Whatsoever Things Are Lovely...

I mentioned last week that our good friend passed away, and though I didn't take any photos of his funeral, my mind took some beautiful pictures and my ears heard several stories that will always be with me. I'd like to share one of them with you this morning.

I know I am not unusual in having a ward family that looks after one another, yet the level of caring and compassion never fails to amaze me. On the last Sunday of a great man's life, the high priests in our congregation were just beginning their quorum lesson when the teacher was inspired that the entire group should leave the church building, drive over to our friend's house, and give him the sacrament. They did so, and about fifteen men arrived at the door to provide that service. They were ushered into the room where their fellow quorum member lay in a weakened state, and they gently assisted him in partaking of the sacrament a final time before leaving this earth. Afterward, they stood around the bed and spontaneously sang his favorite hymn, "O My Father." I am told that our friend was clearly moved, but no more so than his wife, who says she will never forget the spirit of love that filled the room. Needless to say, my husband will regret forever that his attendance at the singles ward precluded his being there for such a beautiful moment. An interesting aside is that a neighbor who is not a member of our church heard the music through an open window and was deeply moved by the sound of male voices singing so tenderly to their brother in the gospel. She felt the spirit of that loving encounter in her own heart and could not believe how many men had come to offer gentle comfort in such a way.

Music is one of the most powerful, uplifting forces in the world. Used in its purest form, this divine medium can ennoble, move, comfort, delight, embrace, energize, and heal us. I spent most of yesterday writing an Easter program for our singles ward, and my internet search for those sacred strains that might bring my words to life was good medicine for a grieving soul. Listening to mp3's of hymns devoted to the Savior and His ministry of service and sacrifice filled every empty space in my heart with joy, reverence, and gratitude. A deepened awareness of the magnitude of Christ's suffering and the glory of His resurrection brought me that peace which passeth all understanding, and music was the conduit.

"...and the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall be in your minds and hearts through Christ Jesus. Finally...whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things" (Philippians 4:7-8).

Today I am thinking about music, and dear friends, and eternity.

And somehow, all is well.

A Breath of Fresh Hope!

Several months ago, an article by Wendy Ulrich appeared in the Deseret News entitled "How Can God Be Trusted? Some Lessons from Bones and Sinew." Normally I would just post a link, but because I want all of you to read her words so badly, I am cutting and pasting them here in their entirety. That's how valuable I think Ms. Ulrich's piece is. Read it and smile, because the knowledge that our bodies are constantly rebuilding themselves not only offers new hope for improved health no matter your age, but reminds every one of us that we can change ourselves spiritually, too.

Write on, Wendy...

I recently learned that all the cells in all the muscles in the human body are destroyed, hauled off, then rebuilt about every four months. Ditto with all the blood cells every three months, all the bone cells every couple of years. Who knew?

When we stress muscles with exercise, special wrecking-crew cells get a stronger-than-usual signal to come in and start tearing things down and cleaning things out. Rest after exercise cues another crew of cells to start building things back up again, just a little stronger than before. Without exercise, old cells don’t get taken down and recreated as efficiently; muscles and bones are rebuilt slightly weaker than they were, according to Chris Crowley and Henry S. Lodge, M.D., authors of "Younger Next Year."

This information gives me a lot of incentive to hit the streets.

It also gives new credibility to the notion that adversity might even be good for me. It makes me wonder if I’m using challenges, stress or threats to tear down old notions of who I am and what I believe, replacing them with something more accurate, strong and flexible.

I think of a friend who, with cause, concluded as a child that she could only stay safe through constant vigilance. People could not always be trusted. Ditto with God. As an adult that worldview often left her anxious, suspicious and grasping for faith. She wanted to relax and trust in God’s care. After all, sometimes things worked out fine. But sooner or later — usually sooner — they didn’t again. Was she not yet righteous enough to deserve more protection? Was she creating a self-fulfilling prophecy?

