How It Went

Hi guys!

Okay, I think a little background info is in order before following up on my last post.  

As I've mentioned before, it's been years since I cut off contact with my parents.  Five, in fact.  

At that time I wasn't sure how long it might be. I didn't really have a plan, I just knew that for my own sanity, I needed some distance and time to heal from the abuse and neglect of my childhood, and that just wasn't happening as long as they were in the picture. I tried to be nice about it, but really, there's no way something like that doesn't hurt. And I hate hurting people.

A year later I checked in with my mother while she was visiting a friend who lives near me. I told her I still wasn't ready to resume contact. 

Another year passed and that's when I confronted my father (as I wrote about and linked to in my previous post).  That was three years ago.  

I described part of my journey to this point in a talk I gave this past April, which explains how I was able to get to the point I was at last Christmas Eve, when I sent them a long email, the heart of which was to tell them: 

I’ve been working hard and praying hard, and I want you to know that I forgive you both for the things that you did, and didn’t do, which have caused me pain.  I know you are both good-hearted people with good intentions. We kids were a handful and you did what you could, and some things you couldn’t do, but we all at least survived, and I’m grateful for what I’ve learned so far in my life.  I really am."

So again, I want you to know that I do forgive you, and I’ve been praying for you both, but unfortunately I’m still very uncomfortable about having you in my life. And I’m sorry about that, but it’s just where I’m at.

Which brings us up to this past Saturday when my father called.

Since you're probably curious to know, I will tell you that overall, dinner went pretty well. I was noticeably quieter than usual; not really comfortable, but trying to be pleasant. But my typically reserved, "back row kind of guy" husband really stepped up to the plate and was conversant, engaging and sociable.  My sweet girl was her cheery, normal self. And even Gator, who didn't really want to go, also did just fine. It all made me feel so supported, thankful for, and in love with my little family! (And then I came home and had several lovely notes of support from my bloggy friends.  Imy bloggy friends!  Thanks for the notes and emails!)

As we were leaving the restaurant my father asked if there was a time we could talk before they left town. I didn't have my calendar on me, so I told him I'd call and let him know.  (By the way: Did you know that buying yourself a little time in situations like this is actually part of having healthy boundaries? I didn't realize that until my therapist mentioned it yesterday.)

I can't say I actually wanted to meet again, but I felt like I should at least make an effort to hear what he wanted to say.  So I called Sunday night and arranged to meet for breakfast on Monday morning.  At the last moment, my mother asked if it was okay to bring my brother Davis along.  "ABSOLUTELY!"  (SO glad I didn't have to do it alone!)

We met at IHOP and after a few minutes of chitchat my dad dove in.  I wasn't sure if he was going to announce that he was terminally ill and had just weeks to live, or what.  But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that really, it was just about the family stuff.

One thing they were both a bit confused about was how come things aren't better between us, since I've supposedly forgiven them.  We (Davis and I) had to explain that there is a huge difference between forgiveness and trust.  And honestly, I don't think that he EVER realized this before.  I could see the dawning of understanding in his eyes as we explained this concept to him.  Forgiving him didn't mean we trusted them, or felt comfortable being with them.  

I should have used the example (but I didn't think of it at the moment) of Sigfried and Roy, who had the most visited show in Las Vegas, until one night during a performance, Roy was bitten on the neck by a seven-year-old male tiger named Montecore, and dragged off the stage. He suffered severe blood loss, a stroke and partial paralysis and has spent years in rehabilitation.

These men loved that tiger. They'd raised him from a cub and spent time with him every day of his life. But this event changed their relationship forever.  They could forgive the tiger (if you'll excuse the example of forgiving an animal...this is a metaphor after all), they could even still love the tiger, but the trust they once had was shattered, and their show had to be permanently cancelled.  

Sometimes when things are serious enough, trust won't ever be restored 100%--at least in this life. My parents have a long way to go before I will be in a position to really trust them again. 

The other really big thing was explaining to my father that we think he has very high-functioning Asperger's, or something along those lines (my totally unprofessional diagnosis)...because he has always had a massive blind spot that he doesn't even realize is there when it comes to social issues and how interpersonal relationships work.  This was totally news to him, but all three of us insisted unanimously that it's true.

It was like trying to explain to someone that can't see the color red that there's this whole part of the spectrum that most of us are aware of, but that they didn't know existed. And we didn't realize he couldn't see it all this time, but we're starting to put the pieces together. 

So now, having had this brought to his attention, perhaps he can do some research and gain some knowledge about the matter that might make it easier for him and those around him in the future.  He just really doesn't understand how some human interactions work, and that is part of the problem (though it doesn't account for his uncontrolled temper, which thing never really did change even after the sexual abuse stopped. Discussing this part may help him be aware of why we're uncomfortable even now.) 

