As I approach the next "hill" (the big five-oh) I find myself having mixed emotions. For the most part, I'm perfectly okay with it. Sure, at twenty I imagined myself in a wholly different place at fifty. A father, for instance. A grandfather, even. It's not happened. I am however, a six-time uncle, and a granduncle well over twenty times, and most recently, a great-grand uncle. Which is pretty dang cool. My nieces/nephews/grandnieces/grandnephews are pretty cool people. We disagree on many things. But they are still pretty dang cool people.
For a few moments today I felt old, useless, unfulfilled; I felt like I've wasted this first half of my life in so many ways, through improper action or woeful inaction. It's thankfully not a feeling I experience often. Today it was a bit more deeply felt because that 5-0 number is drawing closer to reality. this is the same number I've been joking about for a couple of months, calling it the "half century mark"; I changed my answering message on both phones to the "Hawaii 5-0" theme song and ordered a tee shirt with a "Geoffrey 5-0" logo. At times I've actually felt excited over the prospect. A dental appointment yesterday told me that although there are still areas of concern, those same areas have improved greatly over my last visit. And at today's visit to the eye doctor I learned that there is a very little change in my right eye, but for the most part my eyes are healthy back to front and I have 20-20 vision with my prescription, which, did I mention, has changed very little since my last prescription 2-1/2 years ago? Not bad for an old guy.
Nonetheless, I did have a twinge of old-feeling shortly after noon. As I've been joking the past couple of months about the half-century mark, my totallyawesomellyfantasticish friends and family have assured me that it's okay, I'll make it, it's no big deal, etc; I have assured them it doesn't bother me and that's why I laugh at it. But then the moment came. It was a long moment. And I did what any sensible old coot, um, I mean, person experiencing such a feeling does in such a situation.
I took a nap. Seriously, people, naps are highly underrated. Why do children fight them? They're wonderful. They're as wonderful as books and chocolate. As I'd taken a couple days off for my birthday, I felt I could afford to take a nap. Speaking of being able to afford to take a nap, I know people protest it is "a luxury they cannot afford" - Balderdash! Read the recent research on sleep deprivation and tell me you cannot afford to. Heck, read the research from 20-30 years ago and tell me you cannot afford to. It doesn't necessarily have to be an eight hour nap (and if you do need that much, get in touch with your inner Jean-Luc Picard and "make it so!") Sometimes you need a couple hours, at other times all you need is ten or twenty minutes. Fine, call it a luxury. What? You think you're not worth the luxury? You are! Leave the dishes. Trade babysitting time with a friend and don't scour the bathroom while the kids are gone; take a nap! Because guess what? You get up from your nap and those feelings of self doubt and self loathing are gone. You get up from you nap and your reluctance to do all those things you still don't want to do will be greatly diminished and you'll be more productive because your brain's not working overtime trying to figure out why exactly the blue sock goes with the blue sock not the green one and why the sour milk needs to be thrown out. It's amazing how well a rested brain actually works.
So, I took a nap, and I got up and did stuff. I've been told it's weird to spend vacation days taking care of dental and eye care appointments and chores. For me I find it greatly stress-reducing to do it this way, to take care of the things I can't take care of because I am so busy with the things I "have" to do -- and I feel less guilty about things yet undone. And I reserve plenty of vacation time for indulgences such as ice cream, a long, slow rambling walk through my favorite quiet spots in town, a movie. And, when I'm well rested, I get an amazing amount of "stuff" done, compared to trying to do it when I'm exhausted and grumpy. And getting done that stuff I hate doing grants me permission to do the stuff I like to do, like exercising my creativity in writing or drawing or cooking, which further reduces stress, which helps me get more done.... okay, enough about naps. This isn't "The Nap Blog" (although I like the sound of that....)
This is a blog about being Mormon. Check. And about being single. Check. And about being "over-the-hill". Check again. However, I reserve the right to move the hill anytime I please. When I turned forty, I began stating my age as "late thirties - my thirties passed away some time back." Soon I will get to recycle the joke with only some slight rewording. With each hill - or milestone - one cannot help but to review one's life. And I have been doing that reflecting, although not solely because I am approaching the crown of a hill. Last year I started major decluttering, and accelerated that process at the beginning of this year. When I say "major", I mean "major". I mean Holy-cow-how-the-heck-can-that-much-stuff-fit-in-that-small-a-closet-space? major, and Who-the-heck-is-bringing-back-all-the-junk-I-threw-out? major.
It's a liberating process. I always thought it was a bit meta-physical when people talked about the negative energy of excess stuff. Well, getting rid of it does more than relieve a sense of claustrophobia; I've felt it each time I accomplish a goal for a certain area of my home, whether it be a closet or a linen closet or a bookshelf. Much of it is very easy to determine the fate of: I don't need clothes that don't fit or which fit but I don't like; I don't need eight-year old catalogs from companies no longer in business; I don't need electronics which probably could be fixed but won't be fixed because I have not the tools, time, patience, or know-how to do so. I know some of the clutter came about due to previous attempts at "cleaning", especially when company was expected: throw everything into a box and shove into a closet or what became affectionately known as "the back room". I would not have made the guest list for one of those "hoarder" television shows, as my disorganization did have some order and for the most part the pathways were not canyon-like. But it was bad enough to zap my energy, and the extent to which it did so only became noticeable as I started moving it out, to dumpsters, thrift stores, and the like. With each decluttered and freshly reorganized area of my apartment, I become a little obsessive about keeping it that way, to the point of for a couple of days of freaking out a little when any speck larger than a dust mote settled upon a newly revitalized area. In each case the madness has lasted but a short time until I settled into a cautious but more reasonable expectation of cleanliness and order.
