This past week was the birth of my first grandbaby. What a blessing and joy! I will write more on that later or in Pink Mimosas.
The topic of this post came to mind last week when a mother of three young boys posted on Facebook that she was supposed to bring her oldest, 9 year-old, son to a church meeting early so that he could practice with the children's choir. It was a special meeting, called a Stake Conference, that was 45 minutes away from her regular church building. Her husband, a regular church-goer, was out of town and would not be able to assist with the 45 minute drive, the hour long practice, the two hour church meeting (nursery would not be available) and the 45 minute drive home. She was questioning the importance of this meeting and putting herself through all of this.
As I read that, I reflected on how many meetings like this that I have attended for 21 years, since my husband stopped going to church with me. I remember church meetings wondering the same thing, as I was on my way to the foyer with a screaming baby, and an older child in tow because they don't want to sit by themselves, knowing that I would remember nothing from the meeting. Or, when there was a teenager, getting babies ready to go to church and trying to manage the discussion and complaints from the teenager when they don't want to go. The long drive to the meetinghouse? Done it. It is hard, sometimes, and long. Especially when you pull over whenever there is a fight. That 45 minute drive turns into an hour in a hurry.
So, why put myself through this? Because I know that I teach by example. My kids know that going to church is what we do on Sunday, every Sunday. We go to partake of the Sacrament to remember the promises we made to the Savior to serve him and others by keeping the commandments. If we haven't been keeping the commandments, the Sacrament time becomes an opportunity for reflection on how I can do better, and how grateful I am that the Savior has made it possible for me to be forgiven and try again. My children learn that every Sunday, if not immediately, eventually.
They also learn that church makes them feel happy. If we go to church with a cloud in the car, after church, everyone is smiling. I remind them of how they feel, every Sunday, so they can learn for themselves the uplifting Spirit that church brings.
If they choose to not go to church as adults, how much more important going to church every Sunday as children is for them. I heard a story once of a child that had attended Primary when she was young. As she got older, she didn't attend church. One day, as an adult, she went to church and felt the Spirit there, then remembered that she had felt that Spirit before and desired more.
I also go for me. When I had those busy days when my church time was spent changing diapers, calming crying children, or mediating my children's arguments, I can tell you that going to church is still worth it for me. I am never disappointed. I always learn something, either from the speakers, the lessons taught, or from the Spirit pointing out some thing that will bring the next week more peace and direction to my life.
I am not just taking care of my own testimony and conversion, though. I am teaching my children, who will teach their children, who will teach generations to come that the Savior sacrificed for us so we can, through his grace and our willingness to follow Him, return to live with a loving Father in Heaven, and that by serving Him and attending church we will be blessed.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Lost...and Found
Have you ever lost something? I mean really, really, lost it...lost so well that you think you can't ever find it? I have. But, I have learned that if I look as hard as I can, then get down on my knees and ask for help, the thing I am looking for usually is found. I still have to look after praying, but I seem to be directed in the places to look. At the very least, I am at peace knowing that the object of my seeking is not far.
Only once has this not worked. I had brought a brand new digital camera to my classroom at school when I was teaching high school. The camera disappeared at some point during the day and never appeared. Prayers had no effect. I am pretty sure that someone thought they needed it more than me and helped themselves.
Working on the premise that prayers will always help me find what I am seeking, I knelt one day to ask for help in finding the only key to my car, the kind with the auto-lock/unlock buttons that cost $150 - $250 to replace. We had been looking for it for the whole day on Saturday. It was the weekend, so I had been just borrowing my husband's car and my daughter's car. By Sunday morning I was pretty worried. Why had I not prayed about it? I had! With all the gratitude and humility I could muster each day. On Monday, my husband would go to work, my daughter would go to work, and I needed to go to work. I tried looking one more time, but to no avail. I looked (for at least the 5th or 6th time) in the hall tree, the bathroom, the kitchen, under tables, sofas, and under sofa cushions that have been licked by the dog and dripped on by my boys with who knows what snack, syrup, drink, cereal, or other foreign looking object that I had not had time to clean.
