Exposed

Over the past 4 days I saw what someone whose life is really working looks like.  You could say all her cylinders are firing.  Since she's someone I've always looked up to, that's a good thing.  I'm happy for her.  It just exposed me to how I could be or should be functioning. 

I now realize that much of my confidence is gone;  that I can't make decisions;  that I am unable to finish even the most basic tasks; and I can't remember what I'm even talking about for more than about 3 minutes.  I guess distancing myself from others protected me from seeing those things.

I'm glad she came.  I'm glad you came Cassi, but hearing my own voice verbalize that I don't always shower because I can't stand the 5 minutes alone with myself is pretty frightening.  I feel like a fraud forcing myself to go visiting teaching on the very last night of the month because I'm not sure I care about how others are doing.  I'm afraid to parent the 2 kids I still have because I'm sure I'll screw it up too--I could live another 40 years and never get back to being a whole person.

The downside of pretending to be okay is when you realize even your best acting is pathetic.

Do it Anyway!

Yes, I love church. I love the gospel and don't want to say things that sound otherwise but...
I thought today would be the perfect opportunity to miss church.  It was stake conference.  I had no obligations. I have an out of town guest.  I gave the woman I drive every week advance notice so that she could ask someone else for a ride.  It seemed like the perfect storm. 

I couldn't do it.  We went.  How could I tell/show my kids that I just didn't want to go and I had the perfect excuses not to.  I'm their example.  It's my job.  Period.

While I was there I thought about one of my dad's favorite phrases:  "What does that have to do with anything?"  He used to say that works for every rationalization.  You're too busy--"What does that have to do with anything?"  You're uncomfortable with the situation--"What does that have to do with anything?"  Every excuse there is for anything you should do that you don't want to--"What does that have to do with anything?"  Do it anyway!

Wisdom can drop on your head anywhere, but I tend to believe that it comes easier when you put yourself in the right place at the right time.  Even if I didn't get a great lesson form the talks that were being given, I did get a personal message from my dad.  Sometimes that's how things go.

Bow and Arrow

I have a little book on the shelf that I've never read, but I heard it referenced the other day so I decided to get it down.

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them  your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

The book is The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.  Like I said, I haven't read much of it, so I don't know if the woman is talking to God himself or a prophet who is relaying the message.  Either way I like the message.  It speaks to me.  From the bio on the back of the book, I'm guessing the author has very different faith than mine--it's still a great message.  I accept it.  I'm okay being a bow.

In a Fog

Can you see the cars and the white lines?

The central valley in California is plagued by fog this time of year.  Where we live near the Delta, it's called Tule Fog.  Apparently it's unique to this area.  It's incredibly thick and scary.  I remember when we first moved from here to New England 15 years ago, the weathermen there would talk about the fog and Keith and I would just laugh.  There's no fog like Tule Fog--well, what do I know?  It's really bad.  Every time it's really foggy, it makes me think about the vision of the tree of life in the Book of Mormon.

Lehi was a prophet, as was his son Nephi, so their vision and interpretation was extensive.  They saw the tree, the fruit, the building, the mist, the filthy water, all the people and the rod of iron.  They were also given the meaning behind each symbol they saw.

I'm not a prophet.  My understanding and vision are narrower.  All I see is the very end of the rod sticking out of the fog--intense fog like we have here in Stockton.  I'm not privy to all the obstacles between me and eternal bliss.  Nor can I see the shiny white fruit at the end.  I'm just in the fog.  I have one simple choice to make:  grab the rod of iron and cling to it or not.  Then I can use my faith to hope that if I continue to follow the rod, I will, at some point, see the things prophets saw.