I will long remember the moment in the movie "17 Miracles" when someone who looks like a mountain man comes to a woman who has roamed away from her Mormon pioneer handcart company to search for fuel. He appears from nowhere and asks urgently how the company is doing. She clearly can’t figure out who this man is or where he came from, but she reports, "We are starving. We are dying. We are desperate."

His concern is evident. He thinks a moment. He wonders aloud if he might help a little. The question does not seem to be whether he is able to help, willing to help, or has the concern and compassion to help. For some reason the question seems to be whether he is allowed to help. Apparently permission is granted: He miraculously provides dried meat for her to take back and distribute, saving many lives. When she turns to thank him he has disappeared, along with the cave from which he produced the food. True story, it is claimed.

This is the message I got: God is absolutely aware, compassionate, concerned — and from time to time he sends some messenger or miracle as evidence of that love. But he does not pull us out of the game we came here to play. He respects and loves and trusts us enough to let us see it through, even when we are sure we are losing, even when we cannot for the life of us remember why we chose to play or what position we trained for. He remembers. He is true to his promise to let us have the experience we apparently signed up for: tearing down, rebuilding stronger.

Sometimes an experience tears us down so far we feel like there is no physical or spiritual muscle left to rebuild from. But he is the resurrection and the life and the God we can come to know “in our extremities.” He can be trusted, not because he will keep us safe but because he will save us. We are loved enough and he is good enough, and we can take that to the bank. The victory is his, but the spiritual muscle will be ours, forever.

Wendy Ulrich, PhD, MBA, psychologist, author and founder of Sixteen Stones Center for Growth (sixteenstones.net), most recently co-authored the New York Times bestseller "The Why of Work."

Thanks, Wendy!

And don't forget to leave a comment here so you can try to win the "I am still learning" plaque to celebrate my 1100th post! (Contest closes on Sunday the 11th.)

From Suffering to Selfless

"Sometimes, when things aren't going right, we think we need to get away from a place or a person. Sometimes that helps, but most of the time what we need is to get away from our old self and our selfish feelings. We can leave a place behind, or we can stay in that place and leave our selfishness (often expressed in feeling sorry for ourselves) behind. If we leave a place and take our selfishness with us, the cycle of problems starts all over again, no matter where we go. But if we leave our selfishness behind, no matter who we are, things start to improve" (John H. Groberg).

At first glance, this quote doesn't seem to apply to me. I rarely get the yen to go someplace else for more than a vacation, and I love the people in my life far too much to want to escape them, but maybe I'm being too literal. What struck me as I read these words from John A. Groberg's magnificent book, In the Eye of the Storm, was his take on selfishness as frequently being expressed in the form of feeling sorry for ourselves. This characterization resonated with me, and I wanted to spend a moment today figuring out what it means in my life.

Blessed as I am (and I know that I am), there are a number of chronic health problems I deal with on a daily basis. I've generally experienced self pity as a destructive, sort of self-limiting exercise, one that rarely makes me feel better and has a tendency to bring me down every time I indulge in it. For this reason, I do my best not to indulge in it (sometimes more successfully than others), but my reasons for that effort have been practical more than spiritual. In fact, my reasons have been somewhat selfish in origin. It just doesn't make me feel good. Feeling sorry for myself puts me in victim mode, and I feel a lot happier when I can avoid that mentality. I'd like to avoid it more often.

Elder Groberg's words (above) made me realize that I've been coming at my health problems from the wrong angle. My approach has been reactive, struggling not to wallow because it feels bad. Instead, I could take a proactive stance, striving for selflessness (and the spiritual gifts, healing, and lack of wallowing that must always accompany any Christ-centered trait). Let's face it; striving trumps struggling every time. It just feels better. Which is why I think I will do better with a mindset of actively pursuing selflessness as the cure for what ails me rather than reactively flailing against the quagmire of sinking feelings that all too often accompanies chronic health problems. Reframing is a good thing!

A spiritual perspective is always better than a worldly one, and when I feel myself wanting to run away from a place (the one my health problems puts me in) or a person (myself, reacting to those health problems), I am going to take Elder Groberg's advice and leave my selfishness behind.