I can't honestly recreate much of our breakfast conversation WHICH LASTED FOUR HOURS, (made sure he left the poor, underpaid waitress a really big tip), but ultimately I feel like there was some movement for all of us I think, and over all it was probably a good thing that we had the talk. I agreed to allow limited email communication, and I was able to say some things that I probably needed to say.  

I know I don't have all the answers about this whole matter of healing and forgiving deep wounds. I'm no expert, but I DO I feel like I'm being led along, tweaked and turned in ways that will ultimately help in the (in-depth, never-ending, intensive) refining process, and I’m just trying to be humble enough to let myself be helped if possible. I share my journey here in case it might in some small way help another in their own life.

I really do hope that my parents can continue to learn and progress so that things can really improve for them.  It kind of seemed like they were still hyper-focused on me, and trying to get me to change so that things would be "all better" in our family.  I may have imagined it, but it felt like maybe they realized there were things that they still need to do and CAN do on their end.  So that gave me hope.

Thanks again for the support during this experience. It means a lot to me!

xoxo,

Blue

PS: I really will be getting to the promised Drama Triangle.  Soon!

Forget Not...

This is a little reminder from one of my favorite talks last week.  Entire talk can be found here.

 

An Honest Peek

Hello Bloggy Friends!
This past Sunday I gave a talk in church. Afterward, quite a few people asked if I would send it to them, and one person even sent me a letter via USPS mail encouraging me to publish it (first non-bill mail in a good while!).  Since this blog is the only place I "publish", I've decided to post it. It's a bit long (took me 17 minutes to speak) and is a departure from most of my blog posts, so please don't feel compelled to read it.  

I confess I wrestled with telling part of the talk--it is a personal experience that I haven't discussed before.  But I felt impressed that I should share it.  After all, we aren't given our insights to keep to ourselves. So for those who are interested, I hope you enjoy it.  If you'd rather listen to the mp3 version, I could email it upon request (Bunch recorded it because Doc was working and wasn't there to hear me speak).  So fwiw, here it is...
~Blue

When Scott emailed and asked me to call him, you know, it honestly never even cross my mind that he would be asking me to speak, so I happily picked up the phone and made the call.

Now, since I graduated from high school somemumblemumble years ago, I’ve spoken in church exactly six times, and each was either shortly after we moved in, or right before we moved out of a ward.  For the record, I should mention that we are not planning to move anywhere anytime soon.  

So obviously, I agreed to speak.  And as nice as it would have been if he’d assigned me to talk about something like how chocolate relates to the gospel, I have actually been asked to speak today about the matter of judging, condemning, and forgiving others.

Some of you, upon hearing my topic, might have just now decided this is a fine time for an afternoon nap.  But before you nod off, I’d like to mention that one of the things that contributes to us making judgements is something referred to as “SET”, as in mind-set.

For example, in a race, when we say “ready..., SET...”, the runners are in a state of readiness to “go”.  They expect to start running.  Similarly, we often have a mindset, or expectation, about what something, or someone, is going to be like, and this pre-set notion often predisposes us to judging or closing ourselves off. 

In one experiment, a lecturer was introduced to a class of college students as a “warm” person and to another class as a “cold” person. After his lecture, the first group not only had a more favorable impression of him than did the second group, but they also had interacted more with him during the lecture. The students’ expectations of what he would be like influenced not only their impressions of him, but also their behavior toward him.

President N. Eldon Tanner said  “If we will always look for the best in others, in our friends, in our neighbors, in our wife, in our husband, in our children, they will turn out to be the most wonderful people in the world. On the other hand, if we are looking for their weaknesses and faults and enlarge upon them, these same people may become even despicable.”

SO in light of this I just want to preface the rest of my remarks by letting you know how greatly you are going to enjoy church today!  Feel free to expect it to be fantastic, (because I could certainly use the help!)

There is a doctrine underlying the subject of judging. It was taught when a lawyer asked the Savior, “Which is the great commandment in the law?” (Matt. 22:36). 

Jesus answered:

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.  “This is the first and great commandment. “And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.  “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (Matt. 22:37-40).

Clearly, our ability to love others is intricately tied to our view of them.  The scriptures are replete with examples about why we shouldn’t judge or condemn others, and what the consequences, to both them and ourselves is, when we do. 

The apostle Dallin H. Oaks, who was a judge by profession, was puzzled by how some scriptures command us not to judge and others instruct us that we should judge -- and even tell us how to do it. But as he studied the subject, he became convinced that these seemingly contradictory directions are actually consistent, when we view them with the perspective of eternity. He stated  “The key is to understand that there are two kinds of judging: final judgments, which we are forbidden to make, and intermediate judgments, which we are directed to make, but upon righteous principles.”

Final judgement refers to the time when all of us will stand before the judgment seat of Christ to be judged according to our works.  We presume to make final judgments whenever we proclaim that any particular person is going to hell (or to heaven) for a particular act, or as of a particular time.  