Mary

I Thought an awfully lot about Mary today.  The scriptures talk about her pondering in her heart (I think in more than one place).  I wonder if her family was understanding of what happened to  her.  I wonder if they believed her.  It would stand to reason that the  most virtuous woman in history would have patient, loving parents, but why did she go away?  Why were she and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem alone?  Didn't their parents need to be taxed?  Was there a dowry that her parents forfeited because of the circumstances in which she and Joseph married?  Maybe she  pondered things is her heart because she had nobody to really confide in.  She certainly couldn't go to anyone and ask them what they did when this happened to them.  Elizabeth was excited with her and believed her, but how could she not?  The same angel visited her with unbelievable news too.  When Mary and Joseph fled into Egypt, did they go all alone with the baby Jesus?

I don't know exactly what triggered my thinking, but I was struck with the magnitude of the job Mary had and the weird position Joseph was in.  Did he feel like Jesus' dad?  Would he have to carry the visitation of that angel in his pocket everyday in order to not go completely nuts?

I try to imagine what it must have been like, even for John, growing up to  hear about how he was prophesied by an angel and how his dad went dumb.  What a bedtime story.  Not to mention that they had to live out in the wilderness to  keep him from being killed.  And the explanations to Jesus all the more extraordinary.

I also spent time wondering today how everyone didn't know how special John and Jesus were just from their age.  They were the only two in the whole region that age.  Everyone else was killed.  Did the people not get that or did that actually add to the resentment toward them?  What would it be like to be the only two people alive your age in a whole country or nation?

Wouldn't it be great to have an account written by Mary?  Everything about it would be different than the way it is in the New Testament.  We would know how people felt around the Savior, not just what they did.   She definitely had a lot to ponder. and ponder. and ponder.  I hope she got  understanding and  answers to her questions.

Miracles

Well, it finally happened this morning.  I've considered it at least a dozen times, but today I did it.  I walked out of a church meeting--a baptism.  I was so excited for the woman and glad to be there.  I really like her. 

After the ordinance her sister-in-law got up to give a talk on the Holy Ghost and I just couldn't take it.  It was a "our little boy was sick and we prayed and everything turned out perfect" story.  I know all the inspirational stories in magazines and on lifetime movies are touching because they have sweet happy endings, but there are lots of miracles in the world that don't have happy endings.

They are still miracles.

Sometimes people are healed and sometimes they aren't.  Sometimes it has to do with faith and sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes we understand.  Sometimes we don't.  And that doesn't make miracles random either.  It just means our understanding is limited.    Lots of times we just can't recognize it.  Sometimes it's a miracle when it just seems like a coincidence. 

We, the Gleasons, have had many miracles take place in our family.  Right now though, the sweet, happy ending is just having enough self-control not to scream or slap people who talk about  miracles.  Right now just stepping out for some air is a miracle.

Matthew 7:7-8

This is the first of many posts based on those three words.  I started it in November.  This is my favorite topic in the world.  Someday I'm going to write a book about it.  I've done so much reading about it and heard so many people talk about how it's the counsel given most in all the scriptures.  It's so simple:  Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find;  knock and it shall be opened unto you:  For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. 

It sounds really easy.  After years of personal study, I have discovered that almost without exception, those words come with a condition--a way to ask; a time to seek; an attitude that must precede the knocking.  Isn't that just like God?--in a good way.  He wants to give us everything.  He wants us to include him.  He wants us to work at things.  So, he gives a simple formula.  "Ask Me, and I'll tell you."  But, it's kind of like a parable, the more you read it, the more you see.  The more responsibility is yours and the deeper the meaning.

I hesitate to even begin the process of writing about this subject because I'm so bad at following through with counsel that comes from it.  If you study something and write about it, doesn't that make you an expert on the subject?  I'm not.  Doesn't that mean you should live the things you learn?  I don't.  In fact,  I kind of run from it.  If I use each thing I learn about how to get answers from God and I still don't understand what to do or how to do it, then I only have myself to blame right?  If  I ask, using all I know and I do end up doing it right, and God gives me what I seek and it turns out that it's not good for me, again, my fault.

For example, I've wanted another child for years.  If I fasted and prayed and asked in a way that would please my Father in Heaven, would he bless me with another child because it's a righteous desire?  What if pregnancy was bad for my weird heartbeats and it harmed me?  What if he blessed me with another special needs child?  Could I handle it?  That's just one example.  I think I could list hundreds.