As I've gone through box after box, separating that which I need to keep from that which needs shredding to that which can be thrown away directly and that which can be donated and found useful to others, I have found some unexpected emotional ties to the stuff I've saved. Some is obvious: letters from family and friends or magazines and articles I saved which were important at the time but are not so any longer. Some I had to process again, but I required myself to do the processing so it didn't get put into a box for another ten years. Most of the boxes were organized by year not by design but by the previously mentioned quick-cleaning sprees of the past. Some of it had items five or ten years apart, and close enough to the bottom of the stack or in the darkest corners to defy all logic, so everything needs to be gone through with at least some care. I don't doubt that I might have already thrown out something I might at some future date wonder what became of it. But considering the number of times I found myself saying things like "Oh, yeah..." and "Why do I have two of these?" and "So that's what happened to it!" and "Where the heck did this come from?" -- I don't think I need to worry too much. Clutter is clutter, and since the beginning of the year my definition of clutter has morphed into "things I no longer want nor need", and in redefining the word, I have been able to do two things: decide what is most important to me, and what is not. And that includes the emotions -- which have sometimes been stumbling blocks and brick walls to my progress -- tied to those things. Things which in all fairness, I was probably not ready to get rid of before, or I would have done so, but which can be moved out and away now.
And this process has taught me about different types of clutter in my life, ones not so easily seen nor easily taken out to the trash, and certainly not things I wish to foist upon new owners. These are emotional, mental and spiritual clutter; brought into my life by mistakes I made or harm caused to me by others. Things I did not consciously hold on to but which I did so anyway. There was a talk in General Conference in October 2006 which imagery has stuck with me all this time but which is in my decluttering process coming to have a deeper meaning. In it Elder Shayne M Bowen talked about airports and parks being built upon landfills, and gave one definition of a landfill as a place where garbage is buried and the land reclaimed. He asked the question of what the city fathers would think if he took a backhoe to the airport or city park to dig up all his old garbage? I think of this because I see that in my own situation, my garbage (physical or emotional!) never made it to the landfill so there was never a chance of reclamation. And so, without ever meaning to, I halted my own healing process.
Oops.
I read a lot of blogs. I have found a number of fascinating blogs through links friends have posted on their Facebook pages, through random browsing, through stories on NPR, and of course the blogs of my own friends. I have come to greatly appreciate people from all walks of life and have gained a deep gratitude for the deeply personal things which they share. They have experiences I have never had and probably never will. I have not faced watching a spouse of many years deteriorate from dementia or from cancer. I have not experienced painful reconstructive surgeries from horrible accidents. I have not struggled with gender identity or same sex attraction. I have not struggled with alcohol or drug addiction. I have not felt alienated because of the way I look or where I came from. I have not been divorced, and the pain I have felt in never having married pales in comparison to what others have felt. I'm not married so I don't know what it feels like to raise children,either contumacious toddlers or rebellious teenagers (save what I can remember my parents doing or the quasi-parenthood known as unclehood), nor do I know what it feels like to desperately try to have children but not yet being blessed such.
I can imagine these things -- and the posts are often written with such candor that I feel deeply some modicum of what they do, but I'm certain my imagination falls short of the mark. I've not experienced these things and with the possible exception of the child rearing (for I know when toddlers aren't being contumacious and teenagers aren't being sullen, they're quite lovely people), I don't want to; I'll keep my own trials, thank you very much. But having said that, I am profoundly grateful for what friends and strangers alike have written about their trials. I am grateful that they shared not just their struggles but their victories. I am grateful for what insights I have gained into my own struggles and for the reminders that we are here for a purpose and that God is mindful of us. I am grateful for the reminder that single or married, male or female, healthy or not, we can learn from and teach one another; we can help each other over the hills. Or better yet, we can help one another up the hills, one at a time, traveling together; to experience the beautiful vistas God has prepared for us to see but which we can only see if we keep moving upward, and being cheerfully willing to climb the next one.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Purpose
Last month I was released from my calling as counselor in the Elder's Quorum. I had been in three presidencies over three and a half years, first as secretary and then as counselor, as presidents either moved away or were called into a bishopric; for a month prior to my release I was "acting president" (and indeed it ofttimes felt like acting) and feel I learned nearly as much in that month as I had in three years prior. Over the course of that whole time period I learned much about the way the Church is run, what our Heavenly Father expects of His children -- as well as what He has in store for them, and much about myself (not all entirely pleasant.) And I gained a great appreciation for Heavenly Father's children and their individual journeys as well as my own, and that has changed my understanding of, and attitude towards service.
Last week the rest of the new presidency was called and sustained, and it was with a curious mixture of relief and sadness I was not part of the new presidency. I felt relief because I was tired; not tired of the learning and growth, not tired of serving (indeed I felt a little lost without the extra tasks during the week), but the tiredness that comes when you stop motion for awhile, when you realize you hadn't realized you were tired. I had learned so much, and grown so much, through that service that I felt a bit lost, not knowing "what's next." I feel a greater willingness to do whatever comes next than I recall ever feeling before, yet still lost. Not a without-purpose kind of lost but rather in knowing there is a new path, but I am not yet seeing it. I'm not seeing my purpose.
Yesterday and today was stake conference. It was wonderful. But it almost wasn't, because I almost didn't go. Yesterday, after much internal debate about the weather and the cough I had woken up with the day before, I decided neither was a viable excuse and that the problem lay with me. I have a good friend who often points out to me, whether speaking of herself or of me (much to my chagrin) that when we say "I can't" what we are really saying is "I don't want to." I know from past experience that the times I do not want to go, whether it be a regular church meeting or a stake meeting, general session or Priesthood session, if I go anyway, I am always glad I did; I always get a great deal out of the meeting. Recognizing that is usually the only push I need. Last night it wasn't enough. But after I prayed I realized I needed to simply make a decision: Go, or don't go. And once I decided to go, I knew who to call to carpool, whereas my previous calls had been unsuccessful. It was a reminder that new pathways are generally only opened up when we're in motion.
The main topic last night was member missionary work: a topic that usually makes me go "ugh." Not so this time. The focus wasn't on lists of friends and family, nor on commitment challenges - i.e., "I will have x number of people ready for the discussions by date y. While not inherently bad, these methods are limited in the effectuality for a couple reasons: because we become discouraged when what worked so well for others doesn't work so well for us; and because those methods measure our "success" by another person's agency. We haven't found our own voice, or used our own talents and own experiences to share those truths so vitally important and dear to us; or we have expected that which is so obvious to us is going to be equally obvious to those we so valiantly and clearly (clear to us, anyway) share it with. Our job is not to convince others, but to share with others - and who do we share with? Doctrine and Covenants, Section 1 answers that. the message is for all; therefore, we share with all. And we do it by finding our natural way of expressing those things. And we ought to set goals within the realm of our own agency, not the agency of others, and God will provide the rest. Just as he prepared us and continues to guide us to deeper understanding, so he will for those we love and those we don't even know yet but can still have an influential good for.
