This morning I was thinking how much I still need my big brother, Jerry O'Malley. He's on my mind since I'm going this week to our annual family reunion bash held at his backyard pool this 4th of July. We had a scare last month as he was rushed to the hospital via ambulance. He had an infection in his spine and is still on antibiotics. He seems to be on the mend but he wants to be off the antibiotics as it is affecting his sleep and energy level. Though I know all our lives are in the hand of the Lord, I prayed for his recovery. Over and over again I repeated the words, "We need him here." His wife surely needs him. His family needs him. His little baby sister still needs him-even though I'm 52. I will always need my 7 year older and wiser big brother.
We don't talk as much as we want to. This illness has given me an opportunity and excuse to have a more regular contact with him. I don't really know him like I want to. He's done way more for me and my own family than I ever have for him. In fact, I don't think I've done much of anything to help him. Though, I remember one birthday, he was a little hurt that I didn't remembered him on his birthday. I guess he wanted reassurance that I not only remember him but actually cared about him. But this post isn't about my failings as a sister, but rather the great influence my brother has and continues to have in my life. Oh how important he is to me! How he has helped me!
I don't have a lot of memories of my brother living inside the house. By the time I was more aware, I was living in his old bedroom (where he had played with matches and almost"burnt the house down" (A fact he admitted ON THE DAY he left for his mission to Mexico City). My earliest memories came from when he lived in our back house-a room connected to the garage. His little apartment became my refuge as I frantically knocked on the his door to let me in before my sister Kathy killed me for some reason or another. (Once again, this is not about my failings as a bratty, selfish baby sister.) This established a pattern of running to big brother when things got bad. Even though a knock became a phone call-he'd answer in his gentle way and invite me in. He'd let me cry. He'd listen. He'd comfort me. He'd give me advice. Though it's no longer listening to his guitar, singing, playing Battleship, Caroms, placing figurines on a vibrating football field or racing plastic beans down a maze- He continues to spend time hanging out with me giving freely of his time and attention.
My brother has a way of making me feel special. He also makes me feel like I am "neat." Jerry continues to give the greatest compliments. He is a builder of men and women. He knows that words matter and uses them to help. I'm sure he has criticized me, but I can't remember it. As a child I wanted him to think highly of me. I wanted to be worthy of his admiration and affection. I wanted to be like him. When I won the woo-wow top award at Hoover Jr. High that I didn't even know existed, it became significant to me just because my brother had won the same award 7 years earlier. How I wanted to follow in his footsteps.
More than anything, my brother was the closest thing I had to a righteous priesthood leader in the home. It was because of his heart and his desire to do what is right that our family found the Mormon church in the first place. He was a elementary school boy who WANTED to go to primary with his friends. He WANTED to be taught by the missionaries. He WANTED to be baptized. "And a little child shall lead them"-and my brother did, as both my mother and sister joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I was 3 years old and because of him, I grew up as a Mormon girl. I wrote to him every week when he was on his mission. I watched as he married the woman of his dreams and raise a wonderful family. I watched his keen desire to be obedient to every commandment. I have watched as he has served as bishop in his ward and in every other calling. He was a sober child, sober teenager, and sober man. His sober, serious yet fun demeanor, helped all of us deal with the adversity of growing up with an alcoholic father. He was the first one we would turn to when we needed a priesthood blessing. Of course he would be worthy-it was Jerry. He has been and continues to be a worthy vessel for the spirit of the Lord. We can feel it. He continues to lead with his righteous example. He is not perfect-but in the my eyes he is. He does everything right in my books; others agree. He's the only priesthood I've ever known and as such he has been a fine representative of Jesus Christ-doing his work-ministering to His children.
It's scary to think of losing my big brother. Who could I turn to then in times of trouble? Who would make me feel special? Who could lead the way? He is my physical example bearing witness of the eternal truth; I will always have my Savior, Jesus Christ- My Big Brother. I need not fear. He is always there. He will never leave me. He too wants me to remember him. He wants me to know him. I know Jerry O'Malley won't be around forever, but I am so hoping that we can all be like the aunties (now in their 90's) sitting around his pool sipping lemonade on the 4th of July. This is what I envision. What a blessing he is in my life! How I need my big brother!
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Attention Millionaire!
This morning I was thinking how fun it would be to be a millionaire. When it comes to physical resources, I don't have a lot of money to give away. It would be great to respond to every person begging with a handwritten cardboard sign. Instead, I often look away and pay attention to something else-I guess to ease my guilt for not giving some cash to those in need. How we choose to spend our money says so much about who we really are. But today, I'm thinking about something I have in great abundance-attention. It's a currency of sorts-and people need it, want it, and seek after it. In some situations, it's even more desirable than cash. It's fun to think of myself like an "attention millionaire" and can spend my unlimited resource on whatever I want. It reminds me of a quote from the movie, "Now You See Me" where he explains the job of a illusionist/magician is "to take the most precious of gifts you give me-your attention-and use it against you." Is our attention really one of the most "precious gifts" we give others? Or is money the preferable currency?
In some situations, throwing money at someone is completely useless, powerless, inappropriate- even offensive. Whereas the giving of attention can not only be one of the first things I do, the only thing I can do, the most appropriate, and at times the most sacred of things to offer. Yet most of the time, I carelessly throw this resource around (like a idiot with a wad of cash to burn). There's always more where that came from-it's so plentiful and accessible-It's easy to waste on the most trivial of matters. Everyone seems to clamoring for it anyway-as evidenced by annoying pop-up adds, spam, or people dancing around spinning their pizza signs. It's easy to just react instead of proactively choose what to pay attention to. I'd like to give my attention as a free will offering, instead of having it taken forcefully, like a gunman yelling at me demanding money.