I fear asking in the way I should.  I fear knowing what God really wants of me.  If I knew, I really knew and I couldn't do it or better yet wouldn't do it--'cause I'm a rebel deep down, then what?  I don't have the answers to wrap up this post.  That's my point.  I avoid answers.  In fact, I avoided getting my patriarchal blessing because I didn't want to know what blessings I would miss out on if I didn't live worthy to get them.

Jacob "Chewy" Jackson

I found out today that a boy Ian knew from Heart Camp passed away last month.   After my initial sadness for his parents, I felt so happy for Ian.  I know,  it's the worst emotion in the world to feel, but just to myself  I can say hooray-- my son has a buddy his own age that he can  hang out with--someone he knows and  that he was with only a few months ago.

That doesn't make me a monster, does it?  I don't know the boy or his parents personally and I wouldn't wish this horrible fate on any family.  I would be excited for Ian to have a friend here so why not there?  The obituary sounds like he was a great kid and they'll be good for each other. http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/charlotte/obituary.aspx?n=jacob-evan-jackson&pid=146985582&fhid=4251

I'm so screwed up.

I Had a Dream

I should have written this yesterday on MLK day.  It has nothing to do with him and I'm sure nothing to do with anything anyone would guess.  It's not about all the dreams I had for Ian's life that are dashed or about hopes I  had for myself.

I actually had a dream.  After the worst weekend in a long time, I prayed, hard, that I could dream about Ian still being here and get to spend some time with him, even if it was just in my head.  I woke up yesterday morning  wondering if, in fact, it was a message.

I dreamed about Ian.  Yes, I got what I  prayed for.  He was in an isolation area in an intensive care unit, waiting for a transplant.  We were where we have been incalculable times:  getting short with nurses, sympathizing with other parents and listening to doctors young enough to be our children, who then report back to the ones who actually know what they are doing.  I went up a few floors and could hear helicopters landing and bringing organs to other patients--which I have also actually done in real life.  While Keith sat with Ian, I searched the hospital feeling we weren't in the right place because I couldn't find the carpet with the sun on it--a trademark of the cardiac unit at Boston Children's Hospital where we saw miracles  happen over and over again.

I woke up thinking about how I wouldn't choose that for Ian.  He already  played that  horrible waiting game as a 5 year old.  Why should I have to think about that?  What mother should have to play that game?  Would he be better off here and perhaps suffering?  No perhaps. There was a lot of suffering in his life.  Or is he better being far away from his parents who ache for him.  Everything points to him being in an indescribably happy place, but does he ache for us?

I've said it before in my life, but I mean it  today.  Be careful what you  pray for!

Pea Soup

There's food and then there's food.

I got quite a chuckle the other day while eating pea soup and thought about how food has meaning in our lives and represents so many different things.

The Gleasons have special meals on so many days during the year.  We have corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day;  Grandma Kay's Easter Breakfast making sort of an eggs benedict with the hard-boiled eggs and english muffins;  Grandma Sherry's special breakfast for general conference Sundays--which is eggs, bacon and potatoes o'brien all in a electric frypan.  We have fondue on Christmas Eve.  The cheese.  The hot oil.  The fudge with homemade cream puffs full of ice cream.

One special food we like is pea soup at Pea Soup Andersen's.  Keith and I spent our wedding night there.  Let me clarify.  It's a motel too, not just a restaurant.  It has an old-fashioned windmill and a water wheel.  It's a great place.  They serve the soup with a cheesy bread and fixin's:  croutons, green onions, bacon bits, grated cheese, and ham.  It's all you can eat and it's all you need for a great meal.   That's the only part of my wedding night that will ever appear on a blog or anywhere else.

I wonder how many couples--the ones that are still married--have such a simple, happy memory.  I wonder how many couples wouldn't just turn their nose right up if they were offered pea soup.  We took Lucy and Mikey there recently and just smiled and chuckled over the table as we ate that we have such a unique remembrance of our beginnings.

