Sabbath Day Scribblings- Unnecessary Burden

JUDE 1:21-22

21 Keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life.

22 And of some have compassion, making a difference:

I Like Living

I love this quote.  Probably because it comes very close to describing my own life.  There have been times when I really questioned why I continued on, but I have to admit, there are certainly more times when I am glad that I did. 
Some of you know that I have suffered from depression for most of my life.  It has been an ongoing battle for me.  Depression makes you forget the good things and only focus on the bad.  You lose the ability to reflect on life overall.  Mostly, your focus shifts to only remembering those things that hurt you. 
I have had so many people in my life who judge me because of the depression.  As a child growing up, my nickname was "Sad Sack".  Not very uplifting, but if I am honest with myself, it was probably pretty accurate.  I remember as a teenager feeling as if I had no worth.  At one time, I wanted to end it all.  I was tired of fighting.  I was hurting, I was angry, I was sad. 
My life was changed by a friend who cared enough about me to spend time giving me someone to talk to and vent with.  He also helped me to overcome some of the negativity in my life.  I will love him forever for that.  For many years, I truly felt that he was the big brother I never had.  He married an amazing woman who has loved him for a very long time.  He has a beautiful family and is a great example of love in action.
Through his love, I was able to find value in myself and reach out to others.  I was able to love and be loved in my life.  I have been blessed with a wonderful husband and beautiful children.  My husband is very much like my adopted big brother.  He loves me unconditionally, just as I am, with all my faults and failings.  He doesn't take initiative to point them out to me either!
I believe that our lives change and become better when others care about us.  When we allow them to help us, guide us, walk with us in our journey.  I have depression, but I also have many, many friends who have walked with me in this journey of life.  They lift me up when I fall, they comfort me, they move me, they are joy in my soul. 
I have learned that life is hard for us all.  We all have trials and difficulties along the way.  Some are worse than others, but I know that the ones I have help me to be closer to God.  Live is amazing.  It is incredible.  I think of all the things that I would have missed if I had ended it all those years ago.  I think of the people I would never have known or the joys I would never have experienced. 
Life is to be savored, the bitter and the sweet, all of it together in a mixed up, messy, and amazing experience. 

Memoir Monday - Called to Do a Work

Rescue a story about an event or action you felt called to do. This story will be a valuable addition to your legacy stories collection.

I would say that one of the greatest things that I have been called to do happened back in the summer of 1976.  I was in Rexburg Idaho with a friend and the Teton Dam broke.  We were both 16 years old and wanted to help.  We were able to sandbag along the river in Idaho Falls to try and keep the flooding to a minimum.  We were also called upon to help clean up the basements of those in the Rexburg area.  We helped in bucket brigades that hauled mud and muck out of basements.  It was smelly, hot work.  We were transported by bus every morning to somewhere new.  We would help people clean out their basements and houses.  The floods had done so much damage. 

As I traveled around, I saw dead animals on top of roofs, along with couches and even TV sets.  I saw bloating, dead pigs and cows along the road.  It took all summer to even begin to get things cleaned up.  I would help bring up two year supplies of food from the muddy recesses of basements, only to have the State and Government tell the people that all of it was bad.  I watched families cry over pictures that were completely ruined.  So many things were lost and could not be replaced.  

I loved helping.  I didn't mind the mud or the smell.  It felt so good to be making a difference in the lives of those people.  I watched the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, put all the homeless up in the dorms of the college.  They fed us in the cafeteria and they even trucked clothes through Deseret Industries.   I was amazed at the organization and the ability to keep everyone safe.  

Only a few people lost their lives.  They were either right under the dam when it burst, or they refused to leave their homes.  It was such an amazing experience to be a part of.  To see an entire community come together, work together, help each other, and start to pull themselves out of an awful situation.  

It was a summer of hard work.  It was even harder to watch those who lost everything.  Most of the homes ended up being torn down and rebuilt.  There was agony, strength and miracles to behold.  The church building only had a little damage in the chapel.  We tore the carpet out and took out the pews.  The damage was repaired.  But right across the street, the flood waters washed the houses right off their foundations.  

I will never forget the summer of my 17th year.  I saw more in that one place than I have ever seen in my life.  I saw love and grief and sorry and great joy.  I met a Prophet of God in the hallway of the Manwaring Center.  I even got to talk with him and felt like I stood in the presence of the Lord's anointed.  The experience touched my heart in ways that were never the same.  I grew so much with those opportunities.  