After washing my hands, I went out to my car to look once again. Yes, I usually lock my car, but had not done so for whatever reason this time. After flipping up seats and looking all over, I decided to pray one more time. With all sincerity, I thanked God for blessings, asking for forgiveness for not doing things right all of the time, for not always knowing how to listen. As tears started to fall, I told God of my faith in Him, how I knew that he answered prayers, and that if my keys were to be found, he knew where they were. I would not doubt him in this matter or in any other regarding faith.
After praying, I paused a bit to reflect on the difference of that prayer. God had allowed my to look for two days, to try my faith, and to create an opportunity where I reflected deeply on whether I knew he could answer this prayer. I knew that there was a lesson and some growth in this experience. God loves each of us. He wants to help, but wants us to become independent, faithful creatures. He wants us to know that he will let us struggle, but that he will answer our prayers, not on our time, but on His time...the time that is best for us.
I walked into the house without fear of losing my keys, and filled with joy at being touched by the Spirit of God. As I passed the sofa, I kind of glanced at it, then walked past the back door of our house to go into my bedroom. Entering the bedroom, I realized that I had been outside Saturday morning to change the shavings in the rabbit cage with the cedar shavings I had just bought at the feed store. I then walked out to the patio, and there shining in the morning sun were my keys.
Now, as I ponder that day, I often think of how prayers are answered and how we can find lost things, other than keys, through deep, sincere, prayer. We can find our faith, peace with another person's actions, the right words to say to someone hurting, the thing we can do to help someone that is struggling, or patience with our own situation. God will answer. God will help. Sometimes, we will be asked to struggle in faith. Sometimes the answer will come right away. I have never been disappointed in prayer. There is hope.
Only once has this not worked. I had brought a brand new digital camera to my classroom at school when I was teaching high school. The camera disappeared at some point during the day and never appeared. Prayers had no effect. I am pretty sure that someone thought they needed it more than me and helped themselves.
Working on the premise that prayers will always help me find what I am seeking, I knelt one day to ask for help in finding the only key to my car, the kind with the auto-lock/unlock buttons that cost $150 - $250 to replace. We had been looking for it for the whole day on Saturday. It was the weekend, so I had been just borrowing my husband's car and my daughter's car. By Sunday morning I was pretty worried. Why had I not prayed about it? I had! With all the gratitude and humility I could muster each day. On Monday, my husband would go to work, my daughter would go to work, and I needed to go to work. I tried looking one more time, but to no avail. I looked (for at least the 5th or 6th time) in the hall tree, the bathroom, the kitchen, under tables, sofas, and under sofa cushions that have been licked by the dog and dripped on by my boys with who knows what snack, syrup, drink, cereal, or other foreign looking object that I had not had time to clean.
After washing my hands, I went out to my car to look once again. Yes, I usually lock my car, but had not done so for whatever reason this time. After flipping up seats and looking all over, I decided to pray one more time. With all sincerity, I thanked God for blessings, asking for forgiveness for not doing things right all of the time, for not always knowing how to listen. As tears started to fall, I told God of my faith in Him, how I knew that he answered prayers, and that if my keys were to be found, he knew where they were. I would not doubt him in this matter or in any other regarding faith.
After praying, I paused a bit to reflect on the difference of that prayer. God had allowed my to look for two days, to try my faith, and to create an opportunity where I reflected deeply on whether I knew he could answer this prayer. I knew that there was a lesson and some growth in this experience. God loves each of us. He wants to help, but wants us to become independent, faithful creatures. He wants us to know that he will let us struggle, but that he will answer our prayers, not on our time, but on His time...the time that is best for us.
I walked into the house without fear of losing my keys, and filled with joy at being touched by the Spirit of God. As I passed the sofa, I kind of glanced at it, then walked past the back door of our house to go into my bedroom. Entering the bedroom, I realized that I had been outside Saturday morning to change the shavings in the rabbit cage with the cedar shavings I had just bought at the feed store. I then walked out to the patio, and there shining in the morning sun were my keys.