We must refrain from making final judgments on people because we lack the knowledge and the wisdom to do so. The Lord’s way of final judgment will be to apply His perfect knowledge of the law a person has received and to judge on the basis of that person’s circumstances, motives, and actions throughout his or her entire life.

The Savior taught us about this form of condemning another person in the account of the woman taken in adultery in John chapter 8.  After the crowd who intended to stone her had departed, Jesus asked her about her accusers. “Hath no man condemned thee?”  When she answered no, Jesus declared, “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more”.

The Lord obviously did not justify the woman’s sin. He simply told her that He did not condemn her—that is, He would not pass final judgment on her at that time. This interpretation is confirmed by what He then said to the Pharisees: “Ye judge after the flesh; I judge no man” (John 8:15). The woman taken in adultery was granted time to repent, time that would have been denied by those who wanted to stone her.

The Savior gave this same teaching on another occasion: “And if any man hear my words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world” (John 12:47). 

The majority of probably us don’t spend a lot of time passing final judgement on others, but what we likely do struggle with on a regular basis is intermediate judgement.

Stereotypes are opinions of another, based on such superficial things as their:

Car, bike, house, yard, hobbies, talents, education, degree, profession, employer, politics, neighborhood, nationality, religion, race, age, gender, friendships, personality, piercings, tattoos, attractiveness, body weight, clothing, hairstyle, their single, married, widowed, or divorced status, family size, how their kids are “turning out”, callings they’ve held, status in the community, who they’re friends with, their school or alma mater, their favorite sport teams, known successes and accomplishments, or known mistakes or failures. 

Obviously, our own experiences affect how we perceive others. We tend to use ourselves and our experiences as a frame of reference for judging the behavior of others.

A newspaper columnist, Sidney J. Harris, once vividly depicted one way we do this: 

“I am the man in the middle; for the middle is, by my definition, where I stand. … I am a ‘friendly’ sort of person; anyone more friendly than I is ‘familiar’; anyone less friendly than I is ‘aloof.’ I am an ‘open’ person; anyone more open than I is ‘brutally frank’; anyone less open than I is ‘devious.’ … I am a ‘determined’ person; anyone more determined than I is ‘pig-headed’; anyone less determined than I is ‘indecisive.’ … I am a ‘realistic’ person; anyone more realistic than I is ‘cynical’; anyone less realistic than I is ‘naive.’ …”

Even if our stereotypes were accurate and we could perceive intent as well as behavior, we would still not be qualified to judge. The Lord indicated the reason for this in his Sermon on the Mount when he told us to not be too concerned about the mote in our brother’s eye until we get the beam out of our own eye. (Matt. 7:3–5)   Despite what we like to believe about ourselves, we are not the man in the middle.

How we secretly judge can influence how we interact with others, even if we think we’re “keeping them to ourselves” by not voicing critical opinions. Which brings me to the matter of condemning.

One of the most common ways of condemning others is through gossip. 
N. Eldon Tanner once said:

Gossip is the worst form of judging. The tongue is the most dangerous, destructive, and deadly weapon available to man. A vicious tongue can ruin the reputation and even the future of the one attacked. Insidious attacks against one’s reputation, loathsome innuendoes, half-lies about an individual are as deadly as those insect parasites that kill the heart and life of a mighty oak. They are so stealthy and cowardly that one cannot guard against them. As someone has said, “It is easier to dodge an elephant than a microbe.”

Brigham Young had much to say about this matter:

“Respect one another; do not speak lightly of each other. Some, if they get a little pique against an individual, are disposed to cast him down to hell, as not worthy of a place upon earth. O fools!~not to understand that those you condemn are the workmanship of God, as well as yourselves! God overlooks their weaknesses; and so far as they do good, they are as acceptable as we are. Thank God that you know better, and be full of mercy and kindness
.

“If your neighbors talk about you, and you think that they do wrong in speaking evil of you, do not let them know that you ever heard a word, and conduct yourselves as if they always did right.”

“Let all Latter-day Saints learn that the weaknesses of their brethren are not sins. When men or women undesignedly commit a wrong, do not attribute that to them as a sin. Let us learn to be compassionate one with another; let mercy and kindness soften every angry and fretful temper, that we may become long-suffering and beneficial in all our communications one with another.”

President Tanner remarked

“If there be one place in life where the attitude of the agnostic is acceptable, it is in this matter of judging. It is the courage to say, “I don’t know. I am waiting for further evidence. I must hear both sides of the question.”

It’s no coincidence that frequently, when the Lord mentions judging and condemning, He also reminds us to forgive, so that we can be forgiven.  During our most recent stake conference a talk was given about how at times, it’s much easier to say “I’m sorry”, than it is for the other person to say “I forgive you”, and I feel like in my life, that has been absolutely true. but I have a testimony about forgiveness, and how it relates to the atonement, and I would like, for the remainder of my remarks, to share how I obtained it with you.

