The tank top miracles

I always wish I could really see all of the places where the Lord touches my life, see and feel and understand which bits were evidences of divine love.  Would I be surprised?  Have I recognized many already?  Are there so many more I'm not seeing?

I wonder.

Sometimes something will happen and I'll think that it was a convenient coincidence...but then sometimes something else will happen that, for me anyway, solidifies the situation as a Tender Mercy.  Like the tank top miracles a couple of weeks ago.

My car accident shoulder has been bothering me this year.  Not in an every-minute-of-the-day kind of way, but at night and with some kinds of movement.  One day I was at work and mentioned to the naturopath that I probably needed some acupuncture on my shoulder.  A couple of hours later she came out of her office and said that she'd had a cancellation and could do it that afternoon after I was done working.  As I was sitting on her table and she was getting ready to start I had a little sinking feeling...she was going to need me to take my sweater off to access the front of my shoulder and that was going to make me uncomfortable.  But then just as quickly as I had that thought, I had another one.  In an unusual turn of events I was wearing a tank top under my sweater!

That morning I'd picked a v-neck sweater to wear and had wondered if it would be a little too low, so I'd also grabbed a tank top to wear under it even though in the back of my mind I knew that I regularly wore it alone.  Who knew how grateful I'd be for that tank top just a couple of hours later!

I think I told Jared about what had happened later when he asked me how my day was.  I told him I thought it was probably a tender mercy, and how grateful I'd been to have the tank top on under my sweater.

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About two weeks later I was at work again and my shoulder was bothering me again.  I had to reach under the desk to pull out a plug and re-plug it and the action of reaching was seriously painful.  When I mentioned it to Hilary she told me that she had an opening on her schedule again that day.  (I should mention that both of these last minute openings were highly unusual, she's often booked out a week in advance.)  So once again I found myself sitting on her table, having that sinking feeling about needing to take my sweater off, and once again in EXACTLY the same way I realized...I was wearing a tank top!

It had happened in just the same way.  I had taken down another v-necked sweater that I regularly wore alone, been concerned that it would be too low, and put on a tank top first.  I hadn't even thought about it after that because (as it always does) within a few minutes sweater pulled up in front and the tank top wasn't even visible.

Sitting on the table in Hilary's office I happily pulled off my sweater.  But part of my brain was on fire.  "Did you SEE that?!?" it asking.  "Not once, but TWICE!"  Those random thoughts in my head (that really do sound like every other thought I've ever had) nudged me towards the tank tops, on days when having a tank top on was going to bring peace to my heart.

Tender mercies indeed.

Calling Thoughts

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I don't do change well at all.  Not in any area of my life, really.

One place I'm almost always resistant ​to change is in my calling at church.  Even when I feel like I've had plenty of warning from the spirit that a change is coming (which, interestingly, has happened when I've had callings that I've loved--isn't it nice of Heavenly Father to have given me a heads up?) I've still struggled with the change.  And even when I've had a calling I haven't loved (bored behind the piano much???) I haven't handled change well.

Some of my less graceful responses to callings have included "no one cares about that calling" and "you want me to do what??" But despite my issues with change in general and with being asked to do something I don't want to do, I have a multifaceted testimony of callings.

I remember when I was called to be the Laurel advisor many years ago.  It was the first time I really saw that there was power in being set apart. I walked into the Bishop's office, was set apart, and walked out loving Brandi Butler.  And not because Brandi was easy to love, but because the spirit changed my heart.

Last year when I was called to play the piano in primary I wasn't thrilled about it.  It turned out to be a good experience in several ways, though. Yes, I was bored a good amount of the time.  (I'm not really good at doing a mediocre job of something while watching someone else do a mediocre job of something I'm terrific at!) But I was surprised at how often the primary songs would be in my mind, bringing peace though a difficult time in my life.  Best of all, being the pianist occasionally meant I got to sub as the chorister, including teaching one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs to the primary kids last year. 

At the beginning of this year I was asked to be the assistant Mia Maid advisor.  The calling was presented in the least attractive way possible and I responded with my usual lack of graciousness.  I was especially unhappy about having to go to YM/YW on Wednesday nights since I work on Wednesdays.  And it's true, I am tired and have to take a nap between work and YW and we often eat leftovers that night.  But it's also amazingly true that I'm actually enjoying myself, and loving these sweet girls who I had mostly never noticed before. 

We have a terrific home teacher.  He's retired now but has been a super successful businessman, a stake president, and a mission president.  I noticed recently that he must have a new calling, probably something like Webelos.  Every week when I get to the church (a few minutes late, of course) I see him in a room with the boys. Maybe he loves doing it.  But really there's every chance he doesn't, or that he didn't when he was called.  I'm inspired by his service at what is a far more taxing calling than either playing the piano or being the assistant Mia Maid advisor. 

So this is my goal, for next time.  To do a better job of keeping the "I hate change and am sure I will hate this calling" freak out inside my head, and give the Lord a chance to show me how wrong I am yet again.

Reading the Book of Mormon

Four years ago I wrote about my super slow scripture study program.  At the beginning of 2016 I felt like I should read the entire Book of Mormon during the year, so I abandoned my slow study somewhere in 2nd Nephi and embarked on a different experience for the year.  On December 30th that I finished the "Read the Book of Mormon in 1 year" challenge. That is much faster than my typical scripture reading, but it was a good experience. It reminded me that over the last few years when I've felt like I've known few things, I've known that I love the Book of Mormon, that it helps me feel the spirit, and that my life is better when I read it.

