing work landscape continually, it has certainly been a ride-at times a very rough ride.  For you see, these older wizened boys did not have the same response to me presence as say a hyperactive, young, fairly innocent child.

I remember walking with my mentor as she was showing me the ropes regarding all things RT when working pediatrics.  All the children called out her name as if she was a rock star.  It caused quite a disruption in the school area.  Over time, it became my name they enthusiastically called out and I quickly learned why.  RT was their ticket to some semblance of freedom-of normalcy- of getting out of their locked down facility to do something they considered "fun."  We held the keys.  I remember one of my interns pointing out that my red plastic clipboard was actually a trigger for the kids. They got all riled up wondering if they were on the off-grounds list.  Those were the days.

Not so with my hoodlums.  They had much more freedom since they went off-grounds all the time with various staff members.  Rather than viewing me as a person they saw me as an obstacle or even as a vehicle- or someone they had to put up with for a brief period of time.  I had to develop a thick skin quick to deal with their comments.  I remember one day bringing a humanitarian service project to work on and a student rolling his eyes, refusing to participate and saying, Erin- "Why would you think we would EVER want to do ANYTHING like this?"  The only time he was even half way respectful to me was when he thought I might be able to open up the music studio for him.  Other than that- it was pure contempt.  

I continued to fight the good fight and not take things too personal while coming up with interventions to increase engagement.  Some groups were decent, others not so much, but I kept trying and found joy in serving this challenging population.   There was joy when witnessing the boy with size 19 shoe and another boy with a prosthetic leg have a successful snow experience while riding snow bikes after many failed attempts with previous snowboarding and skiing equipment.   There was joy when "jamming" together with the piano, guitar, drums and making original music together.   There was joy when putting my arm around a youth and sincerely wishing him future success and expressing confidence in his abilities even after knowing of his horrific past deeds.    I was legitimately sad when learning I would need to leave them and focus on the day program students.  

On my last day working with them, I walked into their classroom to prepare for a fishing activity.  I was greeted with a loud chorus of "Erin!"  It brought back memories from those early rock star days and made me chuckle.  I was also touched when earlier one of the boys helped me clean up after a messy painting activity and expressed concern about my skin cancer and personal life.  Some students, some of the time, treated me as a real person.  And I saw them as people as well, not just as juvenile delinquents.  It was great reminder of the truth I've learned over and over, "We are all people with problems."    It was my privilege to have the experience working with these fine young men or "hoodlums."  Yakety Yak...Don't Talk Back! 

My Voice

This morning I was thinking of having a voice that is heard.  The other day I brought my 41 year old cheer megaphone to work to encourage my students to participate in an open mic activity.  I used the megaphone as a symbol of making our voices heard.  It reminded me of a phrase from a Dear Evan Hansen song suggesting  "If you only say the word...from across the silence your voice is heard".

My students need to be heard.  Many times, their voice is a cry for help.  Their behaviors have spoken loudly and have been addressed by parents seeking treatment for their child's unhealthy personal expression. As with so many others in the mental health profession, I encourage self-expression through psychotherapy, writing, art, music, drama or other opportunities to open up for honest disclosure, reflection and insight.  

Besides the visual aide of the megaphone, I also brought my yearbook so the students could pick me out of a line up of cheerleaders.  I also performed a cheer using a microphone.  Of course, they thought it was dumb, but it gave me reason to pause and reflect about my value of having a voice.  As I thumbed through the pages of my ancient relic yearbook, I thought about other ways I sought to be seen and heard as a teen.  Whether it was my performance as Ado Annie in the the school play, or my involvement in student council, my voice was heard-no matter how high pitched and grating.  

In church my voice was heard through the many youth talks, primary music presentations as chorister, leadership councils, and special musical numbers singing solos and duets. From an early age, I enthusiastically raised my hand to answer questions posed by my teachers or get up in front of the congregation and bear my testimony at the pulpit.  I wanted to be involved but I also wanted to be heard.  

In college, my voice was drowned out by the large talent pool of BYU students. Nevertheless, I found small ways to be an influencer, long before the days of social media.  Whether it was in my interpersonal relationships with friends and acquaintances, service in church callings, or even serving a mission for my church in Spain, all gave voice to what I thought was important.