My childhood was marked by neglect and abuse.  When I was small, I learned the gospel at church and knew that forgiving others was important, and tried my best to just be good and pretend that everything was okay so that those who had hurt me wouldn’t feel bad about what they had done.  That was how I coped during all those years.

I didn’t realize at the time that there is a difference between letting things go (avoiding dealing with them, ignoring the pain they inflicted and the consequences associated with it), and forgiving another.  Can I repeat that?  There is an important distinction between letting things go, and forgiving another in our hearts. 

It wasn’t until I was an adult that, for the first time, everything that had happened was discussed.  I was told at that time that it was my job to forgive, and I didn’t disagree...because I knew that was what I must do. 

I said the words...I honestly meant them.  And I had a prayer about the situation...told Heavenly Father now that everything was out in the open, that I forgave them and was going to just carry on as though it had never happened. 

For years I honestly thought I had forgiven them, because I truly wanted them to have happy lives, and wished them no harm, and forced myself to behave as though it was  all forgotten whenever we interacted.  But I had this heavy weight with me ALL THE TIME, like a little dark cloud following me around. And it was taking it’s toll.

A few years ago I finally started to wonder if maybe I hadn’t forgiven them, because of how I was feeling inside still.  I listened to talks about forgiveness, pleaded with God for help and reprieve, and wondered what I was doing wrong because I was still mired by the past.

I wanted to know HOW forgiveness actually happens. Were there some magic words I needed to chant or something? Because I clearly didn’t get it.  How does the atonement actually work?!, I wondered.  HOW does one accept the wondrous invitation to “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28).   Because I needed rest.

Then a year ago we had our stake Easter Devotional and Vaughn J Featherstone gave a talk about forgiveness, and while he spoke, I was hoping I’d find the elusive answer that I needed, but by the end of the talk I still hand’t grasped that piece of the puzzle. I decided to have a follow-up conversation with a local church leader because clearly, I am a remedial student and needed some tutoring on just HOW to move forward.

I am so grateful for inspired leaders. After listening to my situation, he counseled that I probably had to say the words again, (to say “I forgive them”)…and that I should probably start with them in my prayers. Because, as he noted, “you can’t pray a lie”.  Those words, “you can’t pray a lie”, sank into my heart, and I knew that even though I’d said them before way back in the day, for some reason I needed to say them again... with real intent.

To me, it felt a little bit like the story in Mark chapter 9 where the Lord says “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth”, and the father of the afflicted boy says “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief”...because I forgave, but I needed help with my unforgiveness.

That night I began say the words...to say I forgive them, and then asked Heavenly Father to make them true, to help me forgive, to ratify those words. I began praying for them every day as well.

This was (and still is) honestly one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. And I know that sounds crazy, because come on, they’re only words. But really, Matthew 5:44 -- which is the verse about Love your Enemies, Bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you-- that can be one of the very hardest true principles to live if someone has seriously harmed you.  But it works!

It didn’t happen in a moment or an instant, but within a few weeks of applying that principle, and praying for them on a daily basis, that huge grinding weight, that had been like my shadow my whole life--so long that it almost felt like it was just part of who I am-- started to dissipate.  The hard knot in my heart that I didn’t even know was there began slowly untangling itself, and I began to feel strangely peaceful and happy for the first time. This has been the happiest year of my whole life, in fact.  I think it is at least a small part of what it means to Come Unto Him, and cast my burden at His feet. I’m sure there is more to learn.

I believe there are all kinds of forgiveness in this life, and some are easier than others. But partly because it took so many years, this was an important realization for me…and I’ve shared this experience today with the  hope that perhaps it might help someone else who may be struggling to figure out HOW to actually forgive. Or inspire each of us to make more of an effort to actually forgive others, vs. just letting things go...secretly judging them in our hearts... so that we might be sanctified.   Because it’s changing our hearts that is so frustratingly difficult!  But that’s the real power of the atonement, right there...

In closing, I hope that we may all strive a little harder to be less judgmental and critical of others...because it is simply impossible to slice cheese so fine that it doesn’t have two sides. There is always more that we don’t know.  When we reach out and give people a chance...give them the benefit of the doubt and err on the side of generosity in our opinions of them, we all win.  Because, “For now we see through a glass, darkly; Now we know in part; but then shall we know even as also we are known.”

That we will each be able to forgive those who who trespass against us, and enjoy the sweet calm and peace that the Savior’s atonement offers to us as we do, is my prayer in the holy name of Jesus Christ, whom I know to be an ally and friend, and who is the son of God, Amen.

Guardian Angels

When I was engaged to wed Doc, my darling future mother-in-law offered to see if her mother, Beth, would be willing to let me wear a special heirloom necklace as my “something old, something borrowed” item.