The interesting effect of having just pushed through and read the assigned amount every day (almost) for the year is that by the end I was desperate to be able to slow down and read more about different verses, figure out what they meant or how they were meaningful.  2016 made me excited to go back to reading slowly again.  Back to 2nd Nephi I go!

Scripture power

For years and years I resisted having family scriptures in the morning.  Resisted with all of my might and strength and sleep.  And then the year before last I gave in.  We were consistently NEVER remembering at dinner and I wanted family scriptures more than I wanted that additional sleep.  But it always killed me to get up.

As we've had morning scriptures for the last two years I've been really surprised at how much I've liked the feeling of doing it, regardless of how tired I've been.  I've liked the *feeling* of being together in the morning, studying God's word for us before we start our days.

But this school year is killing me worse than normal.  I'm not sure if it's working two days a week now or what, but I just can't find my balance.  I'm out of both physical and emotional energy long before bedtime many days, always on the verge of depression, always worried about getting sick.

It finally occurred to me that now that everyone has smart phones with all of the stellar reminder features, we could go back to trying at night.

And do you know what?  A part of me resisted.  Because of that great morning feeling.  But something has to change in order for me to survive this school year.  So...

For the last couple of nights we've had family scriptures about 9:30.  And do you know what?  I've *loved* it!  The cozy feeling of our family gathered together at the end of our day reading and/or listening to God's word for us.  What a beautiful thing.

Answered Prayer

I am a praying person, but I have never felt like I am a good pray-er. I pray because I should and because I trust that it probably does make a difference, but usually that is more faith than certainty. From time to time, however, a specific prayer is answered in such an unmistakeable way that there is no doubt in my mind that God does, in fact, hear me.

One of those moments happened yesterday. On the way to Emerald Isle I was so troubled by a situation in my life. As I thought through one possible solution I realized that my heart was racing, leaving me almost breathless. I wasn't sure if this was fear or some kind if ego-driven excitement. Whichever it was, I wasn't sure I could go through with this plan to deal with the difficult situation. In my mind I said a little prayer, "Heavenly Father, if this is supposed to happen, *you* will have to make it happen, because I no longer trust myself to know that this is the right thing to do." And then I tried not to think about it.

Several hours later we arrived at Big Bertha and we unexpectedly greeted by a houseful of smoky air. This situation set in motion changes that forced me to act on my plan. I took a big breath, started praying, and made a request, all the while feeling anxious and a big sick to my stomach.

But the plan (suggested by my wise brother Jeff) dealt with the problematic situation perfectly. I felt calm and loving. I was able to present my issue and feel compassion at the same time. And in the end I felt the resolution was (and this is a strong word, but accurate) perfect and provided a far better start to our beach week than we would have otherwise had.

Jeff laughed at me, at the thought that God provided a smoky house to force me to action. I don't know how to look at that and don't really care. What I know is that I prayed for Him to make it happen if it was important, and that it absolutely and immediately happened that way.

Moments like these keep me praying. They give me confidence that even though I rarely *feel* something amazing when I pray (and I certainly didn't yesterday in that short unspoken prayer) and rarely feel like I see results when I pray, something is happening. And that is enough.

Maybe not for naught

My memorizer is broke.

I suspected this for many years, and in the last 5 am certain. 

I've gone from being a prolific and easy memorizer of anything and everything (music, poetry, scripture) to bring a frustrated never memorizer, not even of one measure of music. 

All I can assume is that the triplets broke me.  😉

(Regardless of the cause, the situation exists.)

Several years ago I decided I wanted to memorize scriptures, and that I wanted to start with Paul's verses on charity.  They are beautiful to me, and since I struggle to have charity in my daily life, I thought it a good place to start.

I printed out a full sheet of paper with these verses on it.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind;
charity envieth not;
charity vaunteth not itself,
is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly,
seeketh not her own,
is not easily provoked,
thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity,
but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things,
believeth all things,
hopeth all things,
endureth all things.
Charity never faileth.

Every day for a year I read and reread these verses as I stood in front if the bathroom mirror.  It sounds pathetic, but at the end of the year I couldn't recite the whole thing--only small bits and pieces, and not in any good order.  I pronounced my experiment a failure.

---

Today's topic in sacrament meeting was charity.  The first adult speaker was going along with her talk, and then she said that she wanted to"read words from Paul."

Immediately (far quicker than my conscious mind could have responded) there was an upwelling of joy from my heart.  She was going to read my beautiful verses!  Verses that my heart loves!!

As she read each line I felt my heart grow warm and warmer until I felt filled with joy.

---

Can you imagine how surprised I felt?

All I can say is--perhaps my failed project

Wasn't.

And perhaps it's time for a new scripture on the mirror.

A new calling

For months I had this ticking clock in my head--an awareness that time was counting down to the 3 year anniversary of my calling as a Relief Society teacher. My assumption was that that meant that the relief society presidency was also paying attention and would want to release me then. Three years is long enough to listen to anyone, right?

It happened just as I had expected--I taught that 36th lesson and a member of the bishopric called me for an interview and released me.