Now, as I ponder that day, I often think of how prayers are answered and how we can find lost things, other than keys, through deep, sincere, prayer. We can find our faith, peace with another person's actions, the right words to say to someone hurting, the thing we can do to help someone that is struggling, or patience with our own situation. God will answer. God will help. Sometimes, we will be asked to struggle in faith. Sometimes the answer will come right away. I have never been disappointed in prayer. There is hope.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Circles
I am pondering. Pondering, you might say, about ponds. Like when a pebble goes in the water pondering. As a child, we lived in a neighborhood with access to a small lake, Pine Lake. Boats are allowed on the lake only if the have a very small powered motor, or if it is powered by a person and a paddle. As a result, the surface of the lake is always very smooth. We would sit on the dock, my siblings or friends and I, especially when it was too cold to swim (often)and fish or throw in objects, watching to see how far the concentric rings created by the splash of a pebble would last. If two rocks were put into the lake at the same time, the rings would cross and blend before dissipating.
Texas is far, far away from that small little lake in Washington State. But, my thoughts often go there, remembering the peace, happy memories, and that cold, cold water.
So often I hear people say that our choices are our own, and they are. We really are the ones that decide when and where to drop the pebbles. The thing about those, pebbles, though, is that they create concentric rings that continue on for a really long time. Sometimes the path for those circles cross other circles from other pebbles. It is not really obvious when the waves really stop. Each circle becomes larger and larger, encompassing more and more surface area. With a lot of pebbles, crossing another circle is a given.
We make our choices, but each choice puts in motion a wave or ripple that will affect someone else. What kind of effect will my choices make? When and where will my ripple cross another? Will my ripple change the course of another? Should it? Or, should I just make the best ripple I can with my own little pebbles, knowing that the physics and laws put in place by a loving Heavenly Father will still create beauty, no matter how I choose to place my pebble?
Texas is far, far away from that small little lake in Washington State. But, my thoughts often go there, remembering the peace, happy memories, and that cold, cold water.
We make our choices, but each choice puts in motion a wave or ripple that will affect someone else. What kind of effect will my choices make? When and where will my ripple cross another? Will my ripple change the course of another? Should it? Or, should I just make the best ripple I can with my own little pebbles, knowing that the physics and laws put in place by a loving Heavenly Father will still create beauty, no matter how I choose to place my pebble?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Martin Harris Lived to 92
I am now the Sunday School teacher for the adults at church. I am selfish I am afraid. I am learning so much about the early days of the church and have the freedom to learn and teach, what I like using the manual, messages from our leaders, and conference talks as my guides. Well, really, what I like because it seems to be how the Spirit directs me. I think the Spririt directs, I feel happy, and so that is what I teach. It is a marvelous experience to work on my spiritual "tuning," or to pray for direction and learn what is my own words as opposed to the Spirit. No excuses for falling asleep.
In today's lesson, Moroni visited the boy Joseph Smith when he was just 17 years old and told him of the plates, and taught him more of his divine purpose. We also talked about the lost 116 pages of manuscript. I learned about Martin Harris. He was the one that financially made the printing of the Book of Mormon possible. He mortgaged his farm and house. He wrote down the translations. Unfortunately, we often think of him as the man that lost the 116 pages, and don't think of his other good things. Elder Dallin H. Oaks gave a great talk about this in April 1999. Here is the link:
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1999/04/the-witness-martin-harris?lang=eng
Martin Harris, after losing the 116 pages, still was faithful, repented, and was one of the three witnesses of the gold plates from which the Book of Mormon is translated. He was baptized into the church on its day of organization, April 6, 1830. He served missions, supported the prophet and the church, and was known as an honest man. The three witnesses, which included Martin Harris, searched out the first Apostles of the church and ordained them.