{point of view is everything}

=)

Hope in Christ: Loving One Another

What inspires me most this week is the story of Lisa King, a wife and mother who has had to say farewell for a season to both her ten-year-old son (in October) and her husband (just last week).

Pouring over her recent blog posts, I was interested to learn that she is a member of my church from Tasmania, Australia, where she apparently finds as much strength and comfort in our shared faith as I do. What a blessing this will be to her, one she will need more than ever in the days and months ahead. She will also need the love and support of her entire congregation as she continues grieving her young son in the absence of the most important person in her life, her husband, while mourning him as well. Having been the recipient of great love and support from my own ward family more times than I can count, I believe with all my heart that Sister King's will do everything in their power to sustain and uphold her, as will her parents and siblings.

It is this belief that consistently brings me a measure of peace in the midst of tragedy. Seeing men and women of good will consistently reach out to one another in times of trial, gently lifting up the hands that hang down, never fails to remind me that the Lord knows who I am and will extend His hand to me, most often through His other children. Surely Lisa has felt and will continue to feel the Savior's love in every act of service extended to her and her boys, for that is one of the very best ways He heals our hearts.

"Wherefore...lift up the hands that hand down, and [strengthen] the feeble knees."

Hebrews 12:12, D&C 81:5

If you would like to help Lisa King and her family with funeral and other expenses, please click here. I do hope you will take a few moments to visit The Kings so you can feel her spirit and appreciate her words. Both will be a gift to you today.

On Perception and Perpetrators

The Cookie Thief

by Valerie Cox

A woman was waiting at the airport one night,

with several long hours before her flight.

She hunted for a book in the airport shop,

bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book, but happened to see

that the man beside her, as bold as could be,

grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between,

which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

She read, munched cookies, and watched the clock,

as the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock.

She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by,

thinking, "If I weren't so nice, I'd blacken his eye!"

With each cookie she took, he took one too.

When only one was left, she wondered what he'd do.

With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh,

he took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, and he ate the other.

She snatched it from him and thought...Oooh brother.

This guy has some nerve, and he's also so rude.

Why, he didn't even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled

and sighed with relief when her flight was called.

She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate,

refusing to look at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane and sank in her seat,

then sought her book, which was almost complete.

As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise.

There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes!

"If mine are here," she moaned with despair.

"Then the others were his, and he tried to share!"

Too late to apologize, she realized with grief,

that she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

This cute but astute poem makes me chuckle and gives me pause. How many times have I been absolutely certain that I understood the dynamics of a situation, only to realize that what I believed to be truth was merely a product of my own skewed perceptions? The answer, I'm sure, is too many times! We would all do well to avoid jumping to conclusions, refuse to make snap judgments about people, and get acquainted with our own faults before we project them on others.

Things are not always as they appear, and we are free to choose our responses to whatever comes our way. We can have a good-natured sense of humor about life and those who live it alongside us (like the supposed cookie thief) or we can be ill-tempered and quick to take offense (like the actual cookie thief).

Our court system holds an accused person innocent until proven guilty, and there are good reasons for that. Any court official would testify that the initial perceptions of even the most well-intentioned people can be faulty, and reason suggests that the perceptions of an irritated person will be even more faulty, as will any snap judgments he or she chooses to make. What's more, our observations and interpretations are unfailingly colored by our own shortcomings, whatever those may be.

The takeaway, for me, is this: It's never a bad idea to hear others out before painting them with the brush of deceit or other wrong-doing. Figurative paint sticks every bit as well as literal paint does (maybe better), and the painter who applies it too hastily is left with dirty hands.

{let's keep it clean out there}

What Really Matters

The two most important days in your life are

the day you were born and the day you find out why.

-Mark Twain

I think we all have a lot of things we were meant to do and be,

but some definitely stick out more than others.

Seems that maybe Josh Kelley has found his raison d'etre.

And he's written a song about it that just might touch your heart.

(Video below.)