I loved Grandma Beth. I had felt a kinship with her from the start. From the moment we met, three years earlier, she had been my ally. She seemed to me to be the person who most closely matched my conviction that against all odds, Doc and I would end up marrying one day. When he left for two years on a mission, she regularly sent me cards and sweet letters, encouraging me to hang in there and making me feel like I was part of the family already.

But her health had deteriorated significantly in recent times, and was so poor by the time of our wedding, she wasn’t going to be able to attend the ceremony herself. Wearing her special necklace would be a way of having her near me during that day of days, and I was grateful for the kind offer from Doc’s mom to bring it for me to wear.

After the wedding, I had every intention of getting the necklace right back to her, but none of us wanted to trust it to the postal system. So it sat in a small manila envelope on my nightstand for a few weeks, awaiting a visit from my new mother in law, at which point we would give it to her to return to her mother.

The day she arrived at our house, she hadn't mentioned the necklace yet, but while she and Doc were talking, I went into our room to get it for her only to discover that it wasn’t there. It had been there since the day we moved in, but now, it wasn't!

I searched everywhere I could think to look, frantic about it’s absence, while she visited with Doc in the other room, but without any luck. Not wanting to be gone too long and draw attention to myself, I returned to the living room. I was praying the entire time she was with us that she wouldn’t ask me for the necklace, and to my astonishment, she never brought it up.

As soon as she had flown back home she phoned us, lamenting not getting the necklace for her mother. “But I’ll be coming out in a few months again” she said, planning to get it for sure during that visit.

I searched in earnest. I turned the room upside down looking for it. Doc was mystified by it’s disappearance as well. I emptied the nightstand drawer, took the drawer out of it's stand, looked behind, under and above the drawer…in case it had gotten wedged in there somehow. But it was simply gone.

We concluded that the necklace, in it’s small manila envelope, must have recently been knocked off the nightstand at some point without my notice, into the trash can that sat on the floor next to it, and was taken out with the rest of the garbage. That was the only explanation that made sense, but it made my heart sick. I ached with dread over breaking the news to my mother in law. As her mother’s life continued it’s slow wrap up, getting the necklace back to her before it ended seemed increasingly important.

I was wrought with stress over this. This was NOT how I wanted my relationship with my new in-laws to begin. I felt terrible guilt; it seemed like the worst possible first impression, and I was in misery over my carelessness with her treasured heirloom. Every time we spoke on the phone, it seemed to come up. The stress of avoiding the truth of the situation was eating me, but I couldn’t bring myself to concede it’s disappearance.

A few months later, my mother in law told us she was coming out for another visit. I both longed to see her and dreaded the thought…knowing that this time she would expect that little manila envelope to be placed in her hand as soon as she arrived.

I had prayed for help about what to do, but no answer had come. In the face of her mother slowly dying, I dearly wanted to avoid adding to her distress by admitting that the necklace was gone, but the day was finally upon me.

The night before her arrival, I was getting ready for bed, and like I had done a hundred times in the past few months, I opened my nightstand drawer to retrieve my lip balm, which I used every night before bed. Sitting there, right on top of my lip balm perfect as you please, was a small, familiar manila envelope. I looked over at Doc and said, “where did you find it?!”

“Find what?”, he asked.

I pointed at the envelope, almost afraid to touch it. “That.”

“What is it?” he said.

I carefully picked it up and opened the flap, then tipped the contents of it into my palm. The heirloom necklace spilled out, in exactly the same condition as it had been in those many months before when I had worn it on our wedding day.

“I didn’t put it there”, Doc told me.

After a searching look at him to make sure he wasn't teasing me, I knew this was a miracle. One of the first miracles I’d ever personally witnessed. I knew that necklace had been long gone, but now, amazingly, some guardian angel had retrieved it from the bottom of a heap at the dump and returned it in my hour of need. I did offer a most heartfelt prayer of gratitude for this tender mercy.

The next morning my mother in law arrived, and I handed her the envelope as soon as she came in the door. She gratefully received it and I was able to completely enjoy that visit. After leaving us, she traveled to visit her dear mother, where she at last returned her beloved heirloom necklace to her.

When Grandma Beth died not too long after that, my mother in law and her sister were sorting through their mother’s things. They searched high and low for that necklace. She knew it was there, somewhere, but neither of them ever found it. It was a mystery to them both, but I always felt like it’s return was only a loan. A gift, given solely to avoid incurring yet another loss during a time of grieving, and once it had served it’s purpose, it was returned to the place it had gone because of my carelessness. I've always felt like Grandma Beth knows, and she's okay with it.



Grateful for
1) The reality of miracles
2) This day
3) Audio books

Pheasant Way

The other day I was exploring a neighborhood nearby when I suddenly discovered Pheasant Way. My mind instantly jumped back twenty-five years to when I was a sophomore in high school. I had met a girl named Connie at a dance in a nearby city and we struck up a friendship. Connie’s parents were divorced and she lived with her dad. Her mom lived in Utah.