Today's talks, for me, continued where last night's left off. I was most moved by our stake president's closing remarks. Summarizing talks from both days, he spoke on covenant keeping, admonishing us as the Lord is hastening the work, we need to hasten our covenant keeping. He spoke of how a covenant is often compared to a contract, but that's not quite accurate. The terms of a contract are negotiable by both parties, and a covenant is not: the Lord sets the terms, and we accept (or not.) But he asked why we would want to negotiate those terms in the first place, for the terms are "ridiculously generous in our favor." And he gave the example of we give an ounce, and we receive a ton in return. It is true. The scriptures tell us again and again if we are obedient to the very best of our abilities, we receive "all that he hath." All. I don't know about you, but that sounds pretty amazing to me. Our stake president said he prefers to think of covenants as a promise: a promise to become. We promise to become like those who went before us, we promise to uplift and succor others, we promise to become sons and daughters of God, to become holy and sanctified -- and we are promised by Him the ability to do so.
And then our wonderful stake president (if he reads this: don't let that statement go to your head!) gave us an example that brought tears to my eyes. He asked his son to bring his three month old granddaughter forward. And as he held this beautiful child in his arms, he told us that right now, that child is helpless and entirely reliant upon her parents to feed her, clothe her, change her when she's made a mess; to teach her, to comfort her, to love her. And sometimes when the parents have done all that, their child still cries, because she is sad, or confused or frightened. But he as grandfather can look at that child now and see her as a toddler, and a growing child, and as a teenager going to the temple, and as a young woman raising a family of her own, and as a glorified, exalted being. And the distance between now and that day is much, much smaller than the distance between where we currently are and where our Heavenly Father can see us, and can lead us to. We, like that child, are entirely dependent upon our Heavenly Father. He feeds us, physically and spiritually. He clothes our spirits in physical bodies and provides for our daily temporal needs. He teaches us. He forgives us and gives us new chances. When we make a mess, He tells us, Oh, my dear child, you have made a mess; come, let me change you. And sometimes we are still unhappy and we cry because we are tired or lonely or lost or confused.
Our Heavenly Father can change all that too. It's difficult to live the Gospel in a world and culture not friendly towards spiritual things, whether we are single or not. Last autumn our stake was privileged to have an Apostle of the Lord, Elder David A. Bednar, come address us before our stake conference; it was like a bonus conference. To the challenge that it is difficult to be a member of the Lord's church, he countered: "It's more difficult to not be."
In closing, our stake president invoked blessings upon us: to be happy; to make and keep our covenants and to become all our Heavenly Father has in store for us.
And I left conference with a little deeper understanding upon what my (not really lost or hidden after all) purpose is: to not give up, to keep moving forward, to serve, to follow, to become.
Last week the rest of the new presidency was called and sustained, and it was with a curious mixture of relief and sadness I was not part of the new presidency. I felt relief because I was tired; not tired of the learning and growth, not tired of serving (indeed I felt a little lost without the extra tasks during the week), but the tiredness that comes when you stop motion for awhile, when you realize you hadn't realized you were tired. I had learned so much, and grown so much, through that service that I felt a bit lost, not knowing "what's next." I feel a greater willingness to do whatever comes next than I recall ever feeling before, yet still lost. Not a without-purpose kind of lost but rather in knowing there is a new path, but I am not yet seeing it. I'm not seeing my purpose.
Yesterday and today was stake conference. It was wonderful. But it almost wasn't, because I almost didn't go. Yesterday, after much internal debate about the weather and the cough I had woken up with the day before, I decided neither was a viable excuse and that the problem lay with me. I have a good friend who often points out to me, whether speaking of herself or of me (much to my chagrin) that when we say "I can't" what we are really saying is "I don't want to." I know from past experience that the times I do not want to go, whether it be a regular church meeting or a stake meeting, general session or Priesthood session, if I go anyway, I am always glad I did; I always get a great deal out of the meeting. Recognizing that is usually the only push I need. Last night it wasn't enough. But after I prayed I realized I needed to simply make a decision: Go, or don't go. And once I decided to go, I knew who to call to carpool, whereas my previous calls had been unsuccessful. It was a reminder that new pathways are generally only opened up when we're in motion.
The main topic last night was member missionary work: a topic that usually makes me go "ugh." Not so this time. The focus wasn't on lists of friends and family, nor on commitment challenges - i.e., "I will have x number of people ready for the discussions by date y. While not inherently bad, these methods are limited in the effectuality for a couple reasons: because we become discouraged when what worked so well for others doesn't work so well for us; and because those methods measure our "success" by another person's agency. We haven't found our own voice, or used our own talents and own experiences to share those truths so vitally important and dear to us; or we have expected that which is so obvious to us is going to be equally obvious to those we so valiantly and clearly (clear to us, anyway) share it with. Our job is not to convince others, but to share with others - and who do we share with? Doctrine and Covenants, Section 1 answers that. the message is for all; therefore, we share with all. And we do it by finding our natural way of expressing those things. And we ought to set goals within the realm of our own agency, not the agency of others, and God will provide the rest. Just as he prepared us and continues to guide us to deeper understanding, so he will for those we love and those we don't even know yet but can still have an influential good for.
Today's talks, for me, continued where last night's left off. I was most moved by our stake president's closing remarks. Summarizing talks from both days, he spoke on covenant keeping, admonishing us as the Lord is hastening the work, we need to hasten our covenant keeping. He spoke of how a covenant is often compared to a contract, but that's not quite accurate. The terms of a contract are negotiable by both parties, and a covenant is not: the Lord sets the terms, and we accept (or not.) But he asked why we would want to negotiate those terms in the first place, for the terms are "ridiculously generous in our favor." And he gave the example of we give an ounce, and we receive a ton in return. It is true. The scriptures tell us again and again if we are obedient to the very best of our abilities, we receive "all that he hath." All. I don't know about you, but that sounds pretty amazing to me. Our stake president said he prefers to think of covenants as a promise: a promise to become. We promise to become like those who went before us, we promise to uplift and succor others, we promise to become sons and daughters of God, to become holy and sanctified -- and we are promised by Him the ability to do so.
