Diamond in the Rough

We had a lesson today which I think was on adversity.  (I was late and missed most of it.)  It was the standard, from what I did hear, you know--Why does God allow bad things to  happen?  Chastening, refiner's fire--we need to learn and get stronger yada yada yada.

One of the example's though, made me think.  A friend was talking about what it takes to turn normal carbon into a diamond and what a treasure a diamond is.  I'm weird, it's a given, but all I could think about was:  " I wonder what it takes to turn something into carbon."

What is carbon made out of?  What did something have to go through to become carbon--the thing that everything is made out of?  With the whole eternal perspective,  carbon isn't the beginning, and a diamond isn't the end.  There is something more basic than carbon and something more beautiful and precious than diamonds.  And if we were to sit down and analyze, is a diamond really more valuable than coal?  Can it heat?  Give off light?  Generate electricity?  What percentage of God's children ever even get to see a diamond?

Then there's the perspective I have of my dad working in the diamond industry.  Industrial diamonds.  He worked for a company that made the drill bits for oil wells--diamond drill bits, that would cut through the core of the earth better and faster than anything else. He had a little one on his key chain for years.

Are those diamonds as special as the ones that have been cut and polished?  They are diamonds.  They aren't still considered carbon.   I remember when he brought home a black diamond.  It just looked like a tiny piece of coal, but perfectly square.  I didn't believe him at first when he said it was a diamond.  And my mom has a diamond hourglass with thousands of dollars worth of diamond dust running through it.  Very sparkly and beautiful, but not considered in the same way as something in a baby blue box from Tiffany's.

I don't know, but I think the point I am getting at is that:   I don't care if I'm carbon now.  Carbon is a really good thing and it came from somewhere.  It didn't start out as carbon.  It went through something already to get where it is, and even if I'm not on my way to the shiny kind of diamond that everyone recognizes as valuable, I am valuable and God sees me that way.  Even if I'm coal, or a drill bit or dust that marks time. Someday I'll see myself the way He sees me--the way He sees all of his obedient children--who are with Him.  Hopefully, I will be white above all that is white and that beats a diamond any day.

Welcome Home Ian

I know I've posted this song before.  It's still the most fitting post to commemorate  today.

Listen on YouTube

Here are the Lyrics:

I can't believe that I'm here having to say goodbye
And I can barely see you through these tears I cry
I close my eyes.

I can hear the sound
As angels gather 'round
Saying this is where you belong
Welcome Home!

There are the days that my heart aches
Wishing  you were here
But I know where you are the hurt and the pain disappear
There's no more tears.

I can hear the sound
As angels gather 'round
Saying this is where you belong
Welcome Home!
Welcome Home!

What  a lovely sound
Angels all around
Saying this is where you belong
Welcome Home
Welcome Home
Welcome Home!

Home

The computer is not really my friend.  This blog is a perfect example.  Several months ago it became impossible for me to insert a photo on this blog without downloading it directly from a phone or linking it from a URL.  I tried  a hundred things to  make it work and couldn't, so I just didn't post anything for weeks. Obviously, I've figured a way around it--I'm not using internet explorer anymore.  It took me months and an interesting problem at work to even think of the idea.

Work is a whole 'nother issue with the computer.  Sometimes I have to call the helpdesk in SLC and have them do the whole land desk management thing to fix whatever I"ve messed up.  I was working on a form this week and couldn't figure out why the numbers I wast inputting kept turning into the number siymbol--I think it's now called a hash tag.  It was an Excel issue and Excel is  new to me.  I don't love computers.  I don't own a tablet or a laptop or even a smartphone.  I don't want a computer applying the breaks for me in my car or tracking my spending habits at Lowe's. I especially don't want to deal with a computerized self-checkout at the grocery store.

Computers do offer have one thing that is very appealing to me.  Any website I'm on or any program I'm using, there's one very special icon I love.  I use it to find my way--to get unlost, unconfused, unmessed up.  It's the home tab.

Life needs a home tab.  I found myself sitting in my family room a couple of months ago, looking at the ceiling telling Heavenly Father I wanted to come home.  In a good way.  In an I miss you way.  In a I'm not doing so good today, could you show me the purpose from the beginning again sort of  way.  Well, not exactly. That makes it sound like a positive experience.  It wasn't.  I was bawling, but then what else is new?  But it wasn't  in a dangerous, all my friends and family should be worried kind of way either.  In computer talk it was a 'save document without all the changes that were just made' moment--a can't we reset to Christmas 2009 and start there again?

I've had that feeling a lot in the past 3 years, yep 3 whole years.  It's a little different having Ian on the other side of the veil.  I just want the end to come.  It wouldn't mess up anybody's plans if the 2nd Coming was today would it?  I don't want just my life to end.  I want the whole stinkin' party to end.  Selfish.  I know. This probably sounds morbid or like I need a shrink.  Oh well.  I'm not going to off myself.  I just like the visual of the little home in the corner of my screen and what it represents to me eternally.