But it also happened differently than I had expected. The newish Relief Society actually had no idea how long I had been teaching and were very sad to lose me as a teacher. And the brand new bishopric had no idea how long I had been teaching. But they had been told that the current primary pianist wanted to be released, and they decided I was the one to replace her.

That primary pianist is also the person who cuts my hair, so I learned fairly quickly that she actually *hadn't* wanted to be released and was kind of sad about it. Boy how this irritated me. I'd been on such a roll in the last year of teaching Relief Society--my lessons were really impactful. (And I say that with full awareness that the gift of teaching is totally and completely a blessing that comes from Heavenly Father had only has to do with me in that I put in the time to prepare to teach.) I was sad for that to end because of a bunch of second and third hand information that wasn't even accurate, and I felt like the calling was probably a mistake.

To be quite honest, I'm bored by playing the piano in primary much of the time. It's a bad combination of some of my personality traits combined with the particular characteristics of this primary chorister. So for the first several weeks I sat and played (and not even that well) and grumped in my mind.

A couple of weeks in, though, I noticed something interesting. At random times throughout the week I would find the words or melody of the previous week's primary song caught in my mind.

...as I search the scriptures
I can feel his words of peace...

...listen with my heart
I hear the Savior's voice...

and after last week when they were singing the chorus of a song that's new to me,

Press forward, press forward,
with steadfastness in Christ...

...and a love of all man...

...feasting upon the word,
and enduring to the end...

As these melodies and words have gone through my brain, their little snippets on endless repeat loops, they have brought surprising peace into my heart and mind. And in the second or third week that I realized it was happening I thought to myself, hmm...maybe this was actually exactly right.

The Sabbath vs. the Fabric

I cut out a bunch of things the other night, taking advantage of a moment where no one needed me and I felt motivated.  I'd purchased this cute cuddly flannel fabric the afternoon before to make a dress for Kate.  She's gotten bigger and the last time I made her a dress I made a mental note that the next time I'd need more fabric.  But the more I bought wasn't enough, and I found myself on Saturday evening out of fabric still needing to cut out the bodice pieces.  

I drove down to JoAnn's with only minutes to spare and then looked for my bolt of snowman flannel.  Up one aisle and down the other, through all of the Christmas fabric, and then again.  I even spied on other people's baskets and went to the cutting counter to make sure it wasn't in their "just cut" pile, but with no luck.  I searched their website online so that I could show the worker what I was after but it was sold out online too.

I left the fabric store at 9pm in a quandry.  Hillsboro has 2 JoAnn's--isn't that great?!?  So there was a possibility that the other one would have my fabric.  But--Sunday.  

I went back and forth.  We don't shop on Sunday, and unless we're traveling and there are no other options, we hold a firm line on that.  But clearly this fabric was super popular--out in my regular store and online too!  What if one more day was all it took for the rest of the fabric to be sold?  The rationalizer in my head started in: the workers were already going to be there!  I could at least call and get them to hold the fabric!  Lucky for me my conscience was also going strong with it's mantra, "Not on Sunday."

I told everyone about it yesterday when the home teachers were here.  That I was visibly making my stand before the Lord, showing that He is more important that fabric.  Even more important than fabric that's already all cut out and just waiting for a few more inches.  I planned how I would still make the dress if I couldn't get more fabric, because I was sure that's what would happen.  My plans didn't really make my heart happy because I just couldn't see how I could make it still look good.  But it was better than nothing.

As soon as it was 9 this morning I called the other JoAnn's and described my dilemma.  The lady put me on hold to go look for the bolt of fabric and was back a few minutes later.  "Do your snowmen have green scarves and red scarves on?"  "YES!!!" I told her, absolutely thrilled.  And then Kate and I drove down there a while later and picked up the fabric, which I'm hoping will turn out to be a cute dress.

But one thing it will be, regardless of how cute it is or isn't, is a visible symbol. A symbol that in a moment where a big part of me wanted a pass, the other part of me held the line, knowing that integrity and obedience are far more important than cute snowman dresses.

PS--I can't take all of the credit for this decision, or even most of the credit.  Here's something I put on instagram last week:  

I've been thinking a lot recently that we are in many ways the beneficiaries of habits instilled by our parents. Sure, we have to make the decision to keep doing these things. But it's so much easier to continue what we've done our whole lives rather than to have to learn a new habit. Today I'm grateful that we both came to our marriage with the "church is what we do on Sunday" habit. I think it blesses our lives in many ways...

And ye would not...

The picture I do not have: Rachel sitting at the end of the church bench, head resting on her legs after getting back from yesterday's band competition at 3:30AM this morning.  I told her--come and sit by me and you can lean against me.  But not my oft prickly teenager who rarely is willing to sit by me in church anymore; she was fine where she was.

I sat there for a minute feeling sad about the situation (her fatigue, her need to be separate from me, etc) when a scripture came into my mind.  I wonder if this is how Christ feels when he is so ready to help us with our problems and we resist his aid.  Perhaps through a need for independence, like Rachel, or because we are so distracted, which is usually more my problem.  This morning in sacrament meeting I felt a little the longing I would imagine Christ and our Heavenly Father feel: Won't you please let us help?  We are here for you, just right down the bench.  All we want is to help you feel better, to be here for and with you in your moment of need.