The Worth of Souls

In my church, members fast on the first Sunday of every month and donate the money saved on meals to those who are in need. We also have a testimony meeting on that day, when members of the congregation are free to come up to the podium and share their thoughts and beliefs about the gospel of Jesus Christ.

As I've mentioned before, my husband is the bishop (lay leader) of a congregation of youth from ages 18 to 30, and one of these young people bore a testimony recently that I'd like to share with all of you. He works as an insurance adjuster/estimator, meaning that he is the guy from your insurance company who looks your car over after an accident and determines how much it will cost to repair. Apparently, damages range from a few dents or scratches to completely bent axles or cracked frames, and I really like the simple analogy he drew:

We all get anything from a few dings to major damage to our cars at one time or another, and insurance companies pay the price to have them fixed. Occasionally, our vehicles are totaled, meaning that the value of the car is less than the price to repair it. At that point, the car is considered a complete loss and written off.

As people, every one of us carries anything from a few dings to some major damage ourselves. We get broken, and repentance (made possible through the atonement) is Christ paying the price to fix us. Unlike our vehicles, however, we can never be totaled, no matter the devastation. We will never be written off, because our value is inestimable. God's children are of infinite worth, and Christ will pay whatever it takes to reclaim us. In fact, He already has.

"Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God" (D&C 18:10).

The Art of Tuning In

"Men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause,

and do many things of their own free will,

and bring to pass much righteousness."

D&C 58:27

When I saw that Jen, my good buddy over at Denton Sanatorium, was doing her annual "pick a word that defines your goal" blog hop, I remembered what a hard time I had picking my word last time and felt a bit unequal to the task. That's why I was so relieved when she described her aspiration with a phrase instead...a five-word one with plenty of ways to go. For some reason, that feels easier for me, a concept instead of a keyword.

So, in the unlikely event you haven't already figured it out, what I want to be this year is tuned in...not only to people but to things, experiences, and life in general. I want to be more present in every moment, with a conscious awareness of needs, notions, and nuances. I want to be the person who takes time to watch and actually see, listen and actually hear...and not just when it's easy or convenient. I want to be engaged––fully, at all times, and in every way available to me.

What I don't want to be is someone who's just going through the motions, calling it in, or standing on the sidelines. I want the joy of being out there in the trenches––an active, eager, and reliable participant. I want the blessings of being a person the Lord (and others) can count on to be not only ready and willing but wise and respectful. I want to "get it" and I want to "do it."

I want to be tuned in, to others, to myself, and to God.

I want to be tuned in physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I am not meant to watch from a distance or to fade into the distance.

Life is too rich for that!

And I don't want to let getting older get in my way.

=)

{be a force}

Wise Men (and Women) Seek Him at 10 AM

I have to admit, shamefacedly, that I was a little disgruntled by the notion of attending church at 10 AM on Christmas morning, right in the middle of our gift opening tradition. How would we tear the kids away from their presents in time to get them showered and dressed for sacrament meeting in time? In fact, with only two showers available, how would we get 21 people fed and ready at all? One thing I was fairly sure of.......It was going to be a colossal pain.

I also confess to questioning (three or four times at least and with a certain degree of annoyance) the bishopric's decision to schedule our Sabbath observance mid-morning, making my own, sure pronouncement that mid-afternoon would have been far better. What on earth had they been thinking? Sheesh.

Despite my concerns, somehow we all made it to church on time. What's more, hearing a proud dad bless his new baby (one he and his darling wife dreamed of for years and were finally able to welcome at Thanksgiving), remembering Christ by partaking of the sacrament with dear friends and family, enjoying one of the most touching programs it's ever been our pleasure to see, and rubbing shoulders with people we love dearly turned out to be the best possible prelude imaginable to the giving and receiving of gifts celebrating the birth of our Savior. What on earth had I been thinking?

The final solo, O Holy Night, was an appropriate one...for we spent a rare and holy Christmas morn.