And then our wonderful stake president (if he reads this: don't let that statement go to your head!) gave us an example that brought tears to my eyes. He asked his son to bring his three month old granddaughter forward. And as he held this beautiful child in his arms, he told us that right now, that child is helpless and entirely reliant upon her parents to feed her, clothe her, change her when she's made a mess; to teach her, to comfort her, to love her. And sometimes when the parents have done all that, their child still cries, because she is sad, or confused or frightened. But he as grandfather can look at that child now and see her as a toddler, and a growing child, and as a teenager going to the temple, and as a young woman raising a family of her own, and as a glorified, exalted being. And the distance between now and that day is much, much smaller than the distance between where we currently are and where our Heavenly Father can see us, and can lead us to. We, like that child, are entirely dependent upon our Heavenly Father. He feeds us, physically and spiritually. He clothes our spirits in physical bodies and provides for our daily temporal needs. He teaches us. He forgives us and gives us new chances. When we make a mess, He tells us, Oh, my dear child, you have made a mess; come, let me change you. And sometimes we are still unhappy and we cry because we are tired or lonely or lost or confused.
Our Heavenly Father can change all that too. It's difficult to live the Gospel in a world and culture not friendly towards spiritual things, whether we are single or not. Last autumn our stake was privileged to have an Apostle of the Lord, Elder David A. Bednar, come address us before our stake conference; it was like a bonus conference. To the challenge that it is difficult to be a member of the Lord's church, he countered: "It's more difficult to not be."
In closing, our stake president invoked blessings upon us: to be happy; to make and keep our covenants and to become all our Heavenly Father has in store for us.
And I left conference with a little deeper understanding upon what my (not really lost or hidden after all) purpose is: to not give up, to keep moving forward, to serve, to follow, to become.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
I am thankful for my friends
I am thankful for friends who bring me laughter, who believe in me, who support me, who forgive my foibles. I am thankful for those who listen to my whining and those who trust me enough to turn around and whine to me. I am thankful for those who know when all I need is a sounding board and when it's time to give advice and when it's time to smack me upside the head with a whiffle bat (figuratively speaking only, thankfully.) I am thankful my friends know when I need chocolate and when I need a smile or a corny joke or when to share a favorite passage of scripture or thoughts on a book they are currently reading.
I am thankful for the friend who sent me a scary picture of herself (a picture she herself believes if the worst picture she's ever taken) with the instruction that whenever I start to go down a certain destructive path (which path she non-judgmentally listened to me express my desire to remove myself from), that I look at that picture and remember that's the face I'd have to contend with if I found myself on that path again. (I need to clarify here that it is a really really bad picture, and my friend is ever so much more comely than that particular picture shows.)
I am thankful for the friend who over 20 years ago called from a number my caller ID didn't register, and played the piano for a good five minutes, nothing else, just the piano, no introduction nor explanation. I wonder if she ever knew how much that meant to me. I say "she" as an educated guess; I never knew for sure if I was right in that guess and she was quite convincing in her claim that it wasn't her, although I always suspected it was, and she has since passed on so I won't know for sure until I get to the other side and she won't be allowed to fib to me (if indeed it really was her in the first place.) Perhaps it was someone I don't know who misdialed and the gift was meant for someone else. I think it was still done out of friendship, and I am grateful that the intended recipient has a friend such as that. The music came at a low point in my life and was a healing balm.
I am thankful for the friend who at another difficult time, when I was feeling discouraged from a long bout with unemployment, who collected a bunch of Happy Meal type toys, tied them all together with a long piece of twine with one end tied to my door handle and at the other end of the rope he tied a note explaining their daring escape and request for sanctuary among my other toys. It didn't pay any bills, but the laugh and encouragement it gave me helped buoy my spirits at the end of a very long week.
I am thankful for the friend who came when I called yesterday after I had a fairly new tire decide to shred itself on me and I could get either of my two jacks to work, but he came and showed me how I was misusing both jacks (and refrained from teasing me too much about not knowing how my own tools work) and added his strength to mine over some very stubborn lug nuts. And I'm thankful for the patience of a friend who I was on my way to pick up and give a ride to when the tire decided to fall apart.
As a matter of fact, I am thankful for many friends over the years who came and helped me with flat tires, broken water pumps, overheated engines, and the like, at times that were seldom convenient to them. And I'm thankful for those who trusted me enough to call me when their cars chose inopportune times to get cranky.
I am thankful for my many friends who have many times rescued me both temporally and spiritually, which stories would fill volumes.
I am grateful that my friends understand me better then I often do myself, who somehow manage to manipulate me into admitting.... um I mean, wisely guide our conversation to a path where I am calm enough to come up with my own solution. I am grateful for friends who will allow me to express my frustration with myself and my weaknesses but who refuse to allow me to wallow in self pity for longer than 13.47 seconds. Who know all the things I do right and all my good traits and who aren't afraid to use those things against me. I mean, who are eager to remind me of my better self.
I am thankful for the wisdom and compassion and trust of my friends. And I am thankful for the God who brought them into my life.
I am thankful for the friend who sent me a scary picture of herself (a picture she herself believes if the worst picture she's ever taken) with the instruction that whenever I start to go down a certain destructive path (which path she non-judgmentally listened to me express my desire to remove myself from), that I look at that picture and remember that's the face I'd have to contend with if I found myself on that path again. (I need to clarify here that it is a really really bad picture, and my friend is ever so much more comely than that particular picture shows.)
I am thankful for the friend who over 20 years ago called from a number my caller ID didn't register, and played the piano for a good five minutes, nothing else, just the piano, no introduction nor explanation. I wonder if she ever knew how much that meant to me. I say "she" as an educated guess; I never knew for sure if I was right in that guess and she was quite convincing in her claim that it wasn't her, although I always suspected it was, and she has since passed on so I won't know for sure until I get to the other side and she won't be allowed to fib to me (if indeed it really was her in the first place.) Perhaps it was someone I don't know who misdialed and the gift was meant for someone else. I think it was still done out of friendship, and I am grateful that the intended recipient has a friend such as that. The music came at a low point in my life and was a healing balm.
I am thankful for the friend who at another difficult time, when I was feeling discouraged from a long bout with unemployment, who collected a bunch of Happy Meal type toys, tied them all together with a long piece of twine with one end tied to my door handle and at the other end of the rope he tied a note explaining their daring escape and request for sanctuary among my other toys. It didn't pay any bills, but the laugh and encouragement it gave me helped buoy my spirits at the end of a very long week.