4…how oft have I gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and have nourished you.
 5 And again, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, who have fallen; yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, ye that dwell at Jerusalem, as ye that have fallen; yea, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens, and ye would not.
 6 O ye house of Israel whom I have spared, how oft will I gather you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, if ye will repent and return unto me with full purpose of heart.  3 Ne 10:4-6

PS--I so wanted to snap a picture of her.  I could have done it so carefully no one would have known.  I had to restrain myself pretty forcefully!   

Celebrating the Return

Like you, I have read many times the story of the prodigal son.  Have talked about it in Sunday School, have thought of myself in each of the roles.  Until last week I thought I understood it all.

But then...

Last week I sat in the temple and watched him, the previously prodigal.  Watched him watch her as they knelt together at the altar, watched the light in his eyes that had been gone for so long.  Watched his mother watch them both.

I could never have imagined the surge of joy I would feel to see him there-- I, not even his mother. It burned in my heart and spilled onto my cheeks.  And in that moment I understood what I had not before.  Yes, the father loved the older son who was always with him.  To that son would go all that the father had.  But oh, how the father needed to celebrate the return of the prodigal.  Because the father had hoped and prayed and watched and waited for his return.  The father had worried and doubted and then prayed and watched some more.

And when it finally did happen, when the son came back--well, it was unimaginable.  The combination of relief and happiness created a joy rarely felt before.

Let us eat and be merry indeed.  For this my son was dead, and is alive again, he was lost, and is found.  Rejoice!

Worth It

About 18 months ago we were driving home from Utah and had one of Josh's friends with us.  We drove as far as Boise on Saturday and spent the night in a hotel, planning to drive the rest of the way on Sunday.  I decided that since I didn't *have* to drive on that Sunday but was choosing to do so out of convenience, we would find a church near the hotel and go to sacrament meeting before heading home.  The kids weren't thrilled with this idea but I was firm about it.  We had a hard time finding a church building on the website the next morning and I could tell the kids were hopeful that I'd give up and we could just get on the road. 

I finally figured out where we should go and the kids reluctantly got into some semblance of church clothes.  Josh's friend realized that his church shirt was out in the van and decided that he would just wear his blazer over a white tshirt.

When we got to the church building and walked into the chapel I saw that there was a real pipe organ and got kind of excited.  The hymns were pretty normal sounding, but the postlude?  It. Was. Amazing.  And the talks were really extraordinary.  As we walked out of the chapel (but not until the postlude was over!) each one of the kids commented on how good the meeting was and how glad they were that we'd come.  Josh's friend said that he wished he'd worn his church shirt!  I was so grateful for the whole experience.

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Last spring we were in Utah over 2 weekends.  Often when we are traveling and go to church we just do "vacation church," and just go to sacrament meeting.  This trip was right after general conference though, and one of speakers had talked about the importance of going to all of our meetings all of the time.  I decided that especially since we were going to be in Utah for 2 Sundays we would stay for all 3 meetings both Sundays.

This was *not* a popular decision with my shy children.  Each one of them let me know how unhappy they were with this decision but I stuck to my guns, wanting to impress on the kids the importance of attending all of our meetings where we were able to. 

After finding the right class for the triplets I went into Sunday School with Russ, Jason, and Josh.  I love Sunday School and thought that the lesson on the Exodus would be great for the week before Easter.  My expectations couldn't have been farther from the truth.  Instead of a great and inspiring lesson the substitute (who was old enough to know better) had prepared a power point for his lesson, narrating the sequence of events of the Exodus using screen shots from the Charlton Heston movie of The 10 Commandments complete with a commentary about individual actors.  The awful pinnacle of the lesson was a 2+ minute video clip of Moses parting the Red Sea.  Jason and I commiserated later that every time it has seemed like the spirit might be coming into the lesson the teacher would say something again and it would be gone. Instead of sitting in Sunday School basking in spirituality with my boys the experience felt more like torture.

When the lesson was (blessedly) done, Russ and the boys went off to priesthood meeting leaving me alone in the Relief Society room.  In that moment I felt like an idiot for having made us stay for all of the meetings.  I felt so alone.

A woman came in and sat next to me.  Realizing that she didn't recognize me she introduced herself and asked where I was visiting from.  I hesitated for a moment, then laughed and said that I just wasn't used to identifying myself as being from Oregon.  She laughed with me and asked where I had lived before Oregon.  I, of course, said that we had lived in North Carolina for almost 20 years.  Much to my surprise her eyes brightened and she said that she used to live in North Carolina.  When I asked where she had lived, she said Durham.  Can you imagine the shock and awe I felt in that moment?  It turned out that we knew many of the same people and were happily occupied until Relief Society started talking about the places and people we both loved.  Just as the lesson was about to start she told me that the teacher had also once lived in Durham, so after the lesson I introduced myself to her and we also talked.  Instead of leaving church that day sad and lonely, my heart was happy because of my bonus North Carolina "reunion."  I felt like I had been blessed because of my faithfulness in staying for all of the meetings that day.

When we went to Utah for Russ's mom's funeral we traveled both ways on Sunday.  It was just the way our schedule worked out.  And I know that there will still be some times that we do go to "vacation" church.  But I also know that when we do go despite the discomfort or the sacrifice, we will be blessed.  Maybe not always in warm and fuzzy ways.  Maybe not always in immediately apparent ways.  But I know it will happen.