Normal?

You know those books you read where the first chapter is written from one person's perspective and the next is from another and so on?  You see movies like that too.  You kind of have to suffer through it patiently or impatiently until the two characters meet and start having scenes together.  That's kind of what my life has been like for the past 5 months. 

I'm existing in this time and space and the sun keeps coming up and going down to remind me that the earth hasn't stopped, but I can feel Ian existing right around me and I can't see him.  I'm living some alternative universe sequence that you'd think could only be possible inside some one's imagination.  He's here.  I can see him pausing the TV to interject his comments on things.  I can sense that he would have a giant crush on the new girl at church.  I can feel him listening to me butcher primary songs on the piano.  I know he would've begged for the American flag converse sneakers I picked up at the thrift store yesterday. 

I thought I heard him laugh today as I entered a room and then realized he wasn't here.  I feel like he and I are tied together by a tether I can't see or follow back to him.

Someone asked Keith this week if things were getting back to normal for us.  Ignorance must indeed be bliss.  Things will never be normal again.  Normal would be hearing fighting in the house.  Normal would be actually getting out the right number or plates to set the table.  Normal would be watching Ace of Cakes instead of trying to decide if I can delete the timer on the DVR.  Normal would be never going without conversation in the car.  Normal would be knowing that the Red Sox just got one of the Padres best players.  We will never be normal again.

I don't know how he can feel so close and so far away at the same time.  I see the discomfort on peoples' faces when I bring him up in conversation, but to me he's always there.  How does a mom just cut one of their children out of everyday conversation?  How does she not think of him while walking the aisles of any store or while she prepares anything he ever loved to eat--or didn't love?  How does she not want to photoshop him into every recent photograph? 

She doesn't.

I guess I'll settle for him occupying an alternate universe here with me.  It beats the alternative.

Time

Don't let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it.  The time will pass anyway;  we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use.  --Earl Nightingale

I need to apply this in my life.  I have many interesting things in this life of mine to experience and acquire that I'm not reaching for because there doesn't seem to be time.  It's funny though,  I always seem to have time to watch at least one TV show--even if I've already seen it.

Why don't I prioritize?   I get after Keith almost every weekend for not doing at least one thing just because he wants to and  yet I'm the same way.  Only I have a million times as much free time as he does.  I even say to myself occasionally,  "Why would I spend 3 hours on a project that nobody but me would even notice got done?"

The quote mentions fear.  I think fear is an incredible motivator--or anti motivator.  I fear that if I take on a project and do it wrong, I'll be further behind than when I started.   I fear that what I do won't be perfect.  I fear that I'll only get half-finished and then get interrupted and never get back to it.  I fear that if I get really involved with something, I'll neglect the things I need to get done like meals, laundry, paying bills.  I fear that if I get too involved doing something for me, I won't be doing enough with my family.

It's funny, we have as many hours in our days as the people who built the Great Wall of China, or the Parthenon in Athens and we have so much technology to make everything so much easier and yet we still say,  "I don't have time."  I think that's why I get such a kick out of people who tweet and facebook,  (There I go judging again.) because they need reach a bunch of people all at once instead of one by one.  I really should have been born when women churned their own butter.  Then I would have had time to think about all my random things while I was busy, without feeling like I was wasting time doing it.

Stars

Today is the 14th of January.  We went to Hollywood Blvd. and saw the stars on the Walk of Fame and rode the tour bus on the 30th of December.  I can't seem to shake what I learned there.  I hope the tour guide was telling the truth or all this stewing is wasted.  He said the entertainers that are remembered on the sidewalk need to be famous for at least 5 years to be considered.  When they are chosen, they are sent a letter congratulating them and requesting a check for $25,000.  If they don't send the check, they don't get the honor.  What?  Even though I was really excited to walk along and see the stars and see how many of the people I knew, I couldn't get that off my mind all day and I still think about it almost daily.  So for the price of a car--one that we can afford; or the money I'm told it takes to adopt a baby from China; or the amount of money that millions of people, even in this rich country consider an annual income;  you can have a  piece of concrete with your name on it for people to walk on.  Amazing.  How is it even an honor if you purchase it?