Connie was slated to visit her mom over a school break that year, and somehow the plan was hatched that I would accompany her.

We didn’t actually know each other very well. My parents had never met hers, but they didn’t seem to have a problem with me taking off with a relative stranger.

We arrived in Salt Lake City and Connie was quick to reconnect with the young women she’d met at church here during earlier visits. I, of course, tagged along.

These girls were amazing to me. I’d never seen such a sweet, vivacious group of teenage girls. They were wholesome and kind, pure and just good. I lost no time falling in love with them.

My two favorite new friends were Marcie and Becky and they were adorable. Since they were in school that week (their break didn’t coincide with ours), I attended classes with them at Cottonwood High School. Their high school experience was an extraordinary contrast with the one I was having back home, and for the first time I realized that school could actually be a fun, healthy place to be.

I loved everything about their world. I loved the camaraderie of the group; they had a cohesiveness that I’d never seen before. They enjoyed good clean fun everywhere they went. I noticed the generous way they were with each other, pitching in gas money for whoever happened to be driving, supporting each other in pursuits and struggles, cheering each person on in their lives. In short, they were happy. And I wanted that for myself. Desperately.

For reasons I never knew, it didn’t seem like Connie’s mom was very pleased with my being there, and so somehow I ended up staying with Becky for most of my stay. Becky’s father had passed away not too many years before, and her mother was raising their large, happy family (was it six or eight kids?) on her own. And they lived on Pheasant Way.

It’s hard for me to recall much of those years. I kind of lived in a haze. But all too soon my trip was over, and I was back in California. Once I’d had a taste of how life could be though, I started trying to figure out a way to make mine like it.

Even though my friendship with Connie faded after that, I kept in contact with Marcie and Becky. As soon as I had another chance, I bummed a ride back to Utah with a friend, and went to stay with Becky again. It was during this visit that I came up with the idea that I would just move in with them. They had a large home. I’m not much trouble. I’d pitch in and pull more than my share of the weight to compensate them. I could get a job to earn the money I’d need for my necessities and go to school. I doubted my parents would object. THIS WOULD totally WORK!

Amazingly, I think I went so far as to propose the idea to Becky’s mom, and she didn’t directly shoot it down. So somehow, I got it in my mind that I was actually going to just become part of this other family. That it was a go.

And I had no problems with this…which, in hindsight, is really an interesting insight.

Unfortunately, shortly after this visit, I was a passenger in a serious car accident while driving home with some teenagers one night. I missed the rest of my sophomore year, and a lot of my junior year. Which, in a way, alleviated some of the problems I was dealing with since I wasn’t in school any more. I spent many many hours hanging out in my room in the garage, feeling sorry for myself. And the grand plan of moving to Utah and living on Pheasant Way died.

It’s interesting how just seeing that street brought back so many memories of a time in my life that I generally don’t think about. Those were some dark days. But in the middle of that darkness, I saw light. I saw another side of life…a different way of living. And it made me hungry for more. I view that as yet another tender mercy of the Lord in my life.

Grateful for:

1) The Cottonwood High girls who welcomed this stranger into their lives
2) Good examples of others, everywhere.
3) Facebook. I found Marcie on there and reconnected. What a darling woman!

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Feeling The Spirit

One of the hardest things about depression is the way it numbs you to feeling the spirit. As I wrote yesterday, I was fifteen years old the first time I had a spiritual experience…or at least realized that I was having one. I’m sure God had watched over me, prompted me, comforted me, and guided me all my life, but I’m also quite sure I’ve suffered from dysthymia since I was quite young. Numb was my “normal”. I didn’t know any different.

That experience was so tremendous and amazing to me that it carried me for years. It was my sole fallback whenever times were tough. Because of it I knew that God knew me, and that for some reason I mattered enough to Him to intervene.

At first I thought this was the start of a new thing in my life, that maybe I’d regularly have more amazing moments like that one. But five years later at the age of twenty, I was still clinging on to that single experience, and it was starting to fade in it’s ability to carry me, spiritually. I was struggling and wishing there were some way to have another one…a little “boost”, if you will, but I didn’t know how to make that happen, and was wary of seeking for signs.

One day while I was in college, my dear roommate and I were sitting on our beds talking about spiritual experiences, when I confided to her that I “never feel the spirit”. When I said that, this sweet friend looked in my eyes, she said to me, “Yes you do. You know that feeling you get sometimes, it’s kind of soft and quiet…” and right then, as she said those words, I was suddenly touched with that small, “soft”, quiet feeling she was describing…a feeling which I had experienced on occasion in the past, but which I had never identified as being one way that the Holy Spirit communicates with us. Her words almost faded into the background as my mind was illuminated by this new awareness. I was amazed! Here all this time I’d had something, but I had never realized what it was.