The pulse of my soul

Last month I saw some information online about a survey about spirituality.  I clicked on the link to check it out and ended up signing up to be a part of their survey, and in the process to learn some things about my own spirituality.  For 2 weeks I received a survey via text twice a day at different times. 

From the beginning it was an interesting experience.  Just as I found while I was participating in the 100 days of happiness challenge, I was surprised at what I found when I was measuring different aspects of my spirituality multiple times each day.  One of the questions was always how close did I feel to God in that moment.  Many times I didn’t “feel” close to God at all, though I was able to always answer that I trusted that He has a plan for me and loves me.  On the other hand I was always able to answer high about feeling God’s love for me through creation, because that is something that is so consistent in my life.

I was also interested to see that what I listened to while I was in the car made a big difference in how close I felt to God.  I’m not in the car for big stretches of time here in Oregon—more like 10 or 15 minutes total.  But I found that while my brain was usually interested in listening to what was on NPR, my heart/spirit was always impacted positively when I listened to Christian radio.  I did this a lot in the first (sad) year that I was in Oregon and I was surprised at the comfort I felt from what I heard.  Once again I was surprised at what a difference 10 minutes of Christian radio could make.  The words of the songs were often inspirational to me, and the on-air conversation was also meaningful.  One day there was a scripture verse read from a non-KJV version of the bible that was so beautiful that I thought about it off and on for the rest of the day.

When the two weeks was done I kind of missed my little spiritual checkup every day.  And it made me resolve to work more on doing the little things that make a big difference. 

Just in case you’re interested, you can sign up at http://www.soulpulse.org/.  Enjoy!

Orchestration

The morning started out like many other days.  I got up, wished I could sleep about 2 hours longer, staggered into the dining room, and sat down with my tablet thinking that I would look at my email and then facebook, and then read my scriptures.  When I checked facebook right away I saw a really beautiful quote I’d never seen before so I shared it onto my page.  I didn’t have anything to say about it (which is unusual for me, right?) but I wanted to share it.  Then I stumbled across a video of a man playing a trombone for his cows in a field and that made me forget all about the quote.

I had a date with my curves friend that morning and at the right time I got up, grabbed my phone and purse, and started walking towards the front door.  As I did I happened to glance at my phone and saw that the green light was blinking so I checked my texts.

Power went out so I’m only waking up now, will be there in about 20 minutes,

texted my curves friend.  Since I only live 8 minutes away from curves this meant I’d just gained 12 more minutes before I needed to leave.  Sweet, I thought, I’ll go back to my tablet and figure out how to wash those new fleece sheets I got Jenna.  I woke the tablet back up and it was still on facebook.  As I went to minimize it so I could go do my fleece sheet care search, I noticed a somewhat odd post at the top of the facebook page.  It was from someone I didn’t know to a friend of mine and it just said “I love you.”

I started wondering about my friend.  She & I have talked many times over the last 5 or 6 years because she has been going through something difficult that I have also experienced.  I wondered if she was all right so I pulled up a chat window and asked how she was.  It turned out that she wasn’t doing very well and so for the next 15 minutes (yes I was late to curves) we talked online.  I wasn’t able to make anything in her life or situation different—but hopefully it helped for her to be able to talk to someone she knew would understand.  It certainly helped me to be able to be supportive in a difficult time for her.

At the end of our chat she told me that she’d loved the thing I posted on facebook.  I was stymied.  The thing I’d posted?  I’d posted a funny video with a trombone and cows.  What could she mean?  Then in the very back of my mind I remembered that I’d shared something else before the trombone video.  For the life of me I couldn’t remember what it even was.  I clicked my page on facebook and then I saw it.  The quote I’d really liked and shared—well, it was about the situation she was going through.  In fact it was perfect for that moment.

As I drove to curves I couldn’t shake the awareness of how the day had played out.  Sharing the quote on Facebook—and then forgetting about it.  The time delay that allowed me to see the post on her wall.  Being able to talk to her exactly in the moment when she had time.  It all seemed to me to be such an orchestration by Heavenly Father so that he could use me in a critical moment to help my friend.

I tell people all of the time that I have a lot of issues with prayer.  I’m not good at it, my prayer aren’t powerful, I don’t hear answers.  At the same time though, I can’t deny that sometimes my prayers are answered…and that sometimes I get answers to things that are on my mind that I haven’t prayed about.  I also struggle with the concept of personal revelation/inspiration.  It is so hard for me to distinguish between the voice of the spirit and my own hyperactive brain.  And yet from time to time I see conclusively that even if I didn’t hear it in the moment, I have done something that must have been directed by the spirit because of it’s precise perfection.

This was one of those moments.

Just what I needed.

For a number of reasons the last few months have been hard on my testimony--not so much of the gospel, but of the church.  I have felt fatigued in my mind and in my heart and haven't been able to find the peace that I have wanted.  I have prayed for help with this frequently.

When we drove to Utah several weeks ago we did part of the drive at night so that the girls would miss one less color guard practice.  I knew that it would be harder that way but I was unprepared for how wiped out I was for days afterward.  That plus the 1 hour time difference made me decide that the kids and I would find a late sacrament meeting to go to that Sunday instead of going with Cindy Lynn.  When we all woke up (not until 10:30!) I started looking for a ward to go to. 