In 1837, he was excommunicated. He said that he lost faith in Joseph Smith and that his mind became darkened (see Elder Oak's talk for references).
When most of the saints went to Missouri, Nauvoo, and the West, he stayed behind, but was rebaptized by a missionary in 1842. His wife and kids went to the West in 1856, but being 73, he stayed behind in Kirtland. He acted as a self-appointed guide and caretaker to the temple there. (http://www.flickr.com/photos/kenlund/7984551190/)
At 87 he finally went to Utah to be reunited with his family, escorted by one of the Presidents of the Seventy, with a ticket paid by Brigham Young. He died in Utah at 92.
He is more than the guy that lost the 116 pages. He is an example that we can keep trying and progressing. He never denied seeing the gold plates. He is an example that sometimes our faith becomes stretched, but we can rekindle that faith. He is an example that there is hope for everyone, regardless of what circumstances life brings to us.
In today's lesson, Moroni visited the boy Joseph Smith when he was just 17 years old and told him of the plates, and taught him more of his divine purpose. We also talked about the lost 116 pages of manuscript. I learned about Martin Harris. He was the one that financially made the printing of the Book of Mormon possible. He mortgaged his farm and house. He wrote down the translations. Unfortunately, we often think of him as the man that lost the 116 pages, and don't think of his other good things. Elder Dallin H. Oaks gave a great talk about this in April 1999. Here is the link:
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1999/04/the-witness-martin-harris?lang=eng
Martin Harris, after losing the 116 pages, still was faithful, repented, and was one of the three witnesses of the gold plates from which the Book of Mormon is translated. He was baptized into the church on its day of organization, April 6, 1830. He served missions, supported the prophet and the church, and was known as an honest man. The three witnesses, which included Martin Harris, searched out the first Apostles of the church and ordained them.
In 1837, he was excommunicated. He said that he lost faith in Joseph Smith and that his mind became darkened (see Elder Oak's talk for references).
When most of the saints went to Missouri, Nauvoo, and the West, he stayed behind, but was rebaptized by a missionary in 1842. His wife and kids went to the West in 1856, but being 73, he stayed behind in Kirtland. He acted as a self-appointed guide and caretaker to the temple there. (http://www.flickr.com/photos/kenlund/7984551190/)
At 87 he finally went to Utah to be reunited with his family, escorted by one of the Presidents of the Seventy, with a ticket paid by Brigham Young. He died in Utah at 92.
He is more than the guy that lost the 116 pages. He is an example that we can keep trying and progressing. He never denied seeing the gold plates. He is an example that sometimes our faith becomes stretched, but we can rekindle that faith. He is an example that there is hope for everyone, regardless of what circumstances life brings to us.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Lessons from the Pressure Cooker
I have created my own pressure cooker. Family, school (work), Master's degree, and life. Not much of life in there, I am pretty busy. Oh yeah, now I am the Gospel Doctrine Sunday School teacher at church. Did I mention I took on teaching Calculus for the first time this year?
Because time is scarce, I am having to prioritize what I do. I am seriously getting tired of doing Sam Houston State University work every weekend. I think I have forgotten how to play. The fact that sometimes I feel I have put enjoying life with my kids that grow up so fast is another problem. Goal: take the family to Walt Disney World/Land after I graduate next August!
Here is what I have known are important in the list of my priorities, but being busy has intensified my commitment to each of these:
1. There is always time to study the scriptures. I cannot afford being without the inspiration, focus, and companionship with the Holy Ghost that comes each time I read. My day always goes better when I start it with scripture study.
2. There is always time to prayer, both personal and family. Personal prayer refocuses myself, and it is where I always feel my Heavenly Father's love if I really take the time to listen. Family prayer is our family's foundation. Daily prayer seems small, but like a small drop of water, it can create amazing changes when collected over time.
3. My husband is my companion, and love of my life. It is so easy to get pulled in to all of the "have to's" that it becomes easy to ignore our relationship. Relationships with those we love must always be nurtured. You can't fix an argument with someone that you don't know. Daily, I must find some way to let my husband know I love him in ways that he can understand and needs.