8 Months Late

It was in November 2012 that I should've written this post.  It was a very sad day indeed.  Things would never be the same in my life again.  Something was taken from me that I would never get back---WAIT---On July 15th all was right with the world.
The return of the Twinkie.

I know.  What a ridiculous thing to post about.  Not so.  I love Twinkies.  And Ding-Dongs.  They have childhood memories embedded in them.  And not the type of memories you might guess.

When I was in the 2nd or 3rd grade, back when kids still took the buses and went on field trips, I got to go to the Wonder Bread/Hostess factory on a tour.  It was the best thing ever.  We got to bring home a mini-loaf of bread and a package of Twinkies.  The clearer memory of the day however, is where we had lunch after the tour.

Wow, stop the presses.  In the middle of typing this post, I actually got a phone from my favorite grocery contact who told me it will be another 2-4 weeks before I can buy a Ding-Dong.  What a coincidence huh?

Okay, back to my youth.  When we finished at the Wonder Bread Plant, we went on a tour of the fire station next door and then we boarded the buses to our lunch destination--the deaf and blind school.  Is is okay to say that it was the first time I realized I had it good?  Can you say that?  Every time I say I'm thankful that I don't have the trials that someone else has  I have a guilt pang, like I'm a Zoramite on the Rameumptom or something.-- 'Thank you God for making us so much better than our brethren."
Back to the initial point.  I didn't know anyone who was deaf or blind and it certainly wasn't the time of inclusion in the schools.  I don't think it had ever occurred to me that Helen Keller wasn't just a movie.

I've never forgotten that day.  I don't think of it often, but it is linked to Twinkies.  Pretty cool.  Twinkies make me realize how thankful I should be for my body that works the way it is supposed to.

There is one right way to eat a Twinkie too.  You have to split in half lengthwise so you can see all the filling inside and eat one half at a time.  What a treat.

Then there's Ding-Dong memories.

My brother and I didn't get along too great when I was young.  He's a lot older than me and I was probably not only the sibling that took away his baby of the family status, but I was also the first girl in 4 generations.  Let's just say I was spoiled.  (Not that I remember provoking him to tease or anything remotely deserving of his torment.)  Anyway, one of my good memories with him was eating Ding-Dongs--well, not the eating.  The unwrapping.  Taking off the aluminum foil perfectly without a single tear and seeing who could smooth it out into a pristine perfect rectangle again without any wrinkles.

That,  and contests of who could keep the hiccups the longest.  Isn't childhood great.  Silly things that come back to our memory 40 years later when we are informed that Hostess is going to be gone forever.  I'm so glad it's not.  I've eaten 5 or 6 Twinkies in the last 2 weeks and plan to eat that many Ding-Dongs when I can find them.

I wish all good things that are taken away could make a comeback!

Another Maxwell Quote

I guess one of my all-time favorite apostles is Neal A. Maxwell.  The only thing I can ever remember him saying that I didn't like is,  "O'Driscoll?  I ate rhubarb out of your parents garden last week."  I was in Hong Kong and missing a few of the comforts at home plus I was excited to be meeting an apostle and wasn't thrilled that he already know my brother in such a familiar way.  Ah, sibling rivalry.

Anyway, I digress.  Here's the quote that I love:

One's life. . .cannot be both faith-filled and stress-free. . ."Therefore, how can you and I really expect to glide naively through life, as if to say, 'Lord, five me experince, but not grief, not sorrow, not pain, not opposition, not betrayal, and certainly not to be forsaken.  Keep from me, Lord, all thaose experiences which made Thee what Thou art!  Then let me come an ddwell with Thee and fully share Thy joy!'  "Real faith. . .is required to endure this necessary but painful developmental process."

"Lest Ye Be Wearied and Faint in Your Minds,"  Ensign, May 1991, 88,90.

I hate to say it, but, yeah, that's kinda what I want--no hard stuff, but all the blessings.  Oh well, it's a good thing you don't get everything you want.

Not 6th Sense, But 6th Stage

Everybody has heard of the steps of grief.  Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  There's lots of books about them and psycho-babble that makes pretty good sense.  I've bounced around through these stages over and over again.  It seems when my hormones shift, I can run  through all the stages  in a couple of days.
There's a stage that isn't covered; a stage that I've been struggling through for the past several months.  It's one of the many reasons I haven't been letting out any of my feelings.  Simply put, it's avoidance.  It's not the same as denial, even though it might seem similar.  I've had enough time now to figure out how to"not think".

Thinking about fun times and talking about them; writing  them down used to make me feel connected.  It used to be the umbilical cord that flowed between Ian and I.  Now I know that if I allow myself to feel, I will cry for hours and get a headache and bring my family down.  I won't be productive at work.  I will lose my appetite.  I will feel the horrible guilt of every parenting mistake I ever made.

I swear I can cry in less than 10 seconds if I let myself.  If the car is silent, I'm still there--in that place  when he first left me.  Now, very close to 3 years out, I've adapted, to survive.  I avoid.  I write less in my book of letters to Ian because if I sit down and do it at bedtime like I used to, I can't sleep.  That used to be okay.  I used to revel in that time that I had to tell him everything that was going on without him.  Now I've learned that sleep is an escape--like TV and overeating, sleep is my friend.