Giving attention to someone can be a simple or grand gesture. It takes a conscious effort -to go out of my way and take a minute to look at someone- to smile at someone-to talk to someone-to just physically sit with someone-or show up. It's not always comfortable that's for sure. It's easy to feel stupid and not know what to do. I felt that way when I looked at a handsome single guy and smiled. That's attention. Or when I struck up a conversation with a stranger. That's attention. Or taking 2 seconds to write "Happy Birthday" on someone's Facebook wall. That's attention. Some people require more attention than others. It can be exhausting giving attention because it expends energy. This energy goes out of me, yet this exchange can also be reciprocal and energizing.
Last Sunday our bishop joined with other ecclesiastic leaders to attend the meetings of a fellow bishop who was killed in a plane crash with his wife and some of his children. I pictured all the priesthood brethren doing their best to minister and bolster support for the children left behind. Not just the newly created orphans but the also the ward member "children" left behind-who would care for this little flock now? This image of priesthood support in my mind was brought to life during the meeting as I watched a large gathering of men surround a little baby dressed in white as an emotional father gave him a blessing. He referred to him not only as his son, but as God's little one.
As I sat contemplating these images, another image came into my mind- actually one of the most moving stories in the Book of Mormon during the visit of Jesus Christ to the Americas. Jesus tells the multitude to "Behold Your Little Ones" as beings with authority, ministering angels, surround the little children "and they came down and encircled those little ones about, and they were encircled about with fire; and the angels did minister unto them." (3 Nephi 17:11) If ever there was an outpouring of heavenly attention or celestial energy-then this is it. It was like attention raining down from heaven. What a beautiful gift.
Contrast that with the scene in the movie, "Now You See Me" when money rains down in the arena over the frenzied crowd. Yes, money is something we'd all like more of and is always appreciated. It would be great to just throw it around and give and give and give until it hurts. However I need to remember I already have abundance of attention to spread around to bless the lives of God's little children everywhere.
In some situations, throwing money at someone is completely useless, powerless, inappropriate- even offensive. Whereas the giving of attention can not only be one of the first things I do, the only thing I can do, the most appropriate, and at times the most sacred of things to offer. Yet most of the time, I carelessly throw this resource around (like a idiot with a wad of cash to burn). There's always more where that came from-it's so plentiful and accessible-It's easy to waste on the most trivial of matters. Everyone seems to clamoring for it anyway-as evidenced by annoying pop-up adds, spam, or people dancing around spinning their pizza signs. It's easy to just react instead of proactively choose what to pay attention to. I'd like to give my attention as a free will offering, instead of having it taken forcefully, like a gunman yelling at me demanding money.
Giving attention to someone can be a simple or grand gesture. It takes a conscious effort -to go out of my way and take a minute to look at someone- to smile at someone-to talk to someone-to just physically sit with someone-or show up. It's not always comfortable that's for sure. It's easy to feel stupid and not know what to do. I felt that way when I looked at a handsome single guy and smiled. That's attention. Or when I struck up a conversation with a stranger. That's attention. Or taking 2 seconds to write "Happy Birthday" on someone's Facebook wall. That's attention. Some people require more attention than others. It can be exhausting giving attention because it expends energy. This energy goes out of me, yet this exchange can also be reciprocal and energizing.
Last Sunday our bishop joined with other ecclesiastic leaders to attend the meetings of a fellow bishop who was killed in a plane crash with his wife and some of his children. I pictured all the priesthood brethren doing their best to minister and bolster support for the children left behind. Not just the newly created orphans but the also the ward member "children" left behind-who would care for this little flock now? This image of priesthood support in my mind was brought to life during the meeting as I watched a large gathering of men surround a little baby dressed in white as an emotional father gave him a blessing. He referred to him not only as his son, but as God's little one.
As I sat contemplating these images, another image came into my mind- actually one of the most moving stories in the Book of Mormon during the visit of Jesus Christ to the Americas. Jesus tells the multitude to "Behold Your Little Ones" as beings with authority, ministering angels, surround the little children "and they came down and encircled those little ones about, and they were encircled about with fire; and the angels did minister unto them." (3 Nephi 17:11) If ever there was an outpouring of heavenly attention or celestial energy-then this is it. It was like attention raining down from heaven. What a beautiful gift.
Contrast that with the scene in the movie, "Now You See Me" when money rains down in the arena over the frenzied crowd. Yes, money is something we'd all like more of and is always appreciated. It would be great to just throw it around and give and give and give until it hurts. However I need to remember I already have abundance of attention to spread around to bless the lives of God's little children everywhere.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Erin Go Braugh/ Ireland until Eternity
This morning I was thinking about my new "Erin Go Bragh" flag. I coveted a similar flag while walking with my daughter and she went ahead and bought one for my birthday. Though this is not my personal flag, it might as well be. Besides having my name on it, it also has a girl with a pony tail connected to a harp emblazoned on a field of green. I still wear high pony tails, have green eyes, have the emerald as my birthstone, love music and King David's harp with his emphasis on religious music, and have the most Irish name ever-Erin O'Malley. Growing up, the name Erin wasn't too popular and people often misspelled it as Aaron (which is also a cool name considering priesthood power and such.) Along the way, I learned my name was in the dictionary meaning"Ireland." When divorcing, I went back to my maiden name as a way to reclaim my individual identity and just because I loved my name. Literal translation of the phrase "Erin Go Bragh" is "Ireland until eternity." Or the more popular rendition is "Erin Forever." I like the eternity reference even better.