Then my mind, as it tends to do, rattles around and starts to wonder:  Do people aspire to be stars so they can be worshipped?  Did the term "star" somehow come from that most famous star that led people to someone being born who should be worshipped?

All the stars have a circle on them under the name that signifies the genre for which they were honored:  TV, movies,  music, and broadcasting.  That makes me wonder too.  If they gave out (not sold, I'd never be rich enough to shell out $25,000) stars for excellence in life, I wonder what symbol would go under my name.  Let's see.  Yeller, complainer, judger.  Those are things I excel at.  And if I did manage to get something good, would anyone travel to see it and have their photo taken with it?

This experience brought me back to the realization that I'm glad I don't worship any "idols" or "stars".  I'm glad I worship the One that won't end up in rehab or abandon His family or get too full of Himself.  Yeah, I'll stick to Christ who God himself gave a special star.

Endure

I hate it when I'm caught between what seems logical and what I know is right.  Life would be so much easier if logical and right were the same thing.  Sometimes they are.  Frankly, sometimes that's how the Holy Ghost will tell me something--He'll make it logical to my head.  Then, other times it's all about the warm heart.  The worst is when it's the pit in my stomach.  I hate that one.

When I get hurt by someone over and over again, isn't it logical to distance myself from that person?  Wouldn't that be the smart thing to do?  Then how come I can't--cause it's not the right thing to do.  For example, there's no way to reconcile distancing myself from family, when I know families are the one eternal unit.  If I can't make a relationship work on earth, how can I hope for it to be eternal?  In the instance of a friend, how can I let go, knowing that I'm the tie between her and the church and if I let go, the contact is broken?

Is this really the time in my life where I have to reach out to others?  To make sure they are okay?  It hardly seems fair.  Why don't they reach out to me?  Is God giving me a project to take my mind off myself?  If so, I probably won't get the blessings that are supposed to come because of my state of mind in doing it.  Maybe this is how I'm supposed to learn the difference between 'endure to the end'  and 'endure it well'.  If all that makes my existence continue is not dying, then there's not much to it, but if I have a bunch of really difficult tasks laid out to accomplish, people to save--people to love, that would be richer I guess.

I think I rambling.  It's just a stubborn thing after all.  What real difference does it make if I'm the one reaching out or they are?  The contact helps me too doesn't it?  It wouldn't hurt if I didn't want the contact.  Maybe today I'll make a phone call or two.

Eye Single to the Glory

There stands to be a certain risk in always having something on your mind--everything that you do or read or come across seems somehow to relate to that thing.

Ian is my thing!

Matthew 6:22   The light of the body is the eye:  if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.


I wonder why that verse refers only to one eye. 

Light emanated from Ian and his single working eye.  I'm beginning to wonder if that's why he was so focused when it came to the gospel.  We have hundreds of photos of him just like this one.  Before cameras and computers could fix red eye, I fixed them with a sharpie.  It's very interesting to me that the blind eye reflects no light back into the camera. 

He really did have no problem with learning the gospel.  It came easier than anything else.  He got it, and even if he couldn't find the scripture in the book, he could tell you what it meant.  Keith and I thought it would be impossible for him to attend early morning seminary with any regularity because of the rest he needed, but we never told him that.  He got up and went everyday--even as the only boy in the class.

When he was first a deacon he passed the sacrament in a wheelchair for 8 or 10 weeks.  He passed the sacrament as  the only young man on countless Sundays, and as a teacher prepared the table alone.  He went to do service projects, when all he had the energy to do was watch, but he went.  Once when the youth went caroling at Christmas he waited until the song was over and everyone was walking back to the car and he went back up to the porch and asked the sister he home taught if she needed anything. 
He had the best judge of character of anyone I've ever known.  A few times I had to explain circumstances he wasn't aware of, but usually he was right on the money.  That eye served him well in gospel purposes.