I am thankful for the friend who came when I called yesterday after I had a fairly new tire decide to shred itself on me and I could get either of my two jacks to work, but he came and showed me how I was misusing both jacks (and refrained from teasing me too much about not knowing how my own tools work) and added his strength to mine over some very stubborn lug nuts. And I'm thankful for the patience of a friend who I was on my way to pick up and give a ride to when the tire decided to fall apart.
As a matter of fact, I am thankful for many friends over the years who came and helped me with flat tires, broken water pumps, overheated engines, and the like, at times that were seldom convenient to them. And I'm thankful for those who trusted me enough to call me when their cars chose inopportune times to get cranky.
I am thankful for my many friends who have many times rescued me both temporally and spiritually, which stories would fill volumes.
I am grateful that my friends understand me better then I often do myself, who somehow manage to manipulate me into admitting.... um I mean, wisely guide our conversation to a path where I am calm enough to come up with my own solution. I am grateful for friends who will allow me to express my frustration with myself and my weaknesses but who refuse to allow me to wallow in self pity for longer than 13.47 seconds. Who know all the things I do right and all my good traits and who aren't afraid to use those things against me. I mean, who are eager to remind me of my better self.
I am thankful for the wisdom and compassion and trust of my friends. And I am thankful for the God who brought them into my life.
Friday, June 8, 2012
That Look
A couple of days ago I was waiting for my prescription at the doctor's office. One of the times I looked up from my book to check to see if my name was on the board showing my prescription was ready, I saw a couple about ten years older than me looking at each other. I don't know if I can adequately describe the expressions on their faces. It might be easier to describe what those expressions were not.
They were not looking at each other with those goopy eyes so common in the young who "know this is the real thing" (and three months, or weeks later, are experiencing the greatest disillusionment of their life.) And although whatever diagnosis they had received or were awaiting, there wasn't an overabundance of worry between them - their faces were serious but not worried.
No, I think the look they shared was a deep silent communication only those who know each other very, very well can share. Without a spoken word they shared volumes. I watched them for maybe a minute before I suddenly felt like an intruder and went back to my book.
Is this my own brand of romanticism? Perhaps the lingering look didn't linger nearly as long as it seemed to me? Perhaps I read more into the look than was truly there? No, I don't think so. I have no idea what they were communicating, but it was deep and heartfelt and familiar. And it is something I hope to have someday with someone.
They were not looking at each other with those goopy eyes so common in the young who "know this is the real thing" (and three months, or weeks later, are experiencing the greatest disillusionment of their life.) And although whatever diagnosis they had received or were awaiting, there wasn't an overabundance of worry between them - their faces were serious but not worried.
No, I think the look they shared was a deep silent communication only those who know each other very, very well can share. Without a spoken word they shared volumes. I watched them for maybe a minute before I suddenly felt like an intruder and went back to my book.
Is this my own brand of romanticism? Perhaps the lingering look didn't linger nearly as long as it seemed to me? Perhaps I read more into the look than was truly there? No, I don't think so. I have no idea what they were communicating, but it was deep and heartfelt and familiar. And it is something I hope to have someday with someone.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Disconnect
Today, Sunday, was tough. But tough in a somewhat different way that I am used to my tough days being tough. It was not an "Alexander day" (those familiar with the children's book "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" know what I mean.) I was tired and sleepy, but that's not out of the ordinary, as I often simply stay up too late doing "one last thing" and wind up dragging the following day. I wasn't dealing with anger issues; I wasn't feeling particularly sad or lonely.
I was simply feeling disconnected.
It took awhile to define what I was feeling. Even once I defined it. I sat there in Sacrament meeting, listening to the testimonies (next week being General Conference, Fast Sunday was moved to this week), and I heard them all, and said amen, and intellectually understood them but few had little emotional impact on me, and those momentarily.
I realize now that I've felt this way before but I haven't really tried to put it into words, even for myself. And even as I sat there asking myself questions and listening to my answers, it was an almost clinical analysis of the facts. In short, I was there. But I wasn't there. I wasn't "elsewhere", either.
I was aware of who was standing up to bear their testimonies. I was a little more aware of what my closest friends in the ward were saying, as opposed to those I don't know as well. I was aware that the gaps in-between testimonies were wider than usual. I was aware when something was said that I agree with, or sympathize with, and I was aware of the places where I didn't really understand what they were saying. I was aware of the kids playing at my side and that they were getting a little too loud and that their parents were gently reprimanding them, and I was aware of a child behind me kicking the pew. I had feelings of impatience, frustration, sadness; I had feelings of joy, gladness, appreciation over the testimonies born. But I felt these things only superficially, and briefly.
Even when I defined what I was feeling (or rather what I was not) as a "disconnect", I felt somewhat disconnected from that realization itself. It was kind of like Mr. Spock saying, "Fascinating" when humans tried to explain emotions to him.
One testimony which did break through my disconnect, albeit briefly, came from a young man in our ward who has Downs Syndrome. I've known this young man for twenty some years and he bears his testimony every month. He started by saying he loves fasting. That caught my attention, because in the past few years I have found it increasingly difficult to fast, which has not increased my love for it, no matter how I might intellectually believe in its importance. B. said he loves Fast Sunday "because I think of Jesus." I had the clinical, barely emotional thought that perhaps that had something to do with why fasting is difficult for me, beyond a changing metabolism; perhaps I was going without food instead of fasting, which would include thinking a little less of myself and a lot more about Jesus. The disconnect was creeping back when B. announced that Easter is coming, and somehow making a simply statement sound like an admonishment, said "Think of Jesus. Because He loves us. I love Easter. Because I love Jesus."
Other testimonies entered my consciousness in bits and pieces; kids continued to chatter about me and bounce off me seemingly as semi-unaware of me as I of them. My disconnect gradually wore off through the next two meetings. I participated in the Sunday School lesson although I think that was somewhat mechanically, as when I was told afterwards that my comments were appreciated and helpful I could only vaguely remember making them.
Fortunately, by the time church was through, I was connected enough to hear a prompting of the Spirit to go see a family I Home Teach, and I enjoyed that visit and believe it wasn't just for my benefit alone. And an afternoon nap which extended beyond the hour I set the alarm for helped.