As a mother, my voice was heard through hundreds of hours of parental instruction-formal and informal, emphasizing family values. They didn't necessarily listen or like what I was saying but sometimes I felt heard and understood.  At times my sons and daughters did not feel seen and heard or that they truly had a voice in our family.  That is something I continue to address in the present as I reach out to them even if it's just to hear the sound of their voice.  I want their voice to be heard. 

In my career, I continue my desire to have a voice or at least some type of influence over my daily work schedule and duties.  I have often had incredible freedom approaching the very broad, generalist responsibilities associated with my title of recreation therapist and put my own spin on it.  I want to be "in the room where it happens" though power structures sometimes do not include me or want to know what I have to say about the matter.  

Church participation continues to provide opportunities to be heard.  Whether in testimony meeting, class member discussions, service and teaching-I feel welcome to share if I so desire.  These days I tend to listen and observe more with less need to be seen and heard. 

I am grateful to use this blog as my voice.  Even if I write and do not publish it for public consumption, It helps to give form and function to my thoughts and feelings.  It also is my small way to fulfil the promise from my patriarchal blessing of being a voice in the community. Though I'm not politically active, at least I can speak up-say something and be heard.  I am so grateful for all the opportunities to have a voice.  Thank you for listening! 

Serious Sunbathing

 This morning I was thinking about my relationship with light and consequences from exposure.  I'm sporting a brand new Frankenstein scar on my increasingly deformed forearm as a result of a recent surgery to remove squamous cell skin cancer.  It's the price I pay and most likely will continue to pay from all my So. Cal beach days and my continued love of sunshine.  

As the doctor was stitching me up, he also noted my unusually thin skin for someone my age and urged caution. This thin skin also increases my sensitivity with near constant itching due to dermatitis and eczema.  Happy Birthday month to me! "One year closer to the grave" as my family lovingly sings each year during our birthday gatherings.  Traditional belief suggest that once plunged into the darkness, souls are encouraged to "go to the light!"   

Going to the light, or seeking after light is good practice for the living as well.  While trying to pick a show last night, I considered watching Batman but had heard  it was "too dark" so I opted for a one of my favorite genre's- death and destruction movies.  The title, "How it Ends" caught my eye.  Big mistake.  STUPID choice.  I'm renaming it, "Boring Road Trip of F-words."  I fast forwarded though it to see images of death and destruction with no satisfaction.  But more than being disappointed with the movie, I was more disappointed with myself.  Was I really "going to the light" or am I on a stupid attention road trip of the profane. (worldly, secular, irreverent etc.)

There are so many voices vying for my attention at any given moment.   Content may contain spiritual cancer causing agents with absolutely no regard for my welfare.  They (whoever "they" are) just want me to watch their stuff- they don't care if I waste my time.  Who would think exposure to some darkness can cause cancer or at the very least destroy brain cells through vapid dialog?  But rest assured, every thing I pay attention to makes it's mark-at least in my memory.  Like skin cells remembering my good times at the beach, my brain stores the info somewhere.  Eventually with persistent exposure , I'll need to medicate it, radiate it or cut it out-unless I want to gradually die to all things spiritual. 

I let the doctor cut and take the larger chunk out of my arm since apparently some people die with this type of squamous cancer.  I don't really believe it.  It seems pretty harmless to me.  I guess I sometimes approach the whole exposure to media darkness with the same nonchalant attitude.  It will be fine.  Slap some VidAngel filters on it.  Whatever it takes for a moment of escapism-for a ride in someone else's reality.  

I'm not on a stupid road trip.  Rather, I'm on a trip to the sun.  Imagine that!   Since I'm going to have some ridiculous scar from the latest procedure, I might as well use it as my new personal tattoo.  My Sally/Jack Skeleton mark can stand as a visual to remind me to bathe in a different kind of sunlight or even moonlight.  Picture the last scene of Jack and Sally coming together in the bright moonlight.  I can "go to the light" even if I'm not dead.  I can soak it in and do some serious sunbathing.