=)

PS. Next year, I think we will precede the opening of our presents by singing Joy to the World or another stirring carol. Afterward, we will go around our family circle with each one of us offering the very first gift of the day to that newborn King whose birth we are celebrating. (This year, my gift to him should have been humility...or gratitude...because I definitely missed the mark by not welcoming the opportunity to celebrate Christmas on a Sunday.) After all, Christmas is not about logistics. It's about Love.

A Gentle Night in Bethlehem

A Gentle Night in Bethlehem

©2005 Susan Noyes Anderson

Tonight I walk beneath a gentle sky

where stars are warm and whisper, “Peace, be still.”

The silence beckons softly, as the moon

shines clear and bright upon a distant hill.

My eyes look up, and in the glow I see

reflections of another gentle night,

when o’er the quiet hills of Bethlehem,

one star proclaimed the everlasting light.

The Everlasting Light, Emmanuel…

A Child was born, by prophecy foretold.

A humble cave was shelter to a King

who lived and died to make our hearts as gold.

A mother who had never known a man…

A father who received her, and believed.

Together, they would walk a lonely road,

in service to the Babe that was conceived.

Thou rev’rence was their due, it went unpaid.

Few people understood what was in store.

Then Caesar, who had never understood,

levied a grievous tax upon the poor.

So Joseph went with Mary to be taxed,

the glory of their calling still unknown.

And willingly, though she was great with child,

she bore the weight for all of us, alone.

She carried every hope and every dream

across a barren land and then pushed on

through pain and sorrow, Joseph at her side,

to Bethlehem, until her strength was gone.

The time was nigh, the Baby would be born.

Where would the weary travelers find their rest?

Inside the city, none would take them in,

and so a lowly stable was their nest.

A child was born of Mary, as foretold,

and in her loving arms He gently lay.

The Hope of all the world had come at last…

a baby, cradled in the new-mown hay.

The Son of Mary and the Son of God–

a newborn King descended from on high.

For lo, an angel voice proclaimed the birth

to shepherds watching o’er their flocks nearby.

And they were sore afraid, but they did hear

glad tidings, for the promise had been kept.

Their eyes beheld a star, a wondrous star…

above that sacred place where Jesus slept.

A host of angels filled the evening sky

rejoicing, shouting praises through the air.

As time stood still, the earth and heavens were joined…

for you and I, and all of us, were there.

The Wise Men brought Him gifts of purest gold;

rich frankincense and myrrh were in their hands.

They sought the newborn King to honor Him,

making their way in haste from distant lands.

Deliverance was the promise He fulfilled

when He descended from His throne above,

but He did not do battle with a sword.

Our Lord came bearing gifts of peace and love.

And peace and love were in the air that night–

that wondrous night when earth and heaven met.

Remember Him on this and every day…

and tell His story, lest we all forget;

and tell his story, lest we all forget.

On Letting in the Light

One of my favorite quotes is by Leonard Cohen, who also wrote one of my favorite songs. The song is Suzanne, which a very cool, pre-Dave boyfriend once said reminded him of me. (Yes, this was in my "deep" college days.) ;)

The quote, which I like even better than I like Suzanne, reads this way:

"Ring the bells that still can ring; forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in."

Besides appealing to my poetic sensibilities (I do love a deft rhyme), these words epitomize my philosophy of life, or rather, of how life works. I find it hopeful, somehow, that a rather lugubrious Jew and a glass-half-full Mormon could coalesce around any given statement, especially one so close to the very core of personal experience and point of view. It's heartening!

Even more heartening is the understanding that life on earth is not meant to be perfect, and neither are we. Perfection is neither expected nor possible in this world, and it is only through the Savior's grace that we can hope to attain it in the next. Our turn on a necessarily imperfect earth allows us to make the mistakes and endure the trials we need in order to become God's children in very deed. It's part of the plan.

That's why, at Christmas and every other time, we should by all rights ring the bells that still can ring. Yes, we are inherently flawed, but our cracks allow the light of Christ to shine in and through our souls, healing us and others in its wake.

And that makes me want to shout Hallelujah (another of Cohen's wonderful songs).