Since that time, I have recognized a number of experiences with the Holy Spirit in my life, and have learned that God has far more ways of communicating with His children than I had ever imagined. And I am quite certain that I have only experienced the smallest fraction of His ways of communicating with His children. Sometimes, like my experience in the ocean or a vision, it’s completely unmistakable. I haven’t ever had a vision, but I know people who have. More often than not, I believe our Heavenly Father uses quieter, more subtle means of communication to connect with us.

Which is why depression can be such a trial for one’s spirit. You just feel numb a lot of the time. Like your soul is in a lead box. But as hard as it is, it also provides those who deal with depression an opportunity to develop and fine-tune their ability to hear His voice. And in order to learn to recognize Him in our lives, we have to create space for Him…possibly more space than we’d otherwise give Him. But maybe, just maybe, that is by design. For without having to work extra hard on a consistent basis, perhaps we wouldn’t learn what He knows we need to learn. Perhaps we would figuratively "drift far out to sea", as I literally did that day.

I’ve tried to focus my attention on understanding the ways that God communes with me, and am still learning. I try to note times when He has answered my prayers, and all the different ways His Holy Spirit has touched me. Whether it's something as simple as a song that reaches me, or being filled up with gratitude at the beauty of this earth, direct answers to specific prayers for things I need, or that tiny, cozy, warm feeling that I didn't understand growing up, I've learned that most of the times when I feel His spirit, it isn't miraculous. At least in the way most people think about miracles. But for me, it will always be a wonder.

He knows our struggles. He IS there for us. And I know that if we seek Him faithfully, we will find Him in small and grand ways as we sojourn through our lives.

Grateful for:

1) Different kinds of communication
2) Faith in my Savior
3) The things I learn from my struggles

The Ocean Experience

Every time the Olympic Games come around, my mind wanders back to the summer of 1984 when they were held in Los Angeles. I was fifteen years old, between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, and had lived just a few miles from the ocean all my life.

There was a palpable energy in the area at the time, with thousands upon thousands of tourists pouring into southern California for the event. During this time my parents went out of town somewhere, and enlisted a woman they knew named Carlene to watch over us in their absence.

It was July and exceedingly hot. Carlene decided to take us to the beach for the day, which, despite our proximity to the ocean, was not a very common occurrence in my life. I wasn’t much into sunbathing (aka “sunburning” in my case), nor was I a very strong swimmer in an ocean setting. I mean, I could swim, but I definitely had a preference for keeping my head above water.

The beach was totally packed. I had never seen so many beach-goers in my life. It was as though every tourist in the world was seeking reprieve from the heat. Finding space next to the water was impossible, so Carlene set up camp about as far away from it as you could get, and settled in.

I headed down to the water and jumped in, wishing that we owned a boogie board to play on. The waves were coming in every few moments, and it seemed like it would be an especially good day to have one.

I’d been out for quite a while, body surfing and keeping above the waves as best I could. Initially I’d been near the shore where I could just jump above them as they broke, but every now and then a rogue wave so big that I couldn’t get above it would hit, and I’d get tumbled inside the roiling surf.

Time passed, and after a few disorienting tosses during which I’d drunk my fill of seawater for the day, I was worn out and decided to get out. It was then that I realized I’d drifted quite a bit, and had a long way to swim to shore. So I started in, keeping the lifeguard stand nearest Carlene in my line of sight as I struggled to make my way back.

I wasn’t panicked at first, but I slowly realized I wasn’t making any progress. No one had ever explained to me that in a situation like this one should swim in at an angle, verses in a straight line to shore. I was expending lots of energy trying to get straight back in. But the harder I tried, the more frustrated I became.

After what seemed like a long time, a helicopter began flying overhead broadcasting over a loud speaker that due to a strong rip tide, everyone had to get out of the water. This gave me great hope because I knew I was in trouble at that point. My ability to get myself out of the water was gone, and I needed rescuing. Lifeguards were patrolling and I assumed that if they couldn’t see me, the helicopter would, and alert them to the fact that there was someone not complying with the mandate to get out of the water. They would come out and bring me in.

But it didn’t happen. I’d been pulled too far out by then. Twice as far out as the jetty was long, I slowly realized that no one noticed the tiny speck way off in the distance that was my fifteen year old self. I was having an increasingly difficult time keeping my head above water. Wave after wave after wave caught and tossed me. It felt like I was churning in a blender and there wasn’t enough time to get above water before another wave caught me and sucked me back under.

In my exhaustion I remember opening my eyes and looking up through the swirling sea-green water towards the sunlight just a few feet above me, wondering if I’d ever get back up there again. It was then that I had this idea come to my mind, the source of which I have no doubt. It said to me, “You’re tired. Just close your eyes and take a rest. Only a little one, to get your strength back, and then you’ll be able to swim back to shore.”