So enough self-celebration. With all this green coursing through my veins, surely a trip to Ireland is in order. That was the plan anyway to celebrate my 50th birthday by going to Louisburgh, Mayo County (where my people came from,) do some family history, participate in the annual traditional Irish music festival held there, hike Crough Patrick, ride horses on the beach, ride the O'Malley ferry to Clare Island and visit the stomping ground of Grace O'Malley the pirate queen, etc, etc. But alas, my 50t birthday came and went a couple of years ago and that trip did not materialize. However, I have a cool Irish shrine in my condo with fun decor and pics on my wall to remind me of all things Ireland. And now I have a flag waving in front of my window. What more can a girl ask for?
Besides, who wants to ride in a metal tube in the sky for a billion hours anyway just to walk around in some green hills? (that's the best sour grapes sentiment I could come up with) I have my stunning green hills in my own back yard. So as my May birthday hike, I decided to go up Dry Canyon and drink in the green meadows, green stepped hills and snow capped mountains in the background. It was stunning. I could easily pretend I was in Ireland. I knew I had arrived when I heard my familiar blacked capped chickadee singing it's two note song "Erin." I'm sure you can't hear it, but I can. The song of this bird has come to symbolize for me that I am in the right place at the right time. I'm pretty superstitious I guess-maybe I believe in fairies and leprechauns too.
Utah is exceptionally green this year-more than usual because of the spring rainfalls. Everything seems to be decked out in their greenery. Life force seems to surround me. I especially love the bright shade of green in the early spring. Trees that have lay dormant in the winter are now bursting in color. I love the sense of renewal-new beginnings-starting again. It is the season of hope. Green does mean GO. I love the symbolism behind the color green.
I have come to appreciate the splash of green worn by temple initiates. As a fashion conscious young adult, I though it ruined my "dressed in white" ensemble. Through the years, I've increased my understanding of the symbolism as well as my appreciation for the necessary fall of man. I appreciate the greenness of humanity. We are all vulnerable, green. But at the same time, we are covered through the atonement of Jesus Christ. New green leaves cover the once naked branches. He covers the earth with green. He reminds us of new life, of starting again, over and over and over. It is an eternal season of hope. It is Ireland until Eternity.
So enough self-celebration. With all this green coursing through my veins, surely a trip to Ireland is in order. That was the plan anyway to celebrate my 50th birthday by going to Louisburgh, Mayo County (where my people came from,) do some family history, participate in the annual traditional Irish music festival held there, hike Crough Patrick, ride horses on the beach, ride the O'Malley ferry to Clare Island and visit the stomping ground of Grace O'Malley the pirate queen, etc, etc. But alas, my 50t birthday came and went a couple of years ago and that trip did not materialize. However, I have a cool Irish shrine in my condo with fun decor and pics on my wall to remind me of all things Ireland. And now I have a flag waving in front of my window. What more can a girl ask for?
Besides, who wants to ride in a metal tube in the sky for a billion hours anyway just to walk around in some green hills? (that's the best sour grapes sentiment I could come up with) I have my stunning green hills in my own back yard. So as my May birthday hike, I decided to go up Dry Canyon and drink in the green meadows, green stepped hills and snow capped mountains in the background. It was stunning. I could easily pretend I was in Ireland. I knew I had arrived when I heard my familiar blacked capped chickadee singing it's two note song "Erin." I'm sure you can't hear it, but I can. The song of this bird has come to symbolize for me that I am in the right place at the right time. I'm pretty superstitious I guess-maybe I believe in fairies and leprechauns too.
Utah is exceptionally green this year-more than usual because of the spring rainfalls. Everything seems to be decked out in their greenery. Life force seems to surround me. I especially love the bright shade of green in the early spring. Trees that have lay dormant in the winter are now bursting in color. I love the sense of renewal-new beginnings-starting again. It is the season of hope. Green does mean GO. I love the symbolism behind the color green.
I have come to appreciate the splash of green worn by temple initiates. As a fashion conscious young adult, I though it ruined my "dressed in white" ensemble. Through the years, I've increased my understanding of the symbolism as well as my appreciation for the necessary fall of man. I appreciate the greenness of humanity. We are all vulnerable, green. But at the same time, we are covered through the atonement of Jesus Christ. New green leaves cover the once naked branches. He covers the earth with green. He reminds us of new life, of starting again, over and over and over. It is an eternal season of hope. It is Ireland until Eternity.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Confining Groups
This morning I was thinking about confining groups and how personal choice is often superseded. Though it is wonderful to be able to "do whatever we want" and have freedom to explore, being part of a group and considering the needs of others takes precedence. If we choose to go at it alone-we miss out on opportunities to love and be loved. I tried to point this out to my students as we explored a water park in assigned safety groups. There was the expected push back of course as they felt confined. (It will be worse next week when making tent assignments for our spring camp.) Who am I stuck with and how are we going to make this work? It was mildly entertaining to observe their initial reactions, lack of mutual decisions making, how some bailed on each other preferring to explore water features by themselves, others kicked out the less active peers in their group and pawned them off to others. It's just harder to have fun when you can't do what you want. It's another testament to how easy it is to take almost any activity and turn it into experiential learning.