I've always had the best vision of anyone I knew.  My eye doctor several years ago told me my neighbors should be nervous.  And yet I've always been apprehensive to get right up and meet priesthood leaders.  I've always felt they could see into my soul and know all my flaws.  Could that have something to do with what my eyes reflect about me-- or don't reflect? 

The Angel Gabriel

Sunday School January 9, 2011. 
The subject was the first chapter of Matthew and the first chapter of Luke.  The teacher was going over the visitations of the Angel Gabriel when I begin to have a game of "Would You Rather" in my head.

If I were the angel would I rather go to the old woman and tell her she's pregnant or a teenage girl and tell she's going to become pregnant without knowing a man or the superfun third choice of telling the teenage boyfriend that his girlfriend's going to get pregnant and he should marry her anyway?  What would you have to do while you were alive to deserve that task as an angel?  Oh yeah,  the fourth visit to the old man wasn't exactly easy either.  He had to strike him dumb.  All in a day's work for God's messenger.

See, it's no wonder that I think my brain is wired differently than other peoples'.  Right?

The other thing I thought about was that on one page the angel is telling Zacharias that his baby will be full of the Holy Ghost while still in the womb.  On facing page we can read the fulfillment of an angelic prophecy when John leaped in the womb while Elisabeth and Mary were talking.  Cool.  It's great to live in the day when it's so easy to have access and read scripture whenever you want.

10 Letters

I started reading a book--something I haven't had the concentration to do for almost 6 months.  It's about being peculiar in a good way.  I can't remember the exact title, but it's by Mary Ellen Edmunds.  You could consider it a self-help book I guess.  One of the activities in the 1st chapter is to think of 10 people who have changed your life (for good) and write them a letter.  She said you could learn a lot about yourself by who you chose and what you said.   She said not to use family but I'll break that right off the top because Ian is certainly on my list.  So here they are:

Abraham Lincoln 

Laura Molen

Ruth Bartschi

Chaim Potok

Mr. Johanson

Jim and Tonya Paiva

Kim Gamino

Ian Gleason

Debra Burnett

Mae Wright

I don't know that I'll actually write any letters, but I can explain the reasons.  When I was a kid every book I read was about Abe Lincoln.  I idolized him.  The more I learn as an adult, the more I think of him.  Laura Molen showed love to my family before she even knew us.  She stepped up at the then worst time of my life and served all of us.  Ruth Bartschi taught me that I didn't need to fit in some perfect mold to be a missionary and teach people about God.  Chaim Potok wrote fiction that made me want to read.  He made me love fiction and see and understand a group of people I would never get to see in real life.  Mr. Johanson was my middle school science teacher and taught me when I was really young that everything I learned I would be able to take with me when I die.  In my recollection he even quoted the scripture verse right there in science class.  Jim and Tonya Paiva gave me a look into another religion and showed me that devoutness is universal. They were a great example to us in teaching the Old Testament to our kids.  Kim Gamino started Camp Taylor for youth with heart disease and gave Ian a sense of independence he never had prior to going there.  She inspires me.  Ian--too many reasons to count and I don't feel like crying any more today.  Debra Burnett was my first missionary companion.  She taught me that even though it's hard work, being a missionary is a happy, fun adventure and there is a plan that we are part of.  Mae Wright, well, what a dear friend.  Her life was so different from mine.  I admire her more than I can express.  She was tough and smart and had the faith of 10 prophets.

The Grapefruit Syndrome

I was cleaning out a drawer yesterday and found something that hung on our wall about a hundred years ago.  It's still relevant.  I can't take credit for it.  It was in a magazine written by Lola B. Walters.