It was surprisingly hard.  Although there are many church buildings close to Cindy Lynn's house, all of them had sacrament meeting at 9 or 11.  Finally I found a building with 1pm sacrament meeting and we were off. 

We walked in right as the opening song was being sung and sat down in the front row of the hard chairs in the gym.  This is what happened:  The chairs were uncomfortable.  The children were noisy.  The organist was mediocre.  The testimonies were for the most part uninspiring.  And I walked out changed and renewed.

In the most unexpected way, my prayers were answered that day.  Not because of reverence or spiritually uplifting music or testimonies.  But because of what I saw and how it touched my heart.  I saw a chapel full of white shirted men and boys. I saw a chapel full of moms and dads trying to entertain busy little people.  As I sat and watched that day I saw a chapel full of people trying to do better and to be better.  In that hour my heart was filled with gladness--not just for the gospel of Jesus Christ, but also for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and it's members.  Imperfect people trying so hard.

I realize now that the experiences I'd had had distorted my feelings and vision.  But the beauty of the goodness and effort that I saw that day was like a healing balm to my heart. 

Thank goodness we slept in that morning.

Adventures with personal revelation

A few weeks ago I was in Miami staying for a few days with Lindsay.  She & her husband were telling me one night about several great podcasts that they had listened to.  They were so enthusiastic about them that I was motivated when I got home to put some on my mp3 player so that I could listen while I worked in the house and yard.

I listened as I was working out in the yard, then later while I was driving somewhere.  When I got home I set the mp3 player and earbuds on the back of the sofa and forgot to ever put them away.  A couple of days later I decided that I wanted to listen again but couldn’t find the mp3 player.  Remembering that I’d last had it on the sofa I looked around there without success.  I went and looked in other possible places, then returned to look around the sofa again.  I walked throughout the house looking in various places, always circling back to the sofa.  At some point in the evening Josh and his friend came into the family room to play xbox and I worried that I looked like a circling vulture, walking around and around the sofa hoping that this time I would spot the elusive mp3 player or the red cords of the earbuds.  Eventually I gave up and went to bed.

Several days later I wanted the mp3 player again and started praying to be able to find it.  Again I walked through the house and again I kept coming back to the sofa, even picking up the sections and looking under them, but not finding it.  I kept praying as I looked, but no luck.

Yesterday I wanted the it again and so I prayed again and looked again.  I even picked up the sofa pieces and looked under them again.  And then as I stood looking at the sofa, on a whim I pulled one of the seat cushions off.  There they were, black mp3 player and red earbuds.  They really had been in the sofa all along, the place where I’d felt impelled to look without even realizing it.

 

Several months ago I taught a class on personal revelation at a Saturday event for women.  For months I read and studied about personal revelation to try to understand it better.  I studied hoping to understand better what it was and to know how to improve my chances of experiencing it and recognizing it when it came. 

Teaching the class was a great experience.  Preparing to teach it was a great experience.  But in the end I felt no more certain of receiving revelation that I had when I started. What I did feel was more certain that revelation was happening in my life and that there were principles governing it.  That generally I had to be living worthily to receive revelation.  That it was harder to receive revelation when my life was noiser.  That revelation NEVER felt like revelation.  That revelation was rarely one bit “louder” than it needed to be to get the job done.  That revelation was often only apparent in retrospect.  That revelation was never mine to claim, but only God’s to give. 

 

And that is why when I found the mp3 player and earbuds I had to smile.  That’s right, I thought, I was a little irrational in my searching, continually coming back to the sofa to look.  It probably was just the smallest touch of personal revelation, nudging me back and back and back again until I looked in the right way.  Prompting me to offer a prayer of gratitude, gratitude that I can listen to a podcast again while I work, and gratitude that God would help me, even in such a small thing.  Gratitude for personal revelation in my life.

I’m glad God’s plan is nothing like the Olympics

We, like many of you, have been mesmerized by the Olympics all week, piling onto the couch each evening to watch athletes dressed in colorful outfits (mostly made of spandex) slide and glide and flip and twist and soar.  We have been amazed by the athleticism, touched by the beauty, and inspired by the determination. 

We have also, on occasion, been heartbroken.

This morning I watched the American skeleton competitor go for his last run, a sure contender for a medal of some color.  Instead of the run that everyone expected his sled runner came out of the groove in the ice, destroying his chances in that one split second.  He was left to do damage control, sliding over the ice for almost 2 minutes at close to 80 miles per hour, devastated and yet having to go through the motions in order to get safely to the end.  Only to be greeted at the other end by a reporter (just doing his job) who stuck a microphone into his dejected face and asked questions despite the fact that the athlete was on the verge of tears the whole time. 

I thought in that moment how glad I am that when I crash and burn in my life, there is no one waiting to interview me when what I want most is to crawl into a hole somewhere and cry.

And then I started thinking about how glad I am that God’s plan is nothing like the Olympics.

In the Olympics, people specialize, sometimes at very young ages, and spend all of their time and ALL OF THEIR MONEY on that particular thing.  God’s plan usually allows us to experience so many different parts of life.  God’s plan gives us times and seasons—some long, some short, but such a beautiful variety.