I don't go to the cemetery as much.  I avoid it.  And it's not just that time has passed.  It's not that at all.  I avoid the cemetery because it's very apparent that Ian isn't there.  I know now that the presents I take there are just going to be stolen by people who can't possibly understand what it takes to buy things for your son and leave them next to a piece of marble.  It's like Lucy said a long time ago.  "Why put yourself through it?"

I avoid being as happy for others as I should be because it hurts.  The happy feeling fades in a very short amount of time and leaves a gaping hole where I can't be happy for me--where I can't be that parent who gets to beam about their child and tell everyone what he is up to.

We went on vacation this past week.  I cried before we left.  I cried while we were gone and I cried on the way home.  He's not here.  While we were mini-golfing, I actually said how great it would be if he were there wanting to hit Lucy with the putter for being such a pain.

We are trying to tell ourselves now that Ian wouldn't be here anyway.  He would be on his mission.  But, you know what?  He's  already been gone more than a mission's length of time.  I've said it before, but I don't even know what he would like anymore.  I don't know if he would still like Batman or if he would have decided that he was too old for that.  I see clothes in the stores he would have loved 3 years ago, but would he want them now?  I don't know.

So I avoid that section of the store.
I avoid a lot.
I see a danger though.  I don't want to avoid all the things that make me smile--like this.

First day of  2nd grade and Birthday.  Added extra bonus--balance was finally good enough to stand on one foot.

Wandering and Rambling

I read Ether last week.  I'm trying to finish the Book of Mormon.  The kids having minimum days has hurt my routine.  I usually read while I'm waiting for them at the school--no waiting; no reading.  I'm almost there.  Anyway, the book of Ether has many, many important lessons, the first being pick your friends carefully.
When Jared and his brother's language is not confounded and they are still able to communicate with each other, the next thing they ask for is that they may also have some of their friends "not confounded" either.  (I'm sure that was the most awkward way to say that but. . .)  It makes me think who I would want to take with me into the wilderness.  If there were only going to be a few families together and times were going to be tough, do I have friends that I would want to count on?

Yes, but I'm not sure if I have 11.  That's the number that sticks in my head as to how many there were.  Let's see:
Do my brother's count?  No, I'll assume they don't--they are already there.
Campbells
Molens
Colborns
Powells, maybe--haven't talked to them forever.

Families that we trust, rely on and get along with.  Question is would any of them pick us?

Messers
Johnsons
Bonds
Esplins
Parkers
Phipps 

I don't know.  They are all really good families.  We aren't super close with these, but I can look over the list and feel good that none of them would fall to the dark side.

Keith would probably have more ideas.

If we were all together living fairly well on a beach somewhere like they were, would we stop asking "what next?"  The brother of Jared got chastised pretty harshly and was stuck in that spot for 4 years  when there was a better place waiting--because he quit praying about what to do. 

That sounds  pretty common.  We don't always ask when things are good--or even fair.  Maybe the brother of Jared thought, "I did what you said, I'm here in this place where you led me.  If you want me to go somewhere else, where's the cloud that led me here?  Where are you now?" 

When the brother of Jared finally did start asking again, he was pretty humble.  He asked God not to get angry with him again when he proposed the stones lighting up.  He started with, "I know I'm just a dumb mortal but. . ."

I wonder a lot about the journeys Heavenly Father sends us on.  He does things in such weird ways sometimes.  Lehi and Jared are only 2 examples.

When God was ready to restore his church to the earth, He knew that it was Joseph Smith that would be the one to do it.  He knew the geography of where it needed to happen.  There were thousands of ways the Smith family could have gotten to Palmyra, NY.  Why did they need their crops to fail 3 consecutive years in Vermont?  Why did they need to be nearly destitute?  They were good people--the best people on the planet in the context of this story.  Why did God try them to the breaking point? 

Yes, I know the Sunday School answer and I know the scriptural answer:  God tries those He loves.  He gives all of us the opportunity to prove to him that we will choose Him; that we will serve Him; and that we won't falter.  I get that.  I guess I even get that if the trials of Joseph's childhood hadn't come, then perhaps he wouldn't have been prepared for the trials that came later.

And Yet.  I still wonder why?  I still ask,  "Is there no other way?" 
Aren't there any lessons that aren't worth the trials we go through in order to learn?  It seems to me that there are weak, yet happy, people all around me.  How do I reconcile that with the concept that God is no respecter of persons and loves all of his children and wants success for every last one of them?  I'm not stupid or proud or whatever enough to think that I'm stronger or more able to withstand more trials than anyone else.  On the other hand, I'm not naive enough to think that my trials are even close to the worst there is. 

I hope it's okay to wonder.  There are thousands of years of history in the scriptures and I'm supposed to read it and learn from it and get to know those people and see myself in their lessons, so I hope it's okay to scratch my head and say, "If God wanted it to be that way, why didn't He just say so?"

It's a rambling.  I'm rambling today.