4. My children will not stay young forever. They grow so fast. Although I am very busy, when I get a request for hide and seek or to swing on the swingset with them, I can't ever turn them down. Those requests are opportunities to listen to and love my children. It is hard enough for the little guys to understand and open up about their own problems. But after a game of tag or Bennie Ball (decription another day!) conversations happen. Dinner time together has the same effect.
My college work will be over in August. I just hope I remember these lessons for life.
Because time is scarce, I am having to prioritize what I do. I am seriously getting tired of doing Sam Houston State University work every weekend. I think I have forgotten how to play. The fact that sometimes I feel I have put enjoying life with my kids that grow up so fast is another problem. Goal: take the family to Walt Disney World/Land after I graduate next August!
Here is what I have known are important in the list of my priorities, but being busy has intensified my commitment to each of these:
1. There is always time to study the scriptures. I cannot afford being without the inspiration, focus, and companionship with the Holy Ghost that comes each time I read. My day always goes better when I start it with scripture study.
2. There is always time to prayer, both personal and family. Personal prayer refocuses myself, and it is where I always feel my Heavenly Father's love if I really take the time to listen. Family prayer is our family's foundation. Daily prayer seems small, but like a small drop of water, it can create amazing changes when collected over time.
3. My husband is my companion, and love of my life. It is so easy to get pulled in to all of the "have to's" that it becomes easy to ignore our relationship. Relationships with those we love must always be nurtured. You can't fix an argument with someone that you don't know. Daily, I must find some way to let my husband know I love him in ways that he can understand and needs.
4. My children will not stay young forever. They grow so fast. Although I am very busy, when I get a request for hide and seek or to swing on the swingset with them, I can't ever turn them down. Those requests are opportunities to listen to and love my children. It is hard enough for the little guys to understand and open up about their own problems. But after a game of tag or Bennie Ball (decription another day!) conversations happen. Dinner time together has the same effect.
My college work will be over in August. I just hope I remember these lessons for life.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Time for Blueberries
Moorehead Farms is about 1 hour and 15 minutes away. If you time it just right, they have delicious you-pick blueberries bursting from the trees. All you have to do to get $2/lb berries is to reach up, touch the plump blue berries, and they fall into the bucket below.
I suppose I am spoiled. Growing up in Seattle, we had fruits available all over. I suppose blackberries were never sold at a nursery, they were very prolific (and tasty) weeds. Crisp, juicy apples the size of a softball were sold on street corners. As a grade-schooler, we would go on walks with my dad and siblings when we were young and find blueberries in the woods. All fruits were, and are, my favorite. I suppose blueberries are so great to me because it reminds me of those walks with my dad.
So now I live in Texas, not the blueberry capital of the world. Home of the $2.50 half pint of blueberries (and blackberries!). Once in a while, I would splurge and buy some for a batch of blueberry muffins or pancakes, knowing that no one else in my house would like them, except for me and my husband. How excited I was two years ago to learn of this precious farm. Acres and acres of blueberries just waiting for me to pick them.
Two years ago I brought my boys with me. They were four and seven. We brought a friend of mine and her four kids. We went a little too early in the season, and a little too late in the day. With sweat dripping down our backs, the picking was slim. I think we each came away with maybe five pounds each, and within 1/2 hour we were all hot and tired. Overall, it was fun, but it was a lot of work.
This year I was able to go again. I was going to get up early and make it there by 7 am when it opened. The boys were convinced it would be fun. My husband was on a trip, so I had to take them, regardless, and was willing to take them, happy or not, because I love blueberries so much. Happy or not did not happen, because Jerry came home early and the boys were able to sleep in. So, by 6 am I was on the road, by myself, to pick blueberries. I knew I could pick a bunch without the distraction of the boys.