Though I have some one-on-one interaction with my clients, I primarily interact with them in groups. After observing a family therapy session facilitated by my co-worker, my latest intern stated, "That much cooler than any of the groups we do." Granted, older adolescent girls seemed to be much more insightful than hyperactive little children, but his remarks addressed the power of experiential activities and the satisfaction of helping families come together and work through some of their core issues. In defense of the satisfaction working with children, facilitating groups help prepare them to return to their most important group-their family. They can apply lessons in their future relationships with the people they care about most.
I'm reminded daily of how important family is to each of these students in confinement. It might be the unstable girl who just assaulted a student a day earlier who eagerly pulls me aside to read the latest letter from her father and show me her pictures of each family member. Or sitting down on the floor with a boy who punches himself in the nose and smears his blood all over himself who reports feeling calmer when he thinks about how much his mom loves him. Or the continually depressed boy who chants about missing his mother when disappointed or frustrated. Or the enthusiasm and anxiety of a student preparing for their first home visit. Or the tender concern of a parent in treatment team as she requests playing tooth fairy for her son by putting money into his account. It's these acts both big and small that say, families matter, even more so in confinement. Each child exists because a man and a woman came together. It takes more than one person doing whatever they want to form a group. Groups give us an opportunity for mutual caring and problems solving. Groups encourage us to make a decision to love another human being and care about each other's needs.
I love how the choice to love another human being was portrayed in the movie, "The Theory of Everything." It was powerful witnessing the confinement of a brilliant mind imprisoned in an impotent body. Or the self-induced confinement of Jane as she chooses to love and care for a man she knew would lose all control over his physical faculties. I loved how this choice to love each other gave Stephen hope to do more than just wait around to die. I loved the courage represented by each of them as they fought against his disease and found ways to contribute to the world. I loved Jane's reaction to the phrase in his book addressing "the question of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason -- for then we should know the mind of God." In their poignant separation, I felt Jane's admission of loving Stephen through the years. I loved the scene in Queen's garden when considering accomplishments leading to his impending knighthood. Stephen then remarked, "Look what we have made" and seemed to be referring to their children playing in front of him; that was beautiful-creators of their own universe. I know the movie wasn't an accurate representation of their relationship, but after a screening of the film Stephen Hawking eyes were wet, and so were mine. Maybe the "theory of everything" really is not summed up in one simple math equation, but in one simple word-love.
I believe love between a man and a woman creates the most important group in the world-a family. I chime in with the testimony of the late apostle L. Tom Perry as he states, "the older I get, the more I realize that family is the center of life and is the key to eternal happiness. I give thanks for my wife, for my children, for my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren, and for all of the cousins and in-laws and extended family who make my own life so rich and, yes, even eternal. Of this eternal truth I bear my strongest and most sacred witness in the name of Jesus Christ." I say amen to that, and amen to the power of the group. The personal choice to love within the confines of a group-whether self-selected or assigned is a great blessing and what we really want to do anyway. To subject personal will opens the door to love.
Though I have some one-on-one interaction with my clients, I primarily interact with them in groups. After observing a family therapy session facilitated by my co-worker, my latest intern stated, "That much cooler than any of the groups we do." Granted, older adolescent girls seemed to be much more insightful than hyperactive little children, but his remarks addressed the power of experiential activities and the satisfaction of helping families come together and work through some of their core issues. In defense of the satisfaction working with children, facilitating groups help prepare them to return to their most important group-their family. They can apply lessons in their future relationships with the people they care about most.
I'm reminded daily of how important family is to each of these students in confinement. It might be the unstable girl who just assaulted a student a day earlier who eagerly pulls me aside to read the latest letter from her father and show me her pictures of each family member. Or sitting down on the floor with a boy who punches himself in the nose and smears his blood all over himself who reports feeling calmer when he thinks about how much his mom loves him. Or the continually depressed boy who chants about missing his mother when disappointed or frustrated. Or the enthusiasm and anxiety of a student preparing for their first home visit. Or the tender concern of a parent in treatment team as she requests playing tooth fairy for her son by putting money into his account. It's these acts both big and small that say, families matter, even more so in confinement. Each child exists because a man and a woman came together. It takes more than one person doing whatever they want to form a group. Groups give us an opportunity for mutual caring and problems solving. Groups encourage us to make a decision to love another human being and care about each other's needs.
I love how the choice to love another human being was portrayed in the movie, "The Theory of Everything." It was powerful witnessing the confinement of a brilliant mind imprisoned in an impotent body. Or the self-induced confinement of Jane as she chooses to love and care for a man she knew would lose all control over his physical faculties. I loved how this choice to love each other gave Stephen hope to do more than just wait around to die. I loved the courage represented by each of them as they fought against his disease and found ways to contribute to the world. I loved Jane's reaction to the phrase in his book addressing "the question of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason -- for then we should know the mind of God." In their poignant separation, I felt Jane's admission of loving Stephen through the years. I loved the scene in Queen's garden when considering accomplishments leading to his impending knighthood. Stephen then remarked, "Look what we have made" and seemed to be referring to their children playing in front of him; that was beautiful-creators of their own universe. I know the movie wasn't an accurate representation of their relationship, but after a screening of the film Stephen Hawking eyes were wet, and so were mine. Maybe the "theory of everything" really is not summed up in one simple math equation, but in one simple word-love.