My husband and I had been married about two years-just long enough for me to realize that he was a normal man rather than a knight on a white charger--when I read a magazine article recommending that married couples schedule regular talks to discuss, truthfully and candidly, the habits or mannerisms they find annoying  in each other.  The theory was that if the partners knew of such annoyances, they could correct them before resentful feelings developed.
It made sense to me.  I talked with my husband about the idea.  After some hesitation, he agreed to give it a try.
As I recall, we were to name five things we found annoying, and I started off.  After more than fifty years, I remember only my first complaint:  grapefruit.  I told him that I didn't like the way he ate grapefruit.  He peeled it and ate it like an orange!  Nobody else I knew ate grapefruit like that.  Could a girl be expected to spend a lifetime, and even eternity, watching her husband eat grapefruit like an orange?  Although I have forgotten them, I'm sure the rest of my complaints were similar.
After I finished, it was his turn to tell the things he disliked about me.  Though it has been more than half a century, I still carry a mental image of my husband's handsome young face as he gathered  his brows together in thoughtful, puzzled frown and then looked at me with his large blue-gray eyes and said,  "Well, to tell the truth, I can't think of anything I don't like about you, Honey."
Gasp.
I quickly turned my back, because I didn't know how to explain the tears that  had filled my eyes and were running down my face.  I had found fault with him over such trivial things as the way he ate grapefruit, while he hadn't even noticed any of my peculiar and no doubt annoying ways.
I wish I could say that this experience completely cured me of fault finding. It didn't.  But it did make me aware early in my marriage that husbands and wives need to keep in perspective, and usually ignore, the small differences in their habits and personalities.
Whenever I hear of married couples being incompatible, I always wonder if they are suffering from what I now call the Grapefruit Syndrome.

You could say this was written specifically for me.  I think we'd probably been married 2 years when Keith showed it to me.  It taught me a good lesson, but like the author, I'm still learning it.  I have been saying forever, the only thing I gave up in marrying Keith is Miracle Whip.  All the other sacrifices have been his.  While that's not completely accurate either, my husband puts up with all the quirky, annoying things about me.  After nearly 18 years,  I actually believe that he doesn't even see many of them.  It's kind of like believing him when he says he doesn't notice other women.  It's a happy and secure place to be.

Prodigal

What does  prodigal mean?

Some of the definitions say wasteful, extravagant, lavishly reckless--none of the things I had ever associated with prodigal in the prodigal son.   I mean I knew spending the inheritance was the gist of the story,  but I always thought him leaving the family was where the term prodigal came from--being impetuous and stupid basically.  Then I found another definition:  a person who acts irresponsibly and later regrets it.

We were reading the New Testament with the kids the other night and I was reading the parables of the lost sheep, the piece of silver, and the prodigal son.  We all get  the importance of the one sheep and how a person feels if they have $10.00 and lose one.  The obvious fixation is on the one that's lost not the nine that are easily spent or saved.  We've all heard the story of the prodigal son  at least 100 times.  This time though, one verse stuck out.  After we were finished, I went back and read it again and asked Keith some questions.

Luke 15:7 

 I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven

over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine

 just persons, which need no repentance. 

Okay, so I have to admit, it's been my personal mission for years (and I'm not perfect at it yet)  to come to a place where I don't resent people who live a prodigal life and then repent and now have a seemingly perfect gospel life.  I've finally accepted that whether I tell a white lie or commit adultery (don't worry Keith, it's just an example) I am every bit as dependant on the atonement.  The degree of sin is irrelevant.  So, reading this verse took me back a little bit.  Aren't we all prodigal?  There aren't any sinless persons--except the one telling the story.  It's been a hard lesson for me as I try to do whats right and watch those around me.  There's the next lesson--stop watching those around me!

It would be good if the verse had a footnote to explain it, but I guess I'll just have to study it out and hope someone smarter than me had the same question and wrote the answer down somewhere.

Until Proven Otherwise

Short and sweet.
I heard a really good talk a few months ago that I haven't been able to forget--maybe there's a reason for that.  It was in person, so I can't go back and read it or put it into context.  I can't even remember the speaker's topic, but one sentence he said has almost haunted me ever since. 

He said,  "Every good thought should be treated as a prompting until proven otherwise." 

