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!
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Monday, June 27, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
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.
Freaking out and waving my hands randomly in the air can be reserved for retro disco dances.
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.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
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!
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!
Sunday, April 10, 2016
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.”
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.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
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."
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."
Monday, February 15, 2016
Hold On to Them
This morning I was thinking about a play I watched with my students last month entitled, "Mother Hicks." It was an excellent UVU Noorda Theatre production and I was unexpectedly surprised at our students appropriate theatre behavior. As such, I actually listened to and enjoyed the play set in the era of the Great Depression. There was one scene that particularly moved me to tears. My students were curious about my tears and I made up some lame explanation of why I was crying. I've had a little time to mull it over in my mind and wanted to flesh it out this morning in my blog.
The dialog takes place between the main character and her past foster care parent she finds living as a hobo with his son. She had originally been abandoned because this family could not longer afford to take care of her. She discovers her foster siblings have been pawned off to various families to care for them or work for them. The dialogue ensues, "You had a family but you just threw it all away. " The desolate looking father replies, "I just couldn't hold on to them. " She shoots back, "You could have held on to them." As she walks away and he asks where she is going, she states, "What do you care?"
Perhaps the power of the scene came from identifying closely with the "thrown away" little girl and also the forlorn, trodden down man. I've been working with a handful of students for the past 5 years that have been similarly abandoned- thrown away children with failed adoptions that nobody wants back because they are too dangerous and unstable; or a little girl who was literally thrown in a garbage dumpster; or severely traumatized children taken away by social services with parents who "couldn't hold on" to their own children because of drugs, neglect, or physical or sexual abuse rendering the child's environment unsafe. Yet parent and child yearn for each other, even if it's subconsciously. The child's pain of being discarded-for whatever reason and how it affects their ability to trust and care for others. The parent's despair that they were unable to care for their children and keep them close. It's a desolate scene played out daily in social services.
I probably identified more with the father. As he explained the various locations of his would be family, I thought of my own children-where they are-what they are doing. Who is taking care of them or how they are learning to take care of themselves. Though they are now all technically "adults" learning to take care of themselves, I will always want to care for them in some form or fashion. They are my children I'm desperately trying to "hold on to" not just for this life but throughout the eternities.
I picture clasped hands as a child dangles over a deep abyss-"don't let him fall." How both parent and child desperately seek to "hold on." Don't let go. Not only gravity, but entropy, the gradual decline of order, threatens to tear us apart; separating families forever. Destruction of the family into chaos is ever present. The temple is like a great celestial observatory-not only see what's coming (impending cosmic doom) but to prepare for it with it's opposite-creation and order. The ordinances-to put in order-to seal together families. The temple and the gospel of Jesus Christ give us everything we need to help us "hold on to" our precious families. I don't want my children to walk away shaking their heads and accusing me of "not caring." I care. I'm committed to hold on to them. And though I do not have super-human strength, I have access to someone who does...Jesus Christ. It is his strong arm in whom I can trust to strengthen my resolve to "hold on."
The dialog takes place between the main character and her past foster care parent she finds living as a hobo with his son. She had originally been abandoned because this family could not longer afford to take care of her. She discovers her foster siblings have been pawned off to various families to care for them or work for them. The dialogue ensues, "You had a family but you just threw it all away. " The desolate looking father replies, "I just couldn't hold on to them. " She shoots back, "You could have held on to them." As she walks away and he asks where she is going, she states, "What do you care?"
Perhaps the power of the scene came from identifying closely with the "thrown away" little girl and also the forlorn, trodden down man. I've been working with a handful of students for the past 5 years that have been similarly abandoned- thrown away children with failed adoptions that nobody wants back because they are too dangerous and unstable; or a little girl who was literally thrown in a garbage dumpster; or severely traumatized children taken away by social services with parents who "couldn't hold on" to their own children because of drugs, neglect, or physical or sexual abuse rendering the child's environment unsafe. Yet parent and child yearn for each other, even if it's subconsciously. The child's pain of being discarded-for whatever reason and how it affects their ability to trust and care for others. The parent's despair that they were unable to care for their children and keep them close. It's a desolate scene played out daily in social services.
I probably identified more with the father. As he explained the various locations of his would be family, I thought of my own children-where they are-what they are doing. Who is taking care of them or how they are learning to take care of themselves. Though they are now all technically "adults" learning to take care of themselves, I will always want to care for them in some form or fashion. They are my children I'm desperately trying to "hold on to" not just for this life but throughout the eternities.
I picture clasped hands as a child dangles over a deep abyss-"don't let him fall." How both parent and child desperately seek to "hold on." Don't let go. Not only gravity, but entropy, the gradual decline of order, threatens to tear us apart; separating families forever. Destruction of the family into chaos is ever present. The temple is like a great celestial observatory-not only see what's coming (impending cosmic doom) but to prepare for it with it's opposite-creation and order. The ordinances-to put in order-to seal together families. The temple and the gospel of Jesus Christ give us everything we need to help us "hold on to" our precious families. I don't want my children to walk away shaking their heads and accusing me of "not caring." I care. I'm committed to hold on to them. And though I do not have super-human strength, I have access to someone who does...Jesus Christ. It is his strong arm in whom I can trust to strengthen my resolve to "hold on."
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