I arrived at 7:30. Already the parking was full. As I and my bucket heading in the recommended direction, I realized there were people on every row. I picked a row that looked somewhat uninhabited and began to pick, thinking how wonderful the blueberries would taste, but missing my boys.
Sounds of happy conversations floated above the branches. "She is just 3 months old." "Don't eat so many blueberries or we will have to have them weigh you." "How long can you stay to visit?" "Here, take our picture." I was getting a lot of blueberries, but missed my boys.
I missed the happy laughter, the searching for the perfect spot of blueberries, purple mouths, taking them to the bathroom when it was most inconvenient, losing a child (almost) in the rows of bushes, sharing my thoughts and feelings with my friend. Once again, I was reminded how quickly time passes and children grow. I wanted to have everyone in the blueberry field freeze and realize that that particular moment will never happen again. How grateful I have been for this realization, and for the realization that a blueberry is more than just a blueberry. It is a medium that allows us to bond, feel, love, laugh, and share. Thank you, Dad, for Sunday afternoon walks in the woods.
 |
| http://www.moorheadsblueberryfarm.com/ |
So now I live in Texas, not the blueberry capital of the world. Home of the $2.50 half pint of blueberries (and blackberries!). Once in a while, I would splurge and buy some for a batch of blueberry muffins or pancakes, knowing that no one else in my house would like them, except for me and my husband. How excited I was two years ago to learn of this precious farm. Acres and acres of blueberries just waiting for me to pick them.
Two years ago I brought my boys with me. They were four and seven. We brought a friend of mine and her four kids. We went a little too early in the season, and a little too late in the day. With sweat dripping down our backs, the picking was slim. I think we each came away with maybe five pounds each, and within 1/2 hour we were all hot and tired. Overall, it was fun, but it was a lot of work.
This year I was able to go again. I was going to get up early and make it there by 7 am when it opened. The boys were convinced it would be fun. My husband was on a trip, so I had to take them, regardless, and was willing to take them, happy or not, because I love blueberries so much. Happy or not did not happen, because Jerry came home early and the boys were able to sleep in. So, by 6 am I was on the road, by myself, to pick blueberries. I knew I could pick a bunch without the distraction of the boys.
I arrived at 7:30. Already the parking was full. As I and my bucket heading in the recommended direction, I realized there were people on every row. I picked a row that looked somewhat uninhabited and began to pick, thinking how wonderful the blueberries would taste, but missing my boys.
Sounds of happy conversations floated above the branches. "She is just 3 months old." "Don't eat so many blueberries or we will have to have them weigh you." "How long can you stay to visit?" "Here, take our picture." I was getting a lot of blueberries, but missed my boys.
I missed the happy laughter, the searching for the perfect spot of blueberries, purple mouths, taking them to the bathroom when it was most inconvenient, losing a child (almost) in the rows of bushes, sharing my thoughts and feelings with my friend. Once again, I was reminded how quickly time passes and children grow. I wanted to have everyone in the blueberry field freeze and realize that that particular moment will never happen again. How grateful I have been for this realization, and for the realization that a blueberry is more than just a blueberry. It is a medium that allows us to bond, feel, love, laugh, and share. Thank you, Dad, for Sunday afternoon walks in the woods.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Shoes and Fruits
Sunday, I went to church. Every Sunday I go to church. Every Sunday when my youngest, six years old now, wakes up, he asks "Is it church or school?" I say "church." He says "Noooo, I don't want to go."
Yesterday, Sunday, was particularly hard. My goal is to get to church ten minutes early to get everyone settled and listening to the prelude. Since our meeting switched to 8:30 this year, I think I have made it early once or twice. Yes, it is May, the end of May.
I was excited at 8:00 because I was ready, my boys were dressed and fed. All we needed to do was put on shoes, brush teeth, and say family prayer. To be early, we needed to leave by 8:05.