In the Olympics the pool of competitors has been selected in each country from a bigger pool of contenders.  Those contenders come from a larger pool of hopeful athletes.  All over every country countless little ice skating girls are practicing every day supported by family and coaches in hopes of being the one.  But in the end only a few will make it.  Life isn’t like that at all.  We all get to try our best, and no one person’s success prevents any other person from also being successful. 

In the same way, in the Olympics the smallest of margins separate the winner from the not-winners.  Four hundredths of a second is enough to keep you from receiving recognition, glory, and a medal.  In almost every competition there are the three medal winners and…well…no one really thinks about the other people who have given their lives in an effort to excel in this sport—we usually don’t hear about them.  In God’s plan there is no tiered podium, no limited supply of medals, no fading into obscurity because of a miniscule shortfall.  In God’s plan every single person can be a winner.  Every one.  One big wide podium for us all.

In the Olympics circumstances outside of their control can prevent an athlete from being able to do their best.  A slushy half-pipe, a skeleton track that’s not quite deep enough, a pulled muscle.  These unanticipated problems can turn a medal contender into an also-ran, or into someone who’s not able to compete at all.  Sometimes life is like this too.  Sometimes one person is able to better deal with a difficult circumstance than another.  Sometimes someone seems to be sidelined by a difficult situation or injury.  The difference is that God, in His omniscience and mercy, knows and understands this.  And instead of saying “too bad you’re not good at snow-boarding on a slushy half pipe” He in His mercy is able to take into consideration each person’s unique circumstances.  He knows the desires of our hearts, He knows our difficulties, and He will judge us accordingly.

In the Olympics a lack of funding can prevent you from participating…

In the Olympics a competitor can crash and take you out of your race with them…

In the Olympics, if you fail spectacularly, or even just fail when you were expected to excel, you know you have a reporter waiting at the end, invasive in your most painful moment.  In life when you fail spectacularly you can turn to God to find peace and comfort.  In life you can remember that there is no fail so spectacular that it takes you out of the game forever.  In life you can remember that even those who fail spectacularly can still succeed in the end.  That is the Good News of God’s plan.

And that’s better than an Olympic gold any day…

Foundation Cracks

I taught a primary class a few months ago about the foundation of the Salt Lake Temple.   In Relief Society the same day the lesson was on the same thing so I had a lot of time to think about it.  The story of the Salt Lake Temple foundation is really fascinating.  After the Saints had been in the Salt Lake Valley for about 5 years Brigham Young said that it was time to start building a temple.  Over the next 5 or so years they built a foundation of red sandstone and mortar that was 8 feet deep.   At this point they learned that General Johnston's army was coming.

Brigham Young was concerned that the invading army would damage the temple foundation and so he had the workers take down the work buildings and bury the foundation so the army wouldn't even know it was there. The army was in Utah for 4 years.  After they left and the workers took the dirt up from the foundation they discovered cracks in the sandstone blocks.  The architect told Brigham Young that there was no way that the foundation would be able to support the granite temple they had planned.   Eventually Brigham Young decided that they would have to take all of the sandstone foundation blocks out and rebuild the foundation with granite blocks.   Replacing the foundation blocks with granite took 9 more years.

When I was young I always looked at the  invasion of Johnston's army as a huge inconvenience to the Saints. Not only did they have to deal with the unpleasantness of the invasion,  but they had to cover over the temple foundation with difficult results.  I haven't thought about the story in years,  but after teaching it in one class and then hearing it again in the next, I started to think about it differently.  Instead of thinking "How awful and inconvenient that the Saints had to go though this," I had the thought "what a blessing that Johnston's army came along at exactly the right time."   "What a blessing that the foundation was buried under enough dirt for a long enough time to allow the sandstone to do what it was going to do anyway."   Which was crack.

As these thoughts rolled around in my brain during Relief Society that day they ended up looking an awfully lot like these thoughts.  That sometimes really hard things happen to expose cracks in our foundation while they are easier to deal with.  That sometimes we have long trials that delay our moving forward because important information hasn't come to light yet.  That we really only see a tiny part of the full picture in any given moment.

I know all too well some of the cracks that have been exposed in me because of the trials of the last two years.  But I wonder--did our family foundation need to be rebuilt somewhere else?  When we can see the whole story one day (and I have no doubt the we will be able to) what will we see and say, "Oh, of course.  THIS is why it was so important."

And most importantly, can I start looking at difficult experiences in this new way?

We have a new beautiful picture of the Salt Lake Temple in our dining room here in Oregon.  Every time I look at it I need to remind myself how grateful I am for Johnston's army.  For the cracks that were exposed.  For the unbelievable effort the pioneers went to to replace that foundation, so that the temple would still be standing today.

Redemption

My cousin came to visit for an hour last spring on her way back from the Oregon Coast.  (A very brave girl, to visit the Oregon Coast over spring break!)  As she was leaving she mentioned that we needed to keep our eyes open for her friend who was coming to Oregon on her mission.

“Her mother and I grew up together,” my cousin told me.  “She lived right next door and we were best friends.  She got baptized but when we moved she stopped going to church, got a lot of tattoos, and eventually got pregnant.  Can you imagine how surprised I was when she got in contact with me last year and told me that she’d married in the temple, had 4 more children, and her oldest daughter was getting ready to serve a mission??”