Now it is your turn.  What can you write for your Memoir Monday.  Come back and link up your own story.  

Silence of Good People

"The world suffers a lot, 

not because of the violence of bad people, 

but because of the silence of good people."  

Napolian

It can be a hard world we live in.  I read this quote and it made a lot of sense to me.  In our family, we have all faced bullying.  We have all seen the mean-ness and unkindness of others.  I have had to try and get things worked out at school when other parents won't admit that their child is causing pain to others.  All in the name of popularity.  I have come to see that if we would all be willing to recognize bullying in all it's forms and speak out and stop it, then it would not exist.  

The saddest part for me is when parent contribute to bullying.  There was an instance online of mother that took pictures at the graduation ceremony of her 8th grader and than blogged about how horrible the girls dressed.  The problem was not that I don't believe what she said, the problem was posting pictures and the name of the school involved.  To me, any time we belittle or degrade people, it is bullying.  

I can't get out of my mind the council from Thumper's mother who said:  "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all."  

So, before we criticize and put others down, take a moment to THINK:

    Is is True

    Is it Helpful

Does it Inspire confidence

    Is it Necessary

    Is it Kind

Together, we can make a difference.  Together we can change what the world thinks is OK.  Together we have a voice.  Together we can stop the silence of good people everywhere.  

A Stone's Throw

Once, many years ago, my boys were at the lake, throwing stones into the water.  They tried to skip rocks, make bigger splashes than their brothers, and generally just had competition for who had the most muscles.  One of the boys got angry with his brothers and threw a rock right at them, hitting one of the sisters on her back instead of hitting the brother he was aiming at.  Chaos reigned for a time, while I got mad at the boys and tried to sooth a screaming, crying, very much in pain daughter.
In my life, I have learned that angry and insensitive words, can be a lot like that inaccurately thrown rock.  The words we fling can bring pain and suffering to those we never intended to hurt.
In the new Testament we read:

“If any man bridleth not his tongue, this man’s religion is vain” (James 1:26)..

Our words can and will condemn us.  To me, this means that the words we speak have meaning and consequences.  We have to be willing to change not just our actions, but the things we say as well.  To say it, even when you don't really mean it, can still have lasting consequences.    Words reflect what we are thinking and feeling.  They can be happy or sad, angry, bitter, nasty, belittling, degrading, kind, gentle, and even loving.  
While some prefer to use words in anger and meanness, others use their words to uplift and edify those around them.  The choice in what we say and do is always ours.
I have often wondered how differently I would treat others if I could see them the way that my Heavenly Father sees them.  How would I speak to my children, if I saw them through the eyes of God?   When I think about how our Heavenly Father looks at each of us, it makes me see my fretting, frowning teenager just a little different than I saw her a moment ago.  I see her potential, and her worth.  I see who she might become, and even a little of who she wants to be.  I see, and love her.  And for a moment, that is enough.

 “Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.”  Mother Teresa of Calcutta

“One of the greatest expressions of love is simply to notice people and to pay attention to them. If you really want to know God, go to his people….. Rather than read twenty books on servant-hood, get the idea, and then serve people. Some of us have experimented with this little prayer: “Lord, lead me today to someone whom I can serve.” – Richard Foster