After that nap I had opportunity to reflect upon the day. I began to wonder not just about my own feelings of disconnect, but also others.I realized I have felt disconnected for some time, and it seldom stops me from attending to my duties either at church or at work. But perhaps the disconnect still prevents me from being where I want to be - be it spiritually, emotionally, mentally, professionally, civically, etc.
And I wondered if that disconnect is where inactivity starts for some people. When I realized what I was feeling was a disconnect from my surroundings, I found myself thinking about some friends who have, for their own reasons, left the Church and the fellowship of the Saints. When I joined the church 30 years ago I saw things in a much more black-and-white perspective than I do now. I still believe that if you have a testimony that the Gospel is true, then you have the foundation you need to persevere. But I don't believe people stop coming to church because they were not welcomed. I believe they stop coming because they feel unwelcome. Or incapable, or unworthy. I can easily say, from my perspective, how much I myself have done for them or their Bishop or Relief Society president or Elders Quorum president has done for them, but unless they actually feel it themselves, it can very well be for naught. It is what they feel that makes the difference.
And I cannot say it always grievous sin or lack of Gospel knowledge that keeps them from seeing the light and truth which seem so apparent, or even "obvious" to me. My friends talk about moral agency and repentance and the Resurrection and the Atonement much the same way I do. But somehow the connection between the truthfulness of the Gospel and the need to participate in church isn't there for them as it is for me.
In discussing this with a friend tonight, she wisely observed that there is a difference between being active in church and active in the Gospel. I quite agree. There have been many times in my life I've fulfilled my church callings, even sometimes without complaint, and went the extra mile as long as it was on my way, but I ignored promptings to do more, to make an extra effort because I myself felt inadequate to the task and unable to help. So instead of putting forth my imperfect best efforts, I offered my perfected least efforts.
In realizing that my activity in the church has not always extended to being active in the Gospel, I also realize that Satan doesn't particularly care how he drags us down. Whether he stops us from coming to church or lets us go but encourages us to just sit there not doing anything, he still wins. Whether he gets us through sin, addiction, loneliness, or bitterness over what other people did or didn't do for/to/with/because-of/in-spite-of us... he wins. And we let him. And that's sad.
I think one way he does this is disconnecting us. Disconnecting us from the fellowship of the Saints, disconnecting us from family and friends. Disconnecting us from ourselves. Disconnecting us from God. The same life experiences are used by our Savior and Heavenly Father in a wholly different way than they are used by our Adversary. The Savior invites. The Devil dismisses. Our Savior weeps for us; Satan sneers at and mocks us. Jesus says, "Did you fall down? Here, take my hand; get to your feet, you can do it, and I will help." Satan says, "Might as well stay down, you're only going to fall again because you're weak and worthless."
I am grateful for those feeling of disconnect today, for Heavenly Father's teaching me of the implication and bearing that disconnect has on my life. I am grateful for the reminders of other people in my life, for even when I'm not feeling as connected as I'd like to be, I know Heavenly Father is there for me, and for them, and if He is prompting me to think about them, I suspect He wants me to assist Him - and that He trusts me enough to give me a portion of His work.
Because I believe that wheresoever that disconnect comes from, Satan would use it to stupefy us and halt our eternal progression, while our Heavenly Father and our Savior would use that same experience to teach, edify, and exalt us.
To heal all our broken connections. To reconnect us.
I was simply feeling disconnected.
It took awhile to define what I was feeling. Even once I defined it. I sat there in Sacrament meeting, listening to the testimonies (next week being General Conference, Fast Sunday was moved to this week), and I heard them all, and said amen, and intellectually understood them but few had little emotional impact on me, and those momentarily.
I realize now that I've felt this way before but I haven't really tried to put it into words, even for myself. And even as I sat there asking myself questions and listening to my answers, it was an almost clinical analysis of the facts. In short, I was there. But I wasn't there. I wasn't "elsewhere", either.
I was aware of who was standing up to bear their testimonies. I was a little more aware of what my closest friends in the ward were saying, as opposed to those I don't know as well. I was aware that the gaps in-between testimonies were wider than usual. I was aware when something was said that I agree with, or sympathize with, and I was aware of the places where I didn't really understand what they were saying. I was aware of the kids playing at my side and that they were getting a little too loud and that their parents were gently reprimanding them, and I was aware of a child behind me kicking the pew. I had feelings of impatience, frustration, sadness; I had feelings of joy, gladness, appreciation over the testimonies born. But I felt these things only superficially, and briefly.
Even when I defined what I was feeling (or rather what I was not) as a "disconnect", I felt somewhat disconnected from that realization itself. It was kind of like Mr. Spock saying, "Fascinating" when humans tried to explain emotions to him.
One testimony which did break through my disconnect, albeit briefly, came from a young man in our ward who has Downs Syndrome. I've known this young man for twenty some years and he bears his testimony every month. He started by saying he loves fasting. That caught my attention, because in the past few years I have found it increasingly difficult to fast, which has not increased my love for it, no matter how I might intellectually believe in its importance. B. said he loves Fast Sunday "because I think of Jesus." I had the clinical, barely emotional thought that perhaps that had something to do with why fasting is difficult for me, beyond a changing metabolism; perhaps I was going without food instead of fasting, which would include thinking a little less of myself and a lot more about Jesus. The disconnect was creeping back when B. announced that Easter is coming, and somehow making a simply statement sound like an admonishment, said "Think of Jesus. Because He loves us. I love Easter. Because I love Jesus."
Other testimonies entered my consciousness in bits and pieces; kids continued to chatter about me and bounce off me seemingly as semi-unaware of me as I of them. My disconnect gradually wore off through the next two meetings. I participated in the Sunday School lesson although I think that was somewhat mechanically, as when I was told afterwards that my comments were appreciated and helpful I could only vaguely remember making them.
Fortunately, by the time church was through, I was connected enough to hear a prompting of the Spirit to go see a family I Home Teach, and I enjoyed that visit and believe it wasn't just for my benefit alone. And an afternoon nap which extended beyond the hour I set the alarm for helped.
After that nap I had opportunity to reflect upon the day. I began to wonder not just about my own feelings of disconnect, but also others.I realized I have felt disconnected for some time, and it seldom stops me from attending to my duties either at church or at work. But perhaps the disconnect still prevents me from being where I want to be - be it spiritually, emotionally, mentally, professionally, civically, etc.