=)

Time and Tender Mercies

The older I get, the more I realize that God not only has plans for each one of us, but that those plans can be rather intricately organized. In ways we can't even begin to imagine, our lives and their various trajectories are interwoven, creating pathways that bend and loop and cross one another's in ways that may seem coincidental but are most often what the scriptures call "tender mercies." Where an agnostic might refer to these things as "meaningful coincidence," I frequently experience them as answers to prayer or reminders that the Lord is watching over us, caring for us on a very personal level.

While visiting my son and daughter-in-law's ward last Sunday, I was fortunate to attend a Relief Society lesson that impressed me once again with the perfect synchronicity of God's dealings with His children. The teacher was relating a true story about her mother-in-law. She began on a humorous note, saying that this very devout woman's family always thought of her as a "scripture fanatic." "She was crazy," our instructor insisted, smiling fondly. "My husband's mother was on her knees days and night, praying for and about nearly everything you can imagine." Apparently the unusually faithful lady filled many sets of scriptures with notes and dates, carefully recording most answers to prayer that she received, as well as when she received them. "Seriously," our instructor insisted, "my mother-in-law was a bit extreme."

It wasn't until the single-minded woman passed away that they realized how very close to the spirit she had been. As they read the notes and dates set down in her Bible and Book of Mormon, they came to realize how many answers to prayer she had received, and how much personal revelation the Lord had granted her. In ways large and small, that amazing woman had prayed her husband and children through ups and downs they hadn't even realized she was aware of at the time. Every set of scriptures inscribed by the beloved (but never entirely understood or appreciated) matriarch of this family was a lasting witness to each of its members that God lived and loved them. Relating these words brought our teacher to tears, and she went on to share something even more beautiful with us. In turn, I want to share it with you.

One evening, our instructor's father-in-law dropped by her home during family scripture study. Naturally, they invited him in to read along. He didn't have his own scriptures at hand, so they offered him one of his recently departed wife's self-annotated volumes to use. The lovely young woman teaching our class became quite emotional as she described what happened next to her husband's father, a man who had been missing his wife tremendously. Feeling abandoned, he had wandered over to visit that night seeking comfort. The man had imagined, close as he and his wife always were, that death would not entirely separate them. His conviction had been that they would have spiritual communication of some sort from beyond the grave until they were together again, but he had been disappointed. Though his head told him otherwise, his heart felt as if she had forgotten him, and he even began to question whether she had loved him as much as he loved and always would love her.

Needless to say, his spirit was depressed, and he had been praying for relief when he received the impression to visit them that night. As he opened his wife's book to the chapter and verse the family was studying, he found a little scrap of paper nestled there and read it with great interest, over and over again. His entire demeanor changed, and our teacher remembers being curious. After their study was completed, he enlightened his family. Apparently, this grieving husband had received the most tender of tender mercies, a timeless message from his wife, written years before and yet somehow sent to him in the present, from beyond the veil of death. "I always knew that you were mine," it said. 7 words on a piece of paper, but they meant the world to him. And he knew that they were meant FOR him...in that moment, in that time. Tears streaming down his face, he shared them with his family. Tears streaming down her face, his daughter-in-law shared them with us.

My heart was touched, not just by the story, and not just by the tender mercy itself, but by this evidence of divine complexity in the planning and execution of our lives. We cannot even begin to imagine the blessings the Lord has in store for us, nor can we imagine the ways and means by which these things will be brought to pass. Who knows how many years ago she left that paper in her scriptures? And what are the chances that he just happened to come over right during scripture study, that they just happened to hand him that particular volume out of the many his wife owned, and that they managed to be reading on the very pages where the note had been secreted for who knows how long?

The message to me is that the Lord has our backs, even when certain periods in our lives don't feel like it. His concept and usage of time is infinitely different from ours, and His planning is beyond strategic. I am grateful that years and experience continue to teach us that something good will always be waiting in the wings...or between the pages...of our lives. And I will be watching with increased awareness for His hand in my own life.