A Special Day

Once upon a time, there lived a young woman.  Most of the time, she felt more like the "old woman in the shoe".  She had six children, all teenagers or teenage want to be's.  She worked, she worked and she worked.  Three jobs most of the time just to support herself and her children.  Life was pretty hard, but they were happy. 
One day, she decided that she needed to do something for herself and so she started taking ASL.  For those who might not know what that is, it is simply American Sign Language.  She took the classes from the missionaries from the deaf branch.  It was fun, she met people, she went to the brach to church every once in awhile, and she felt like she was doing something positive in her life. 
One evening at class, the elders decided to do pantomime for different phrases and activites.  The young (or not so young) mother decided to do a tightrope walker.  So, she did.  As she was walking on her imaginary tightrope, she feel to the ground and caught herself using her wrists.  One of her arms immediately bent at the wrong angle.  She was embarassed, but did not want anyone to know that she was hurt, so she went back to her seat and sat down.  After five minutes or so, she hurt so much that it made her stomach upset and she went to get a drink and discretely observe the damage.  She realized that her arm was broken. 
Still not wanting to cause a problem, she went out to her manual transmition truck and drove herself to the hospital.  (You really do not want to know how this was accomplished!).  When the X-rays were done, the arm was set in a half cast and she had to call a friend to drive her home.  By this time, the arm was in agony and her other arm was starting to hurt also.  After five days, she had to go see a specialist to have the arm set in a cast.  She could not move her other arm and the doctor asked her why.  Upon hearing the story, he immediately sent her back to X-ray where it was discovered that she had not one, but two broken arms.  (Oh yeah, it gets even better than this!  Read on).
Now she was seriously depressed.  Her bishop decided she needed to do something constructive with her time instead of crying about it, so he sent her to a Single Adult Conference.  You should understand that she did not like these activites.  They were not usually fun.  People were not always nice.  And she was just find single, thank you very much!  Nevertheless, being an obedient sister (in most things), she did has her bishop asked and went to conference. 
The talks were good, the people were mostly nice, and she started to have a good time.  Now came the hard part.  A special dinner had been prepared for all the single adults.  Everyone was in line to serve themselves.  Here was this slightly battered mother trying to figure out how to hold a plate and scoop up the dinner with no hands available when right next to her appeared a kind hearted man who offered to help, got both his dinner and hers and led her to a seat.  They discovered that they had friends in common, places in common, and ideas in common. 
It was an eventful conference!  I must admit that I really hate saying that I met my husband at a Single's Conference, yet that is exactly where and how I met him.  He has always been and continues to be an amazing and loving man. 
Yesterday, was my anniversary.  It was the 16th year since my husband and I were married.  We have been through a lot during our years together, but he loves me in spite of myself.  I am truly blessed.  I have discovered that love (helped by a couple of broken arms, an adament bishop, and a loving Heavenly Father) can be found at the most inopportune moments when you are least expecting it.  I have learned to trust and treasure the blessings that I am given.  I have learned to be thankful for the trials, for it is when we overcome them that we find our greatest joys. 
My husband is truly an amazing man.  He cares for me, he teaches me, he cherishes me.  He accepts me just as I am, whatever my size and shape, and never acts like he sees less than perfection.  I am so thankful for the blessing of his love that surrounds me in every part of my life.

Happy Anniversary Honey!  You are amazing! 

Are You a Special Teacher?

I love this story.  I looked it up on Snopes.com and discovered that it is not true.  It was a fictional story to make a point of how important teachers are in the lives of their students.  It really doesn't matter to me that it is a work of fiction.  I love it anyway.  It inspires me to be just a little bit better when I get those children that drive me crazy.  (Literally, of course).  I hope that the message inspires you as much as it has inspired me.


Jean Thompson stood in front of her fifth-grade class on that first day of school in the Fall and told the children a lie.
Like most teachers, she looked at her pupils, saying she loved each of them the same, that she would treat them all alike.
But that was impossible for there in front of her, slumped in his third row seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs.Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were unkempt and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy was unpleasant. It got to the point during the first few months that she would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then highlighting the "F" at the top of the paper.
Because Teddy was a sullen little boy, no one else seemed to enjoy him either. At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's records and delayed Teddy's until last. She opened his file, and found a surprise.

His first-grade teacher had written, and I quote, "Teddy is a bright, inquisitive child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners. He is a joy to be around."

His second-grade teacher had penned, "Teddy is an excellent student, well-liked by all his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third-grade teacher had noted, "Teddy continues to work hard but his mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth-grade teacher had commented, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and often falls asleep in class. He is tardy and could become a more serious problem."

By now Mrs. Thompson realized the extent of the problem, but Christmas was coming fast. It was all she could do, with the school play and all, until the day before the holidays began and she was suddenly forced to focus again on Teddy Stoddard.
Her children brought her presents, all in beautiful ribbon and bright paper, except Teddy's, which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper of a scissored grocery bag.
Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of cologne. She stifled the children's laughter as she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume behind her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard stayed behind after class just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my mom used to."
After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching Reading, Writing, and Speaking. Instead, she began to teach Children. Jean Thompson paid very particular attention to one they all called "Teddy." As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. On the days when there would be an important test, Mrs. Thompson would remember that cologne.
By the end of the year he had become one of the highest achieving children in the class and, well, he had also somewhat become, the "pet" of that teacher who had once vowed to love all of her children exactly the same.

A year later, she found a note under her door from Teddy, telling her that of all the teachers he'd had in elementary school, she was his favorite.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still his favorite teacher of all time.