Shoes are my anathema. Definition of anathema (courtesy of Dictionary.com):
Pick any one of those definitions. They all fit. You see, I cleaned my house really well on Saturday. My oldest boy (eight, almost nine years old) has some brand new shoes. He only had one on Saturday. We could not find the other. Since, my house was clean, even under the couch clean, I knew exactly where it was NOT--in the house. When we are ready to go ANYWHERE, it is almost always the shoes that prevent timeliness. You would think I would learn and prepare!
Unfortunately for me, I had forgotten that little tidbit of information until 8:05 Sunday morning. We looked all over the clean house for fifteen minutes. It became a colorful experience. Colorful, because I was able to observe my actions completely while I colorfully lost my temper. No cuss words were used, but I believe that if I could paint my emotions, they would begin pale blue and green, and end in the colors orange, red, and black by the time we got in the car at 8:20 with the old yucky shoes.
Even my husband was a target. He does not go to church. For the past 23 years I have been the one to get up each morning, face the task of preparing and taking my children to church. Maybe for three of those year he has sporadically gone. I have lived with it, on occasion trying to convince him of the virtues of going to church as a family. Pick any part of the previously described color scale. I have used all tactics. Most of the time I just know that he has to make the choice, and that I can only control my choices and how I raise my children. We have had a kind of understanding--except Sunday. It all came out.
So, the twenty minute drive involved a lot of calming and apologizing. I was upset, my boys were upset. The older was picking on the younger. The younger was crying.. I was trying to drive. Then, I realized that it all started with my temper, it could finish with my apologies. In twenty minutes, we would be at church, and if it was delayed because of announcements and church business, taking the Sacrament, like we do at the beginning of every meeting.
The sacrament is where we renew the promises made at baptism. The promises include keeping God's commandments, always remember Jesus Christ, and take upon us Christ's name, meaning we will live as he would. In return, we are promised to have his Spirit to be with us.
The Holy Ghost, or the Spirit, does not have a tangible body. This is so we can feel the Spirit and know he is there (John 3: -8). The Spirit does not have to tarry. In fact, he will not tarry in times of contention. I know from personal experience. To have the Spirit with me always, I must be living my life in accordance with the principles taught by the Savior. I need to be in appropriate places. It also helps to pray and read my scriptures daily. Those seem to be Spirit intensive moments where I can feel the Spirit and learn how it feels to have him there and can remember that feeling so I can seek it throughout the day.
The feeling of the Spirit, the fruits of the spirit, is as "earnest," or a foretaste of the joy of eternal life (2 Corinthians 1:22; 2 Corinthians 5:5; Ephesians 1:14). It is an amazing feeling. Sometimes it is a peaceful thought, sometimes a feeling so strong that tears come to my eyes. I always want more when I feel it. Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance are the fruits of the Spirit.
I was not sure I could be ready to feel worthy to partake of the Sacrament and to feel the Spirit, but I knew that I had to try. My boys also needed to know how to resolve conflicts. So, the apologies began. I apologized and told them how much I loved them. I told them how I should have handled things differently. Teddy calmed down. Alex calmed down.
I also apologized to my husband. My actions were completely misplaced. Bringing up the church issue at that time was not the right time. When we arrived at church I sent an apology to Jerry via text message. We walked into church.
The Sacrament had started. The doors to the chapel were closed. We sat on the sofa to wait until it was finished, finally calm, finally ready.
The doors opened and a young man came out with a Sacrament tray. It was the bread. We had not missed the Sacrament. We all partook of the bread, then the water, renewed our covenants to try again for the next week, until the next opportunity for the Sacrament, to be like the Savior and keep His commandments.
You know what? We were able to feel of the Spirit then, and also throughout the remainder of church. If heaven is any part of what we feel, I will be happy to continue to try, shoes and all.
Yesterday, Sunday, was particularly hard. My goal is to get to church ten minutes early to get everyone settled and listening to the prelude. Since our meeting switched to 8:30 this year, I think I have made it early once or twice. Yes, it is May, the end of May.
I was excited at 8:00 because I was ready, my boys were dressed and fed. All we needed to do was put on shoes, brush teeth, and say family prayer. To be early, we needed to leave by 8:05.