I believe love between a man and a woman creates the most important group in the world-a family. I chime in with the testimony of the late apostle L. Tom Perry as he states, "the older I get, the more I realize that family is the center of life and is the key to eternal happiness. I give thanks for my wife, for my children, for my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren, and for all of the cousins and in-laws and extended family who make my own life so rich and, yes, even eternal. Of this eternal truth I bear my strongest and most sacred witness in the name of Jesus Christ." I say amen to that, and amen to the power of the group. The personal choice to love within the confines of a group-whether self-selected or assigned is a great blessing and what we really want to do anyway. To subject personal will opens the door to love.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
How Things Work & Seeing
This morning I was thinking about how things work and seeing. On Thursday night I went to check out a Tinder match; I thought it would be stimulating conversation to speak to one of those post doc. professor/researcher guys who spends time touring the world presenting his theories to all the smart people of the world. Besides who doesn't like Chili's chips and salsa? It's about as non-threatening as it can get. Unfortunately, our conversation left me feeling exhausted. He asked me to explain how the Tinder thing works, my point behind my writing my blog, to explain my process when I compose music, to explain why I considered myself a religious person etc. etc. etc. He wasn't attacking me and I don't think I was defensive, I was just tired of explaining and explaining and explaining. The more I explained- the stupider I felt. Not only did I feel like a dumb blonde but I felt foolish- like a foolish little girl. I know we were the same age, but obviously in regards to brain matter, I was just an baby. As I asked him why he was passionate about his work as a physicist, he responded, "I like to learn how things work-and how things really are." In retrospect, I suppose he was just operating from his physicist point of view of trying to figure out how my universe works. Funny, even though I shared with him so much about my process, I don't think he really wanted to learn about me or even try to understand my heart. There definitely wan't any validation or appreciation. It was all pretty antiseptic. He got to see me and check me out-but he didn't really "see me".
We can see, but not really see. We all have problems with spiritual blindness. I'm trying to emphasize this idea as I teach the 8 year olds today while sharing the story of Jesus healing the man born blind. As the Pharisees tried to "figure out how it works" and how this man born blind could now see, they missed the whole point. They failed to recognize or see Jesus as the Light of the World-or their Messiah. The failed to turn to him when they had problems they could not fix on their own. They failed to recognize the hand of the Lord-the man now healed as a representation of the "works of God manifest." The were so concerned about being smart and right, they didn't recognize God or his works.
While watching a fascinating PBS documentary about some of the scientific contributions of Stephen Hawkins, I couldn't help but view his body as a fitting representation of his spiritual understanding of truth as knowledge of "things as they are, as they were, and as they are to come." Especially in light of his overarching conclusion that there is no God. How can he be the smartest guy on the planet, the foremost pioneer on studying the universe and how things work and yet be so spiritually blind? The scientific community will probably always think religious people are dumb and foolish. It is just difficult to explain spiritual things or back them up with scientific mathematical equations. Besides that-it's exhausting.
I want to see. I want to see clearly. I want to continue searching for truth wherever it may be. I want the answers to my questions. I want rational explanations. But in all my learning, all my striving to understand how things work, I want to see and recognize the hand of the Lord over his creations-over me as one of his creations. I want to recognize him as the Light of the World. I don't want to just "check him out", rather I want to "see" him. I want to recognize him for what he truly is- The Savior-the great fixer of broken things because he's the only one who really knows how things work.
We can see, but not really see. We all have problems with spiritual blindness. I'm trying to emphasize this idea as I teach the 8 year olds today while sharing the story of Jesus healing the man born blind. As the Pharisees tried to "figure out how it works" and how this man born blind could now see, they missed the whole point. They failed to recognize or see Jesus as the Light of the World-or their Messiah. The failed to turn to him when they had problems they could not fix on their own. They failed to recognize the hand of the Lord-the man now healed as a representation of the "works of God manifest." The were so concerned about being smart and right, they didn't recognize God or his works.
While watching a fascinating PBS documentary about some of the scientific contributions of Stephen Hawkins, I couldn't help but view his body as a fitting representation of his spiritual understanding of truth as knowledge of "things as they are, as they were, and as they are to come." Especially in light of his overarching conclusion that there is no God. How can he be the smartest guy on the planet, the foremost pioneer on studying the universe and how things work and yet be so spiritually blind? The scientific community will probably always think religious people are dumb and foolish. It is just difficult to explain spiritual things or back them up with scientific mathematical equations. Besides that-it's exhausting.
I want to see. I want to see clearly. I want to continue searching for truth wherever it may be. I want the answers to my questions. I want rational explanations. But in all my learning, all my striving to understand how things work, I want to see and recognize the hand of the Lord over his creations-over me as one of his creations. I want to recognize him as the Light of the World. I don't want to just "check him out", rather I want to "see" him. I want to recognize him for what he truly is- The Savior-the great fixer of broken things because he's the only one who really knows how things work.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Gentle Rain of Judgements
This morning I was thinking about gentle rain of judgements. That was the topic during our latest recreational fun run in the rain last Friday. Trying to make use of the inconvenient rain on our beautiful river trail, I had students make rain gear out of garbage bags and posed 3 questions: What are some uncomfortable judgmental thoughts raining down on you? What do you do to protect yourself against harsh judgments of self and others? How do you release unhelpful thoughts to make forward progress? The students kept moving forward while walking, jogging, or running and we got some of the most lushest, greenest pictures I have ever seen. At the end I had them throw sticks in the river to represent the constant movement of our minds and the ability to let go of unhelpful thoughts. I started our group focus by relating my recent experience dealing with my own harsh judgments while re-certifying as a lifeguard. After my final swim skills test, in rapid fire fashion I thought, "I don't deserve to be called a lifeguard. I'm too old and weak. I don't belong here. I don't deserve to have my current job as a Recreation Therapist working with youth. I don't belong there. I don't deserve to even have a job. I don't even know how to take care of my self or my family. I'm just one big fat failure." The downward spiral of negative thoughts suck me down so quickly, it's no wonder I burst into tears. I tried to keep my own little "down pour" quiet and unseen.