And I wondered if that disconnect is where inactivity starts for some people. When I realized what I was feeling was a disconnect from my surroundings, I found myself thinking about some friends who have, for their own reasons, left the Church and the fellowship of the Saints. When I joined the church 30 years ago I saw things in a much more black-and-white perspective than I do now. I still believe that if you have a testimony that the Gospel is true, then you have the foundation you need to persevere. But I don't believe people stop coming to church because they were not welcomed. I believe they stop coming because they feel unwelcome. Or incapable, or unworthy. I can easily say, from my perspective, how much I myself have done for them or their Bishop or Relief Society president or Elders Quorum president has done for them, but unless they actually feel it themselves, it can very well be for naught. It is what they feel that makes the difference.
And I cannot say it always grievous sin or lack of Gospel knowledge that keeps them from seeing the light and truth which seem so apparent, or even "obvious" to me. My friends talk about moral agency and repentance and the Resurrection and the Atonement much the same way I do. But somehow the connection between the truthfulness of the Gospel and the need to participate in church isn't there for them as it is for me.
In discussing this with a friend tonight, she wisely observed that there is a difference between being active in church and active in the Gospel. I quite agree. There have been many times in my life I've fulfilled my church callings, even sometimes without complaint, and went the extra mile as long as it was on my way, but I ignored promptings to do more, to make an extra effort because I myself felt inadequate to the task and unable to help. So instead of putting forth my imperfect best efforts, I offered my perfected least efforts.
In realizing that my activity in the church has not always extended to being active in the Gospel, I also realize that Satan doesn't particularly care how he drags us down. Whether he stops us from coming to church or lets us go but encourages us to just sit there not doing anything, he still wins. Whether he gets us through sin, addiction, loneliness, or bitterness over what other people did or didn't do for/to/with/because-of/in-spite-of us... he wins. And we let him. And that's sad.
I think one way he does this is disconnecting us. Disconnecting us from the fellowship of the Saints, disconnecting us from family and friends. Disconnecting us from ourselves. Disconnecting us from God. The same life experiences are used by our Savior and Heavenly Father in a wholly different way than they are used by our Adversary. The Savior invites. The Devil dismisses. Our Savior weeps for us; Satan sneers at and mocks us. Jesus says, "Did you fall down? Here, take my hand; get to your feet, you can do it, and I will help." Satan says, "Might as well stay down, you're only going to fall again because you're weak and worthless."
I am grateful for those feeling of disconnect today, for Heavenly Father's teaching me of the implication and bearing that disconnect has on my life. I am grateful for the reminders of other people in my life, for even when I'm not feeling as connected as I'd like to be, I know Heavenly Father is there for me, and for them, and if He is prompting me to think about them, I suspect He wants me to assist Him - and that He trusts me enough to give me a portion of His work.
Because I believe that wheresoever that disconnect comes from, Satan would use it to stupefy us and halt our eternal progression, while our Heavenly Father and our Savior would use that same experience to teach, edify, and exalt us.
To heal all our broken connections. To reconnect us.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Valentines Day
Quick - how is Doomsday different from spending Valentines Day with someone you truly love and who truly loves you in return? ......................................................... give up? .......................................... Doomsday might actually happen!
Nah, I'm not quite that cynical. Almost, but not quite. My optimism has waned greatly over the years, after being told too many times I'm just like the brother she never had, or I'm a wonderful guy and she hopes someday she'll meet someone just like me, or that she's not good enough for me (her opinion, not mine.) After a broken heart or two (or fourteen) it's difficult to be optimistic. And that whole thing about expressing your feelings and choking on his dust as the guy quickly scurries away? Well, my female friends have had it happen to them, but I myself cannot vouch for how fast guys run, not even my own speed. I do however know some very fast female runners. Holy cow, they were fast. The cynic in me is almost convinced that if I ever want to break off a relationship, all I have to do is say, "I love you."
Yesterday one of my grandnieces posted on Facebook, "Some call it Valentines Day. I call it Tuesday." I L-O-L'd and thought she is much too young to be so jaded. A friend of hers queried why, and she responded that people should show love year round, not just on a designated day. And I thought my niece is way too young to be so astute.
I do know people who don't show much affection towards their significant others except for those days the greeting card companies extol, such as birthdays and dooms... I mean Valentines Day. The rest of the year they pretty much ignore or even abuse those they've supposedly made the greatest of commitments to. I've heard sad tales of the most despicable of abuses happened happening on those special days. So I can easily see how people can be turned off by the holiday even if my own jaded attitude did not come so dramatically.
I also know people who show true love and commitment (I don't mean mere flowers and candy and starry-eyed gazes) to their better halves every single day. I want that. (Sadly, these people don't have single sisters, aunts or cousins my age - I've already checked.) Hope springs eternal, but that hope is a bit brighter on other days of the year. The few times I had someone special in my life to share my enthusiasm with, the object of my affection graciously humored me, but it was obvious the enthusiasm wasn't mutual. Now my excitement over the day is pretty much limited to February 15th - the day after - when the grocery stores mark all the pink and red candies down to half price. Yes, I admit it, if I cannot obtain true love, I consider cheap candy an acceptable substitute.
My friends know me to have a slightly off kilter sense of humor. I have bought Valentines Day cards not to send out, but because the warped humor appeals to me. Some of my favorites follow, and you'll see why I don't send them to anyone, at least not to anyone I would rather woo:
Front of card, depicting cartoon guy: "You'll be my Valentine? Really? Be still my heart!"
Inside shows the guy plopping over with a thud.
Front of card, showing old fashioned illustration of Victorian woman.
Inside: "If you break my heart, I'll break your neck."
Front: "This Valentines Day, celebrate in the manner in which you've grown accustomed."
Inside: "Staying at home, wondering what it would be like to have a date."
Inside shows the guy plopping over with a thud.
Front of card, showing old fashioned illustration of Victorian woman.
Inside: "If you break my heart, I'll break your neck."
Front: "This Valentines Day, celebrate in the manner in which you've grown accustomed."
Inside: "Staying at home, wondering what it would be like to have a date."
Ouch!