Four years later, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would graduate from college with the highest of honors.
He assured Mrs. Thompson she was still his favorite teacher.

Four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still his favorite teacher but that now, his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

The story doesn't end there. For there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was to be married.
He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the pew usually reserved for the mother of the groom.

And on that special day, Jean Thompson wore that bracelet, the one with the rhinestones missing.
And on that special day, Jean Thompson smelled the way Teddy remembered his mother smelling on their last Christmas together.

The Accident

A couple of weeks ago, we went to Missouri to visit my oldest daughter. It was a long and grueling drive. The majority of it took place in a blizzard, so the going was slow and visibility was poor. We were afraid to stop because the majority of the weather system was behind us. Had we stopped, we would have had to stay at a hotel for two days. Our trip was only a week long, and we did not want to loose two days with family. By driving, we were able to stay toward the front of the storm and avoid the majority of the road closures.
As we were getting to the leading edge of the storm in Missouri, John, who was driving at the time, saw a car on the opposite side of the highway, slide off the road and go over the edge of the embankment. He told me immediately what he saw. The car disappeared from site and we were both worried about injuries.
I am an EMT, which isn't a lot, but I am a first responder and carry a kit in my car for emergencies. I immediately put in a call to 911 while John took the next exit and we tried to use the GPS to find a road somewhere off the highway that would lead us to the vehicle. There was no where to park on the highway without endangering ourselves or our children, hence the need to find a back way.
While we were trying to figure out where to go, I was trying to also figure out how to tell the dispatcher where we were. The GPS and the Atlas called the highway a name that the dispatcher did not know. On the map, it was Highway 60. The highway actually had a name and not a number as far as the dispatcher for EMS was concerned. I spent a frustrating five minutes that felt more like an hour in trying to let people know where I was located.
We found the back road that took us about 200 yards from the scene of the accident. I took off running with my emergency kit. I had on my crocs, (these are like sandals in case you do not know), a t-shirt, and lightweight trousers. I was running through a light snow, over rocks and brush and through trees and tall grasses. I had ice in my hair, in my shoes and down my neck. Life is good.
I ran up to the car and found a woman and her little boy. I was able to talk EMS to the scene by telling the dispatcher what direction the sirens were coming from. They were on scene approximately two minutes after I got there. The woman and boy were miraculously unhurt. The car was not so fortunate. The car had crashed through several hay bales before coming to the bottom of the embankment. Those hay bales kept the occupants from being seriously injured. The embankment made it hard to locate them. They were completely out of view from the passing traffic above them. I was so relieved to have them safe and unhurt. I stayed with them until the paramedics were able to get down the embankment and take over the scene, my husband arrived about the same time and we then walked together back to our children then we left to continue our drive to my daughter's house.
When my husband and I got back to the car, we found all three of our girls with tears in their eyes asking if everyone was alright.  My oldest daughter informed me that they had said a prayer for the safety of those people in the car and for our ability to help them.  They then suggested that we have a prayer of gratitude for the answer of the first prayer.  So we did.  We bowed our heads inside our car and said a quick and heartfelt prayer of thanks for our Heavenly Father's blessings that day and for the safety of all concerned.

I have learned from this experience how important it is to know where you are so that you can help another. Harold B. Lee said, "You cannot lift another soul until you are standing on higher ground than he is. You must be sure, if you would rescue the man, that you yourself are setting the example of what you would have him be. You cannot light a fire in another soul unless it is burning in your own soul".