I was required to retake the lifeguard class because I let my certification expire. Since it is one of the certifications I need to keep my "Mary Poppins' gig, I spent Monday-Thursday taking the all day lifeguard class with a bunch of teenagers, return missionaries and college swim team members. To say I felt out of place would be a understatement. Though I passed the initial swim skills evaluation, on the final day, the teacher threw me a tube while assisting with spinal back boarding since I'm "not a very strong swimmer." Then she yelled at me for being a horrible "passive victim" that had "robbed" my fellow class participant of experiencing the full weight of an unconscious victim. Later while fumbling through the most difficult rescue-the deep water passive submerged victim, the teacher asked me to do it again. I just get so nervous when diving down deep (for me) and run out of air so quickly that I struggle with my coordination under pressure. I can't seem to find and pull the string on the rescue tube quickly enough to shove it between me and the victim while re-surfacing. My strength started to fail while trying to jump out of the higher than normal pool ledge, grab the spinal board, plunge it down close to the wall and get the victim out of the water. I was also chided with corrective feedback while submerging the board with the net effect of multiplying my doubts regarding my abilities and deeming myself as a stupid and not having any common sense. While improving some aspects of the total swim skill, I volunteered to do the deep water rescue again-now a totaling 3 times to at least show I was willing to keep trying. I was tired. I was having spasms and cramps in my calves and toes.
Now it was time for the final test. As I sat with a bunch of kids who were nervous about it, (swim team people nervous-that's just ridiculous) I assured myself how the teachers are very supportive-they want you to succeed-they help you succeed. I've done this before-they are super forgiving. I was pretty calm anticipating the test. Through procrastination or courtesy, I ended up being the last one tested with most everyone watching. Of course it would be the hardest skill but "I can do hard things- right?" I snatched the victim, kind of shoved the tube between us, swam to the side with girl in tow while breathing hard, used my weakling arms to climb over the edge, got the board, pulled her out and started on my primary assessment, now on the manikin. This is the part I'm usually pretty confident about. However my lack of coordination under pressure was apparent to everyone; I struggled to find my rescue mask (everyone's red box was strewn across the pool deck)and put on my gloves (my hands trembled while trying to fit the gloves over my wet hands. ) Clearly, with all this fiddling around, the victim would have been dead by the time I got around to doing the CPR. On top of that I put the mask on upside down while rescue breathing and was slipping all over the victim while doing compressions. It was a joke. Then I went over to the shallow pool for the spinal victim and did the wrong skill while trying to prevent running into the wall with a head splint technique. I repeated it as my victim faced the opposite way and according to the instructor, passed the skills test. It was at this moment that I had my spiraling series of negative judgements and tears. In my lame defense, I did get 100% on one of the written tests. I don't think my instructors would pick me to lifeguard a crowded wave pool this summer at Seven Peaks, but at least they thought I deserved to update my certification and continue to supervise my handful of students (usually with life preservers on)when playing in or near water.While leaving, I thanked my instructors for all their service and for being so "gentle with me."
Why do we get so worked up with the word "test"? Why do we freak out when facing required judgments? Why do we think those who sit in judgement are so willing to fail us and literally dam our progress? Why do we think they are going to be more like God flooding the earth rather than gentle Jesus, God of the Old Testament, being baptized in the still waters of Jordan? This I know; we have been sent here from our heavenly home to be tested. "And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them;...and they who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever." (Abraham 3: 25-26)
I know that we will all stand before the "pleasing bar of God" to be judged according to our works in this "testing" state of earth life. I know that none of us "deserves" eternal life, no matter how skilled we may be at doing God's will. I am so grateful for a Jesus, gentle judge, whose perfect justice and mercy will not damn me forever or "leave my soul in hell" or even slap a failing grade telling me how stupid I am. I may not be symbolically guarding the Heavenly wave pool, but there is a place for me, people to love, and opportunities to serve. I trust in his judgment. I trust him. I know those who have passed on and living in the spirit world, even all God's precious children drowned in the flood, are given opportunities to progress, accept ordinances and live gospel principles. How gentle is the rain that falls from His skies.
I was required to retake the lifeguard class because I let my certification expire. Since it is one of the certifications I need to keep my "Mary Poppins' gig, I spent Monday-Thursday taking the all day lifeguard class with a bunch of teenagers, return missionaries and college swim team members. To say I felt out of place would be a understatement. Though I passed the initial swim skills evaluation, on the final day, the teacher threw me a tube while assisting with spinal back boarding since I'm "not a very strong swimmer." Then she yelled at me for being a horrible "passive victim" that had "robbed" my fellow class participant of experiencing the full weight of an unconscious victim. Later while fumbling through the most difficult rescue-the deep water passive submerged victim, the teacher asked me to do it again. I just get so nervous when diving down deep (for me) and run out of air so quickly that I struggle with my coordination under pressure. I can't seem to find and pull the string on the rescue tube quickly enough to shove it between me and the victim while re-surfacing. My strength started to fail while trying to jump out of the higher than normal pool ledge, grab the spinal board, plunge it down close to the wall and get the victim out of the water. I was also chided with corrective feedback while submerging the board with the net effect of multiplying my doubts regarding my abilities and deeming myself as a stupid and not having any common sense. While improving some aspects of the total swim skill, I volunteered to do the deep water rescue again-now a totaling 3 times to at least show I was willing to keep trying. I was tired. I was having spasms and cramps in my calves and toes.