Shoes are my anathema. Definition of anathema (courtesy of Dictionary.com):
a·nath·e·ma
noun, plural a·nath·e·mas.
1.
a person or thing detested or loathed: That subject is anathema to him.
2.
a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction.
3.
a formal ecclesiastical curse involving excommunication.
4.
any imprecation of divine punishment.
5.
a curse; execration.
Pick any one of those definitions. They all fit. You see, I cleaned my house really well on Saturday. My oldest boy (eight, almost nine years old) has some brand new shoes. He only had one on Saturday. We could not find the other. Since, my house was clean, even under the couch clean, I knew exactly where it was NOT--in the house. When we are ready to go ANYWHERE, it is almost always the shoes that prevent timeliness. You would think I would learn and prepare!
Unfortunately for me, I had forgotten that little tidbit of information until 8:05 Sunday morning. We looked all over the clean house for fifteen minutes. It became a colorful experience. Colorful, because I was able to observe my actions completely while I colorfully lost my temper. No cuss words were used, but I believe that if I could paint my emotions, they would begin pale blue and green, and end in the colors orange, red, and black by the time we got in the car at 8:20 with the old yucky shoes.
Even my husband was a target. He does not go to church. For the past 23 years I have been the one to get up each morning, face the task of preparing and taking my children to church. Maybe for three of those year he has sporadically gone. I have lived with it, on occasion trying to convince him of the virtues of going to church as a family. Pick any part of the previously described color scale. I have used all tactics. Most of the time I just know that he has to make the choice, and that I can only control my choices and how I raise my children. We have had a kind of understanding--except Sunday. It all came out.
So, the twenty minute drive involved a lot of calming and apologizing. I was upset, my boys were upset. The older was picking on the younger. The younger was crying.. I was trying to drive. Then, I realized that it all started with my temper, it could finish with my apologies. In twenty minutes, we would be at church, and if it was delayed because of announcements and church business, taking the Sacrament, like we do at the beginning of every meeting.
The Holy Ghost, or the Spirit, does not have a tangible body. This is so we can feel the Spirit and know he is there (John 3: -8). The Spirit does not have to tarry. In fact, he will not tarry in times of contention. I know from personal experience. To have the Spirit with me always, I must be living my life in accordance with the principles taught by the Savior. I need to be in appropriate places. It also helps to pray and read my scriptures daily. Those seem to be Spirit intensive moments where I can feel the Spirit and learn how it feels to have him there and can remember that feeling so I can seek it throughout the day.
The feeling of the Spirit, the fruits of the spirit, is as "earnest," or a foretaste of the joy of eternal life (2 Corinthians 1:22; 2 Corinthians 5:5; Ephesians 1:14). It is an amazing feeling. Sometimes it is a peaceful thought, sometimes a feeling so strong that tears come to my eyes. I always want more when I feel it. Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance are the fruits of the Spirit.
I was not sure I could be ready to feel worthy to partake of the Sacrament and to feel the Spirit, but I knew that I had to try. My boys also needed to know how to resolve conflicts. So, the apologies began. I apologized and told them how much I loved them. I told them how I should have handled things differently. Teddy calmed down. Alex calmed down.
I also apologized to my husband. My actions were completely misplaced. Bringing up the church issue at that time was not the right time. When we arrived at church I sent an apology to Jerry via text message. We walked into church.
The Sacrament had started. The doors to the chapel were closed. We sat on the sofa to wait until it was finished, finally calm, finally ready.
The doors opened and a young man came out with a Sacrament tray. It was the bread. We had not missed the Sacrament. We all partook of the bread, then the water, renewed our covenants to try again for the next week, until the next opportunity for the Sacrament, to be like the Savior and keep His commandments.
You know what? We were able to feel of the Spirit then, and also throughout the remainder of church. If heaven is any part of what we feel, I will be happy to continue to try, shoes and all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)