By then I was so far spent that this idea actually struck me as rational, and I decided to go along with it. Crazy, I know. But literally just as I was about to stop fighting and give myself over to the suggested “nap”, there came into my mind a voice like no other I'd ever heard. Distinct, kind and clear, it sounded for all the world to me like an audible voice, although I’m sure it wouldn’t have been audible to anyone else. And it spoke only one word: Pray!

This voice pierced right through the fog in my mind and instantly I snapped back to alertness and clarity. I responded to the voice by talking in my mind, saying “but I can’t pray, because I can’t get down to the bottom to kneel.” (It was deep!)

No sooner had I thought this than I had an experience which many have described as “their life flashing before their eyes”. This isn’t an easy one to explain. Unless you’ve experienced it yourself, it’s hard to understand how it could happen because our minds tend to think about time flowing linearly, like a river moving forward in a straight course. But in this case, time wasn’t the way we normally experience it.

It was as if I could remember every detail about my life ALL AT ONCE…which would of course be impossible under normal circumstances. And more, this recall happened all in the exact same moment, but without the memories being all jumbled and piled up. It didn’t take up time the way remembering even one of those memories normally would. But in this experience, the focus of the memories was to highlight all the times I’d been taught about prayer. How we can pray any time, and any where about any thing, etc. That it’s not something we can only do kneeling on the ground. It was as though I re-lived every Sunday School class and Primary lesson I’d ever been in, where I had been taught a true principle, but which I had yet to implement in my life.

My reply to this has always amused me in hindsight. I replied back in my mind with the words, “Oh. Duh.”, feeling kind of sheepish that I’d forgotten such a basic, foundational principle.

And then I prayed. Interestingly, I had never in my life said a prayer that wasn’t completely formal, with all the traditional “parts” included. But in that moment, from my swirly green position out in the ocean, I offered what was probably my first truly heartfelt prayer, and it was only five words long: Heavenly Father, please help me.

I woke up some time later and found myself laying on the sand, just above the water line. Apparently I’d been there long enough to get a little sunburn, but when I first came to and realized where I was, and remembered what had happened, I looked around to see who had rescued me. The beach was still packed…no one was allowed in the water past their knees. Yet not a living soul was paying any attention to me. No person had come to my rescue.

And then it hit me, the magnitude of what I had just experienced!

He really is REAL! Not only that, He Knows Me! And I MATTER to Him! My life was worth preserving, even though there really weren’t that many people back then who would have been impacted if I’d died. Before this, I was just barely surviving, and not doing a bang-up job of it either.

I was also simultaneously impressed with the realization that if He knew and cared about me, the “ugliest girl in the world”, then He clearly knew and cared about EVERYONE. That we all really do have a Father in Heaven watching over us.

That experience transformed my life then, and would again “save” me many many years later (another story for another time). For the rest of my teen years, no matter how unbearable things got, I could never set it aside. And I will always be grateful for that unseen guardian angel, whoever it was, who was sent to “swim me to shore” and lay me down in a safe place, looking for all the world like I was operating under my own power. For I am convinced that that must be what happened. I look forward someday to hearing their side of this tale.

Grateful for:

1) A Heavenly Father who loves us all

2) Guardian Angels, both those above and the many who are right here among us

3) Help when needed

Through The Deep Water

This is kind of an introspective season for me. There have been quite a few “a year ago today…” moments that I’ve been thinking about. And while I’m grateful for the road I’ve traveled this past year, and the many ways I’ve grown, for some reason one-year anniversaries are hard. It’s kind of melancholy for me to reflect back on a number of things that rocked my world a year ago. I haven’t actually mentioned all of them. I never will.

But this has led to a lot of reflecting on challenges in general. While none of us really want them, it’s true that we all benefit from them in a way. Horrible things happen to every single person who lives. The actions of others have a ripple affect that goes on indefinitely. But it is in the soldiering on through difficulties that we grow. Without them we’d live lives of relative ease and comfort, but we would be shallow, unrooted individuals as a result. That old “there must needs be opposition in all things” is true. We would all be lesser people without the challenges and hardships we’ve endured.

So while hurting another is never okay, and while suffering and loss and disaster and pain aren’t the kinds of things we’d choose, when I survey the sundry experiences of my life, I see how those times have helped me to become a stronger person. A better person. More compassionate, patient, long-suffering and kind. And I am grateful for them in a strange way.

God won't interfere with our agency, or prevent us from experiencing adversity or suffering, but He does bless us in our trials, and consecrate them to our benefit...especially when we ask for His help. That has been my experience at least, and I suspect I'm not alone.

Blessings:
1) Introspection, and the perspective we gain from it
2) The people who’ve blessed my journey thus far
3) The words from my favorite hymn