Duh!  If every good thing comes from God why should I ever think that good thoughts are my original ideas?  I should trust that I am capable of receiving a message from God through the Holy Ghost and act on it.  If I find out later that it was just me, well, no harm no foul, right?

It seems like hundreds of times that I've had thoughts about someone or something and I've brushed it off only to find out a day or week later that it was a prompting I should have listened to.  That's an awful feeling.  I figure if I start living by this principle, even if I can't remember who said it, it could change my life.

Flashlight and Tweezers

I was talking with someone recently who was going through a really hard time.  She had just lost her mom;  found out she'd lost a brother who she'd been out of touch with for years;  watched her other brother go back to drugs.  The list includes many other things including more than one chronic health condition that will eventually take her life and a common-law husband who she's never had the perfect relationship with and hasn't even seen for a few months.  We were talking about what God wants for us and how we should live--the meaning of life kind of stuff.  She told me how we are supposed to focus on the things we have to be grateful for, even if we need a flashlight and a pair of tweezers to find them.  I laughed.  That may be the best proverb I've ever heard.

It's given me reason to ponder so many times over the past month about how many people who have lived in the history of time have needed a flashlight and a pair of tweezers to find things to be thankful for.  I am not one of those people.  From the time I was born,  I have had everything I needed to have a good life.   My parents loved me.  I always had a home.  I got to have a good education.  I've had a variety of incredible friends.  I've seen beautiful, interesting, places and experienced so many wonderful things. 

Since I've grown up,  I've had the blessing of a husband who is honorable and giving and who I know was a gift to me from a loving Heavenly Father.  I have 3 of the choicest people who've ever been on the planet as my own children.  Again, I have a home that's warm and stocked with good food to eat and healthy water to drink.  I am in good health.  I'm still learning and seeing and doing many wonderful things.

Though losing my son is impossible to bear and can, at times, overshadow all the other things that are good in my life, I don't need a flashlight or a pair of tweezers to find the blessings that can give me solace.

"Password"

Passing the time

Passing Grades

Pass with flying colors

Pass the ball

Gave him a pass

Made a pass

Pass/fail

The storm has passed

Pass the buck

You may not pass this way again

Passing  judgement

This too, shall pass

Pass a test

Pass out the treats

2 ships that passed in the night

Don't let it pass you by

And it came to pass...

I'm kind of a freak about words.  I really listen to the words people use and I replay conversations over and over in my head--regretting the words I use or pulling meaning from the words others' use.  Password is one of my favorite games.  We have this 70's version of the box game and our kids are really quite good at it.  I like it because it makes us communicate.  It makes us pull together and remember things we've shared together.

There are words I like to use and hear and then there are words I don't.  Euphemisms in general are not my thing.  Just say it like it is.  That's my philosophy.  Sugar-coating isn't my strong suit.  Not when I'm talking somethand not when others talk to me.  I remember once when Ian was pretty little, I said cars could squish peoples' guts out.  My friend was surprised at how I laid things out for my kids.  It kind of shocked me because I thought making it plain was the best way to keep him out of the street.

Getting to the point, I have for as long as I can remember, hated the term: "passed away".  It makes it seem like a person just disappeared or faded or floated off.  I've never understood why people couldn't just say died.  I get it now.  I stop, mid-sentence sometimes.  I say gone, left, and a number of other words including passed because the words died and dead produce an actual, physical pain in my gut--see,  I could've said stomach, but the word gut conveys the deepness of the feeling so much better.

"Pass" is used in sooo many phrases and in almost everyone of them it is some sort of euphemism--a passive way to say something.  I now have empathy for all the people who can't bring themselves to say the word died.  Keith conducted, and I attended, yet another funeral between Christmas and New Year's.  She was a woman we cared about.  I visited her the day before she died, and even though I'm a pretty good person, I have to admit, it's possible that part of the reason I went is because she told Keith 2 days earlier that Ian had been in the room with her.  It's comforting to know that all 3 of us were visiting the same woman and hopefully helping her go. 

I guess it's proof, (if there is such a thing,)  that we really don't die, we just pass to another place.