In the New Testament in Acts chapter three, is the experience of Peter and John as they were on their way to the temple. They met a man at the gate who was lame from birth. He had never walked and was begging alms of all who approached the gate. As Peter and John approached, he held out his hand asking for alms.
4 "And Peter, fastening his eyes upon him with John, said, Look on us.
5  And he gave heed unto them, expecting to receive something of them.
6  Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus
    Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk".  Acts 3:(4-6)
Now, in my mind, I can just see this man looking at Peter and John and thinking, "do they know that I have never walked?"   But the scripture doesn't end with the command.  Peter did not just tell the man to walk, he also “took him by the right hand, and lifted him up” (Acts 3:7).  He showed him that it was possible.
Can you see in your own mind, that Apostle lifting him up?  Can you imagine him putting his arm around the man who used to be lame and helping him as he takes his first step?  Then the scripture continues and tells us that the "the man leaped with joy".
You cannot lift another soul until you are standing on higher ground than he is.  Peter had the fire of testimony burning in his own soul.  He was an apostle and charged to bear witness of the Savior to the people.  He was able to command the man to walk because he himself believed and knew that it was possible.  He had seen the Savior healing the sick, raising the dead, and causing the lame to walk.  He knew who the Savior was.  He knew what miracles could be wrought.
During this accident in Missouri, I could not help as effectively as I would have liked to, because I did not know where I was.  I was unable to give the needed information to the dispatcher.  This caused both of us to be very frustrated.  I saw, with my eyes, where the car went off the road, but I could not describe the location.  I did not know the address.  The desire to help was there, but my lack of knowledge delayed the response time of the local Fire Department.  I was unsure of where I was and unsteady in giving the directions that would be the most help.
Each one of us will have times in our lives when we will want to help others.  It might be our friends who are struggling with difficulties.  It might be the sisters we visit teach, or the families we home teach.  It might be our own family members.  It might even be our own teenage children.  If we are to help them learn to stand on firm foundations, we first need to make sure that our own foundations are sure.

We need to know where we are.

We need to know where we stand.

We need to know that we are standing on the Rock

 that is our Savior Jesus Christ.

Window washing at the Decker's

The human contribution is the essential ingredient. It is only in the giving of oneself to others that we truly live. --Ethel Percy Andrus

 Many years ago, when I was a single mom with six small children, I really wanted to teach them the value of service.  We had a lot of people who did amazing things for us, but I wanted them to learn how wonderful it was to do service for others.  So, I asked around the ward.  Finally, one elderly couple called and asked if we would come and clean all the windows in their house.  I was thrilled!  This was my opportunity to teach.  However, the kids were not so thrilled.  They felt like they had enough work to do in their own home and why would I be volunteering them anyway!  Needless to say, I made them go and do it.  So, I had several grumpy kids going to clean windows.  We had to pull over to the side of the road and have a "discussion" on my favorite saying, "If you are going to do it anyway, do it with class!".  They were obviously going to do it anyway, so they needed to adjust their attitudes.  They did and we went over to the Deckers small home.  My children got right to work.  Brother Decker gave them buckets and squigees to do the outside.  Sister Decker gave the girls paper towells and buckets for the insides.  They had a great time.  The best part was that Sister Decker made them dessert for when they finished. 
During the time we were there, Sister Decker talked about how bad they felt needed to ask for the help for such a simple thing.  She talked about how hard it was to not be able to do everything themselves and to need the help.  She talked about how wonderful it was to have six willing children come to their home and work so hard.  She taught them that service isn't something we necessarily want, it is something we need.  Can you imagine what a blessing that was for my children?  They remember it to this day.  Sister Decker made them feel like they were amazing.  And so, they rose to the occasion and became amazing. 
For months after than, Brother and Sister Decker would bring oranges, grapefruit and lemons over to the house.  Sometimes, they would ask the children for little favors of service that were always more than repaid in simple acts of kindness.  They taught my children the value of serving others. 
My children served the Deckers in our ward for several years.  Until they grew up and left home.  But the lesson of service remains in their minds, even now.

President Monson has said, "The Savior taught His disciples, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: but whosoever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall save it.”
I believe the Savior is telling us that unless we lose ourselves in service to others, there is little purpose to our own lives. Those who live only for themselves eventually shrivel up and figuratively lose their lives, while those who lose themselves in service to others grow and flourish—and in effect save their lives".

I have wept in the night
For the shortness of sight
That to somebody’s need made me blind;
But I never have yet
Felt a tinge of regret
For being a little too kind.

I am only one; but still am one. I cannot do everything, but I still can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I can do. --Helen Keller

May we each strive to do something today to touch the life of another.

Have I done any good

President Monson speaks.  I love these short and sweet messages.  This one seems to have special meaning to me at this time.  My heart has been continually drawn to those who are struggling and who are enduring difficult times.  I know so many who are out of work and who can no longer provide for their families.  This is a wonderful message to each of us.  That we CAN reach out and make a difference.  We are surrounded by many who need our help, our attention, and our love.  May we never be so involved with living that we can not take the time to help another. 
I am going to engrave on my heart the quote that says: 

"We may find we have immersed ourselves in the thick of thin things."

Matthew 25:40
"And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
May our hands and hearts continually be drawn to help the least of these.  