Now it was time for the final test. As I sat with a bunch of kids who were nervous about it, (swim team people nervous-that's just ridiculous) I assured myself how the teachers are very supportive-they want you to succeed-they help you succeed. I've done this before-they are super forgiving. I was pretty calm anticipating the test. Through procrastination or courtesy, I ended up being the last one tested with most everyone watching. Of course it would be the hardest skill but "I can do hard things- right?" I snatched the victim, kind of shoved the tube between us, swam to the side with girl in tow while breathing hard, used my weakling arms to climb over the edge, got the board, pulled her out and started on my primary assessment, now on the manikin. This is the part I'm usually pretty confident about. However my lack of coordination under pressure was apparent to everyone; I struggled to find my rescue mask (everyone's red box was strewn across the pool deck)and put on my gloves (my hands trembled while trying to fit the gloves over my wet hands. ) Clearly, with all this fiddling around, the victim would have been dead by the time I got around to doing the CPR. On top of that I put the mask on upside down while rescue breathing and was slipping all over the victim while doing compressions. It was a joke. Then I went over to the shallow pool for the spinal victim and did the wrong skill while trying to prevent running into the wall with a head splint technique. I repeated it as my victim faced the opposite way and according to the instructor, passed the skills test. It was at this moment that I had my spiraling series of negative judgements and tears. In my lame defense, I did get 100% on one of the written tests. I don't think my instructors would pick me to lifeguard a crowded wave pool this summer at Seven Peaks, but at least they thought I deserved to update my certification and continue to supervise my handful of students (usually with life preservers on)when playing in or near water.While leaving, I thanked my instructors for all their service and for being so "gentle with me."
Why do we get so worked up with the word "test"? Why do we freak out when facing required judgments? Why do we think those who sit in judgement are so willing to fail us and literally dam our progress? Why do we think they are going to be more like God flooding the earth rather than gentle Jesus, God of the Old Testament, being baptized in the still waters of Jordan? This I know; we have been sent here from our heavenly home to be tested. "And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them;...and they who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever." (Abraham 3: 25-26)
I know that we will all stand before the "pleasing bar of God" to be judged according to our works in this "testing" state of earth life. I know that none of us "deserves" eternal life, no matter how skilled we may be at doing God's will. I am so grateful for a Jesus, gentle judge, whose perfect justice and mercy will not damn me forever or "leave my soul in hell" or even slap a failing grade telling me how stupid I am. I may not be symbolically guarding the Heavenly wave pool, but there is a place for me, people to love, and opportunities to serve. I trust in his judgment. I trust him. I know those who have passed on and living in the spirit world, even all God's precious children drowned in the flood, are given opportunities to progress, accept ordinances and live gospel principles. How gentle is the rain that falls from His skies.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Whatever It Takes/However Long
This morning I was thinking about my upsetting dream where my son was reporting about his first year away at college and his lack of church attendance. Then the face of my boy changed and it was another son telling me about his vindictive behavior towards a fellow student. (Subconsciously, I think that was because my son recently played a bully in an independent film.) Then my mom, who seemed to be in the dorm room also, piped in how I could have done things differently as a mom and done a better job with my children. At this point I woke up. I felt upset. Happy Mother's Day to me! But immediately as I was rehashing the dream in my mind, a very distinct thought came pouring in..."Whatever it takes-however long." That thought seemed to hush my worries and bring peace. I didn't quite know what it meant, but in the next couple of hours I tried to turn things over in my mind to make sense of it.
It was a good thing this dream/nightmare woke me up at that moment since I noticed a call coming in from my son. I silenced the phone last night and now it was vibrating. He reminded me to meet him at a freeway exit in about 45 minutes to take him to the airport. Previously I thought he meant to take him around 5:00 p.m.- not 5:00 a.m! While waiting in the parking lot, I started listening to an old Jeffrey Holland talk, "However Long and Hard the Road" from a 1982 BYU devotional. I thought it went along with the "Whatever It Takes" idea. My son was taking longer than expected so I stopped what I was doing and prayed. I imagined car accidents and speeding tickets; I knew he was in a rush. When he got there he explained his difficulties with his storage unit, getting pulled over for a faulty speedometer, and now was almost an hour late to get to the airport. It was no surprise to either of us when my car was now dead and needed a jump and he almost locked his keys in the car. I just burst out laughing-our very own comedy of errors. But we kept going-hurdle after hurdle and he miraculously made his flight, at least according to his text. I texted him back, "Whatever it takes-however long. I will help you on your journey. Your mom loves you forever."