My cousin may have been surprised, but I wasn’t.  You see I have been surrounded by these stories for the last year.  Stories of the son who unexpectedly decided to serve a mission.  Of the long inactive adult who made his way back to the church late in life.  Stories about estranged children making tentative moves to reestablish relationships and of troubled teens choosing to change their lives. 

Stories of redemption.

I have heard so many of these stories that I have stopped being surprised. (Though I have not stopped being glad.)

I was sitting one day thinking about all of these stories and wondering what they meant; wondering what I was supposed to learn from them.  And as I was thinking about them, the spirit spoke powerfully to my mind and my heart.  It told me that what I was supposed to be learning was simply that God’s plan works.  That God’s plan is to redeem His children, and that He will.  In His own time, and in His own way.  He may need our help from time to time, but this is His plan and not ours.  So we can relax and trust him and have faith in Him and His plan. 

And His redemption.

No more strangers…

 

Last summer we went to the ward campout.  I was optimistic about it.  It was a chance to experience camping at the Oregon coast and to get to know more people in the ward.

The experience did not live up to my hopes.

We arrived just before sundown and it was a chilly and windy 48 degrees.  We were frozen.  We bundled up in everything we had brought with us, but so did everyone else in our ward.  This meant that even if we had known anyone well enough to recognize them, they would have been camouflaged by their coats & hats.  Since we weren’t in a group campground we had no idea which people were  members of our ward and which weren’t.  In the morning we all had breakfast together but it still felt sad and lonely, just emphasizing our isolation and lack of friends.

 

I did not plan to go back to the ward campout this year.

 

This summer we made plans to go camping the same weekend of the ward campout with friends while Jason was here with us.  I thought it would be fun to be off with Jason on a campout, fun to spend time with our friends, and I wasn’t sad to that it was the same weekend as the ward campout and gave us a good excuse not to go.  But then at the last minute the friends cancelled on us and the girls wanted to go with the ward and we just changed our plans without ever really thinking about it.

 

It could not have been more different.

 

We went a night early this year.  I have come to the opinion over the last few years that a one night campout at this point is too much work to be worth it, so when I heard that the young women were going up together a night early I decided that we would tag along.  Jason & I provided rides for several of the girls in the morning, and Russ, Josh, and Jared came in the convertible after work.

The girls spent the day running around with their friends, setting up their (crowded) tent so that they could all sleep together, playing out on the beach, running through the campsites, having the time of their lives.  Our campsite became the hangout—first young girls, later teenage boys, and often adult ward members sitting around our fire and chatting.

We even sat in the drizzly rain for 3 hrs Friday night around the fire, laughing and talking, enjoying the hot chocolate and the occasional s’more. 

In every way, this campout was different than the one last year, and the whole time I had a scripture from Ephesians running through my head.

Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God…

I felt this fellowcitizenship in a new and real way, and I was enormously grateful for it.  Grateful for the gradual change that has occurred in the last year, that even though we miss our old life and our old home and our old friends, we have become a part of this ward and started learning to know and love these people.  Last year it was heartbreaking to watch my lonely girls; this year I was so happy to see them off having fun the whole time, to have all of my kids ask if they could sleep in different tents, to run out of what had seemed like plenty of hot chocolate because we were sharing it with everyone else.  This year I was was just grateful.

Other Christians

One of the moments when I am inclined to make a controversial comment in Sunday School is when the teacher or another class member makes a sweeping and/or patronizing statement about the superiority of Mormons over members of any other church.  Living in the “bible belt” for 17 years and associating frequently with other faithful Christians was a revelation to me—it was the first time as an adult that I realized that, despite having less revealed truth than I did, many of these people were living their lives in a way that brought them closer to Christ and closer to the spirit than I was. 

Yesterday I got in the car to drive to the airport and the first thing I heard when I turned on the Christian radio station was the host, reminding people to pray for everyone in Oklahoma.  I admit that was a little confused—I’d been too busy holding baby Kate all day to know anything about Oklahoma.  But I was also so impressed, especially as he read a request from Twitter to be sure to pray for the first responders.  I figured whatever had happened had been bad.  Then he went on to say that he found comfort in Isaiah 41:

…do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

I was so touched by the talk of prayer.  I don’t think we do a good job of that as Mormons.  I don’t think we talk about praying for each other very well, and I don’t think we talk about supporting people in distant crises through prayer.  I was grateful for the suggestion that I could add my prayers for whatever terrible thing had just happened.

Later I sat on the airplane by a beautiful young woman who told me that she was coming to Oregon for a visit after having moved to Charlotte and then Pennsylvania.  (We agreed about the merits of the warm Atlantic ocean.)  She, her husband, and son walked off of the plane and  into the airport just in front of me.  As I turned to my right to go towards baggage claim I saw her husband catch her hand and pull her off to the side, saying, “Let’s thank the Lord for a good trip.” 

That was another humbling moment.  Yes, when we take a big car trip we always start with a prayer asking for God’s protection on our way.  But how often do we forget to acknowledge and give thanks for our safe trip when we are done?  And have I ever thought to thank the Lord when I’ve arrived safely after flying?  I do not think so, but I am committed to trying to do better.

So thank you, my Christian friends, for the excellent examples that you were to me yesterday.  I hope that sometimes people of other faiths find things to admire in the Mormon church, things worthy of emulation.  Because I certainly appreciate the good I see in yours.