True Love

"True love is not so much a matter of romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the well-being of one's companion."
— Gordon B. Hinckley (Stand a Little Taller: Counsel and Inspiration for Each Day of the Year)

I love breakfast. I like it for lunch, and even, sometimes, for dinner. Every now and then, I still make it after work. My children are sometimes shocked at my need to have pancakes or eggs for a meal. However, it has been a long standing tradition in our family and one of the things I need when I have had a really bad day. There is just something comforting about breakfast!

I remember one time, shortly after John and I were married, when I made breakfast for dinner after an especially long, hard day at work. On that evening many years ago, I placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and extremely burned toast in front of my husband. I remember feeling slightly rebellious, and at the same time, cringing inside while I waited to see if he would say something about it. Yet, all he did was reach for his toast, smile at me, and ask me how my day had been. I don't remember what I told him that night, I don't remember what we discussed at the table, or even what happened that was so overwhelming at work, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that toast and smiling at me as he ate every bite!

When we finally got up from the table, I apologized to my sweet new husband for burning the toast. I'll never forget how looked at me and what he said. With a soft voice and love in his eyes, he simply stated: "Honey, I love burnt toast."

Later that night, as we were laying in bed, I asked him if he really liked his toast burned. He laughed and wrapped me in his arms and said, "a little burnt toast never hurt anyone!"

You know, life is full of imperfect things, and imperfect people. I'm not the best housekeeper or cook. I tend to be way too busy helping others and not busy enough helping those who matter most. I seem to manage to forget things that I need to remember (like the toast in the toaster!). But, what I've learned over the years is that learning to accept each other's faults and choosing to celebrate each other's differences is one of the most important keys to creating a wonderful, loving and lasting relationship.
When we truly learn what it means to love someone else as our Savior does, than we are on the path to becoming what our Heavenly Father wants and needs us to be.
The New Testament tells us in John 13:34,35
34 A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.
35 By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.

My sweet husband continues to teach me of the importance of this great message. The more we love, the more like Him we will become, and the more like Him we become, the more we love each other and forgive each other.

So many things in life are like this little bit of burnt toast. It might seem to matter now, but in the eternal scheme of things, it really is pretty minor. Lets not trade the things that matter most for the things we might want right now. I am sure that each one of us would love to have perfection in those around us, or even in ourselves.
It would have been so easy for John to have made an issue about my mistake. It would have been so easy to condemn me for my fault. He chose the higher road and it has made and continues to make all the difference in our relationship.
Today, John will still eat burnt toast, or the heels of the bread without complaint and always manages to love me anyway. He has helped me to know what it means to be loved and accepted in spite of the occasional piece of burnt toast.

"Imagine how our own families, let alone the world, would change if we vowed to keep faith with one another, strengthen one another, look for and accentuate the virtues in one another, and speak graciously concerning one another. Imagine the cumulative effect if we treated each other with respect and acceptance, if we willingly provided support. Such interactions practiced on a small scale would surely have a rippling effect throughout our homes and communities and, eventually, society at large."
— Gordon B. Hinckley (Standing for Something: 10 Neglected Virtues That Will Heal Our Hearts and Homes)

Believe me if....

When I was a youth, I had the unique experience of being in Rexburg Idaho during the summer of 1976.  I was there during the time when the earth dam burst.  I was staying with a friend from school who lived there and we were in Rexburg when the Teton dam gave way and caused a flood of water accross the state of Idaho. 

The water flooded most of Rexburg and the surrounding communities.  There was so much devastation and sorrow.  Carmen and I were able to join hundreds of others packing sand bags along the Idaho Falls river until the flood waters had started to receed.  We were able to keep the waters from flooding the temple in Idaho Falls as well as keeping the waters out of most of the homes that were situated along that river, but we couldn't do anything for Rexburg. 
Soon after the flood receeded, we went to work , along with hundreds of others.  We passed buckets from one to another and "mucked out" the basements of homes.  We watched people lose nearly everything.  All their possessions, their pictures, the momentos and keepsakes.  It was so hard to watch mothers cry over the photo albums where every picture was in ruins!  However, I also watched people who did not even know each other, volunteer to help.  Busloads of people came from all over the country to pitch in and help clean up the ruins. 