I helped him on his journey-at least for that small stretch of I-15 from Provo to SLC airport. I filled up the gas tank yesterday when thinking I may need to run down to St. George to pick up the remainder of my son's stuff that wouldn't fit into the VW bug. In the end, he didn't need my help. He's here now with 2 other newly acquired friends sleeping safe and sound in the basement. We try-we all try as parents to help our children on their life journeys. But I think the "whatever it takes" didn't so much refer to MY efforts-but THEIRS. As a mother, sometimes I think I need to have super-hero power actions to save my family. Yesterday, my daughter took me to the "Avengers" movie and I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the ridiculous action sequences-doing "whatever" to neutralize threats and save the day. I think it's pretty easy to laugh (or cry) at the "whatever" moments in the lives of my children as they try to heroically face their challenges and learn from them. It's all part of their journey, and as their mother, it is my privilege to help, carry them and give needed rides on their way.
This idea of helping each other on life journeys seems to go along with my weekend studies of energy healing and other alternative medicine. Though I do not believe in Buddist philosophies of past lives, I do believe I am here on earth to learn from my mistakes and will be learning forever. In some faiths the goal isn't to keep being reincarnated over and over again but to eventually return back to the source-oneness, consciousness, divinity...to go back home. It's the collective will, egolessness or the "blowing out of self" that helps people experience the transcendental state of Nirvana. I differ in that I believe in the permanence of individual intelligence-or that sense of "I am" and I'm trying to return back to my Heavenly home. I have always existed. I exist now. I will always exist. And yet, if people have compassion about someone who has been reincarnated many times cause he can't seem to get it right-why can't I give myself that same compassion when I mess up or my loved ones mess up-how many chances do we get anyway? How many lifetimes do we need to live? As many as it takes-whatever it takes-however long. Each day, each hour, each minute can be like a "new life" to try to get it right this time.
All I know is that I need to be empowered to keep trying. On this Mother's Day, I want to continue to help my children as they continue on their journey. I know where I want them to go. I want them to love God and show it (including going to church!). I want them to love their fellowman (treat others well!) and show it. I want them to be ONE with their maker. If God has infinite patience with me, why can't I show more compassion and less judgement as that mother voice in my head yammers on. I honor their efforts and I say again, "Whatever it takes-however long-I will continue to help them on their journey." That's my honor as a mother.
It was a good thing this dream/nightmare woke me up at that moment since I noticed a call coming in from my son. I silenced the phone last night and now it was vibrating. He reminded me to meet him at a freeway exit in about 45 minutes to take him to the airport. Previously I thought he meant to take him around 5:00 p.m.- not 5:00 a.m! While waiting in the parking lot, I started listening to an old Jeffrey Holland talk, "However Long and Hard the Road" from a 1982 BYU devotional. I thought it went along with the "Whatever It Takes" idea. My son was taking longer than expected so I stopped what I was doing and prayed. I imagined car accidents and speeding tickets; I knew he was in a rush. When he got there he explained his difficulties with his storage unit, getting pulled over for a faulty speedometer, and now was almost an hour late to get to the airport. It was no surprise to either of us when my car was now dead and needed a jump and he almost locked his keys in the car. I just burst out laughing-our very own comedy of errors. But we kept going-hurdle after hurdle and he miraculously made his flight, at least according to his text. I texted him back, "Whatever it takes-however long. I will help you on your journey. Your mom loves you forever."
I helped him on his journey-at least for that small stretch of I-15 from Provo to SLC airport. I filled up the gas tank yesterday when thinking I may need to run down to St. George to pick up the remainder of my son's stuff that wouldn't fit into the VW bug. In the end, he didn't need my help. He's here now with 2 other newly acquired friends sleeping safe and sound in the basement. We try-we all try as parents to help our children on their life journeys. But I think the "whatever it takes" didn't so much refer to MY efforts-but THEIRS. As a mother, sometimes I think I need to have super-hero power actions to save my family. Yesterday, my daughter took me to the "Avengers" movie and I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the ridiculous action sequences-doing "whatever" to neutralize threats and save the day. I think it's pretty easy to laugh (or cry) at the "whatever" moments in the lives of my children as they try to heroically face their challenges and learn from them. It's all part of their journey, and as their mother, it is my privilege to help, carry them and give needed rides on their way.
This idea of helping each other on life journeys seems to go along with my weekend studies of energy healing and other alternative medicine. Though I do not believe in Buddist philosophies of past lives, I do believe I am here on earth to learn from my mistakes and will be learning forever. In some faiths the goal isn't to keep being reincarnated over and over again but to eventually return back to the source-oneness, consciousness, divinity...to go back home. It's the collective will, egolessness or the "blowing out of self" that helps people experience the transcendental state of Nirvana. I differ in that I believe in the permanence of individual intelligence-or that sense of "I am" and I'm trying to return back to my Heavenly home. I have always existed. I exist now. I will always exist. And yet, if people have compassion about someone who has been reincarnated many times cause he can't seem to get it right-why can't I give myself that same compassion when I mess up or my loved ones mess up-how many chances do we get anyway? How many lifetimes do we need to live? As many as it takes-whatever it takes-however long. Each day, each hour, each minute can be like a "new life" to try to get it right this time.
All I know is that I need to be empowered to keep trying. On this Mother's Day, I want to continue to help my children as they continue on their journey. I know where I want them to go. I want them to love God and show it (including going to church!). I want them to love their fellowman (treat others well!) and show it. I want them to be ONE with their maker. If God has infinite patience with me, why can't I show more compassion and less judgement as that mother voice in my head yammers on. I honor their efforts and I say again, "Whatever it takes-however long-I will continue to help them on their journey." That's my honor as a mother.
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