I wasn't always this cynical. Even now, I'm not this cynical every single day. Hey, I own thirty-some chick flicks, including four versions of Jane Eyre, and another forty which are semi-chicky-flicky. I read books by Richard Paul Evans. Heck, I've even read Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë! I sing along to love songs on the radio. I attend weddings, including those of snot-nosed punks I've known since they were babies, and I have even caught a couple of garters in my days (admittedly, I generally try to sneak out before it's time to toss it, but sometimes people come looking for me and drag me back.) Hey, I might not be very good at it, but I am totally into this love thing.
Just not on February 14th. Otherwise known as Tuesday.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Life
Today I said goodbye to my friend Rick who passed away due to complications from multiple sclerosis. I'd not known him when he didn't have MS, and in the 20 some years I'd known him he'd spoken little of that time, and when he did it was simply to say what he was doing and where he was at then, how it cut short his education. He didn't complain. In all the time I knew him I'd only heard discouragement or frustration a handful of times, and all those lasted a matter of seconds. I'm sure he felt discouragement, as that is a human emotion. But he didn't dwell on the negative. My friend chose to be cheerful.
Rick was smart. He had more books than bookcases - which I can relate to. He knew what was in each and every one of those books -- which I can relate to only if allowed the opportunity to peek. He especially liked history, and could draw analogies to the Gospel of Jesus Christ -- and he knew the Gospel well. Years ago he had served with me in a Sunday School presidency as one of my counselors, and I always appreciated his counsel and insight.
My friend smiled. A number of people at the funeral today talked about Rick's smile. The picture selected for the program showed a younger man, a picture apparently taken before his illness, holding two children, and smiling warmly at the camera. The smile had not changed over the years. It reminded me of seeing a childhood picture of another friend at her funeral six years ago. Although I'd not known Lindy as a child, I could pick her out of the grade school classroom shot solely by that slightly mischievous, slightly crooked smile. I wonder if I smile often enough, warmly enough to be remembered by my smile when I pass.
Rick was a vital part of our ward singles group, allowing us to meet in his home for a year most Mondays, and when health and energy would permit he would attend other functions such as movies and picnics. He was always encouraging to others. Whatever discouragement he felt in his moments alone, he seldom showed that to others, and as far as I can tell, he never dragged others down with it.
I like reading books and watching movies that make me cry. I follow blogs of both people I know and those I don't who write about the tremendous challenges they face themselves or face alongside their loved ones, blogs about cancer and disfiguring accidents and watching loved ones slip into dementia. Call me weird, for purposely seeking out such reading and viewing material. But what I like about these blogs is what's on the other side of the sadness. Written from the perspective of many different faiths and belief systems, I gain far more than a recognition of my own blessings and thankfulness of challenges I don't face. I gain an appreciation for other people and admiration for their strength of character and a tremendous ever-growing gratitude to my Heavenly Father and His script for my life.
Over twenty years ago, then President Ezra Taft Benson likened our minds to a stage on which only one act can be played out at any given time. In the wings on one side is our Lord, who loves us, and on the other is the devil, who hates us. We are the stage managers in our own lives and we get to choose what's on stage at any given time.
I think this applies to more than clean thoughts vs dirty thoughts. I think this concept applies to optimistic vs pessimistic thoughts. It applies to how we respond to the other actors and to the unexpected, hope-dashing script changes and falling stage props -- a.k.a. Life -- can inject pathos into our beautiful sunshiny script. But although from one wing Satan whispers discouragement and tries to convince us that our lives are better off filled with dark tragedy, from the other wing stand our Heavenly Father and our Savior with the encouraging and life giving messages that we are not only the stage managers of our own lives, but are also co-writers with them; and tragedy can be turned to triumph with the final curtain opening to Life Eternal.
Rick was smart. He had more books than bookcases - which I can relate to. He knew what was in each and every one of those books -- which I can relate to only if allowed the opportunity to peek. He especially liked history, and could draw analogies to the Gospel of Jesus Christ -- and he knew the Gospel well. Years ago he had served with me in a Sunday School presidency as one of my counselors, and I always appreciated his counsel and insight.
My friend smiled. A number of people at the funeral today talked about Rick's smile. The picture selected for the program showed a younger man, a picture apparently taken before his illness, holding two children, and smiling warmly at the camera. The smile had not changed over the years. It reminded me of seeing a childhood picture of another friend at her funeral six years ago. Although I'd not known Lindy as a child, I could pick her out of the grade school classroom shot solely by that slightly mischievous, slightly crooked smile. I wonder if I smile often enough, warmly enough to be remembered by my smile when I pass.
Rick was a vital part of our ward singles group, allowing us to meet in his home for a year most Mondays, and when health and energy would permit he would attend other functions such as movies and picnics. He was always encouraging to others. Whatever discouragement he felt in his moments alone, he seldom showed that to others, and as far as I can tell, he never dragged others down with it.
I like reading books and watching movies that make me cry. I follow blogs of both people I know and those I don't who write about the tremendous challenges they face themselves or face alongside their loved ones, blogs about cancer and disfiguring accidents and watching loved ones slip into dementia. Call me weird, for purposely seeking out such reading and viewing material. But what I like about these blogs is what's on the other side of the sadness. Written from the perspective of many different faiths and belief systems, I gain far more than a recognition of my own blessings and thankfulness of challenges I don't face. I gain an appreciation for other people and admiration for their strength of character and a tremendous ever-growing gratitude to my Heavenly Father and His script for my life.
Over twenty years ago, then President Ezra Taft Benson likened our minds to a stage on which only one act can be played out at any given time. In the wings on one side is our Lord, who loves us, and on the other is the devil, who hates us. We are the stage managers in our own lives and we get to choose what's on stage at any given time.
I think this applies to more than clean thoughts vs dirty thoughts. I think this concept applies to optimistic vs pessimistic thoughts. It applies to how we respond to the other actors and to the unexpected, hope-dashing script changes and falling stage props -- a.k.a. Life -- can inject pathos into our beautiful sunshiny script. But although from one wing Satan whispers discouragement and tries to convince us that our lives are better off filled with dark tragedy, from the other wing stand our Heavenly Father and our Savior with the encouraging and life giving messages that we are not only the stage managers of our own lives, but are also co-writers with them; and tragedy can be turned to triumph with the final curtain opening to Life Eternal.
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