We all stayed at Ricks College up on the hill.  It was the only place clean and not-touched by the floods.  The college fed and housed the people of the city.  We would walk into town and volunteer to go where ever we were needed most.  I will never forget what it was like to see dead animals along all the roads, upside down televisions on the roofs, couches on the highway. 
It was so overwhelming!  At 16, I had the privilage of having my life changed by learning to help others in much worse circumstances than myself. 
The principle of helping one in need is well expressed in the touching love story of Thomas Moore, a famous nineteenth century Irish poet, who, when he returned from a business trip found his wife had locked herself in her upstairs bedroom and had asked to see no one. Moore learned the terrible truth that his beautiful wife had contracted smallpox and her milky complexion was now pocked and scarred.
She had looked at herself in the mirror and demanded that the shutters be drawn, and that she never see her husband again. Thomas Moore did not listen. He went upstairs to the darkened room and started to light the lamp. His wife pleaded with him to let her remain in darkness alone. She felt it best not to subject her husband to seeing his loved one with her beauty marred. She asked him to go.

Moore did go. He went downstairs and spent the rest of the night in prayerful writing. He had never written a song before, but that night he wrote not only words but also composed music. As daylight broke, Moore returned to his wife’s darkened room. “Are you awake?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but you must not see me. Please don’t press me, Thomas.”

“I’ll sing to you then,” he said. Thomas Moore sang to his wife the song that still lives today.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art

Moore heard a movement in the corner of the darkened room where his wife lay in loneliness. He continued:

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
Irish Melodies, “Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms,” st. I; cited in Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, p. 542.


The song ended. As his voice faded, Moore heard his bride arise. She crossed the room to the window, reached up and slowly withdrew the shutters, opened the curtain, and let in the morning light.

My prayer for you today is that you may remember that your purpose in life is to live it so that another's burdens may be lifted.  That you will always help to bring the light into the darkness in the lives of those around us.  And may you find what is inside of a person is the part that matters most of all.

Christmas Angels

It was December 24, 1988. I was a single mom who was working two jobs and supporting my children completely alone.  Christmas was looking bleak. I looked around my little home, realization dawning like a slow, twisting pain. Life was hard.  There was no money to spare.  We were barely getting by.  I had bought the kids each one present.  That was stretching my meager budget to the maximum.  We had a small hand-me-down tree that was decorated with homemade ornaments and candy canes.  The childrens favorite part of decorating the tree was putting the candy canes on it and than sneaking them off whenever they thought that I was not looking. 
Our small house had three bedrooms. We had only been in the house for about four months and we had very few possessions.  The kids were all sleeping on mats or sleeping bags on the bedroom floors.  We had not found any good used beds yet and so we were making due.  Our clothes were in dressers as I had been given some old dressers that we solid and still had a lot of wear left in them.  The house was small, but we loved it.  We liked the neighborhood and the people.  We loved starting life in a new place and making new friends. 
We were snug, and often slept together in one of the rooms.  It made them feel secure, and it made me feel close to them -- a blessing I wouldn't have had in other circumstances.  Sometimes we would all have a "camp out" on the living room floor.  It was fun and brought us closer together as a family.
It was early evening, about six or seven o'clock. The sun had set and my children and I were reading in the living room.  I was wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the couch and reading Christmas stories to them.  It was always one of our traditions, we would read a story and sing Christmas carols by the tree.  Suddenly, my front door vibrated with a pounding fist.

Alarmed, I wondered who would stop by unannounced on the night before Christmas. I opened the door to find a group of strangers grinning from ear to ear, their arms laden with boxes and bags.

Confused, but finding their joyous spirit contagious, I grinned right back at them.

"Are you Patty?" The man stepped forward as he held out a box for me.  The gift was wrapped in bright paper and bows.   Nodding silently, I was unable to find my voice, and I felt tears spring to my eyes.
"These are for you." The woman thrust a large bag at me with a huge, beaming smile.  I had no idea who these strangers were.  I remember that I asked them if they were sure that they had the right house.  They laughed and assured me that they were exactly where they were supposed to be. 

 My eyes filled with tears as the realization of why they were there washed over me.

Finally, coming to my senses, I found my voice and invited them in. Following the man were several teenagers, none of whom I knew, staggering with the weight of their packages. The group told me their packages were all gifts for my family. This wonderful, beautiful group of people, who were total strangers to me, somehow knew exactly what we needed. They had brought wrapped gifts for each of us, and many "extras" that I could never afford. Yet, they were not finished.  Out into the night this small army of angels went and brought back into my home bunk-beds.  A bed for each one of the children.  Three beds for the girls room and three beds for the boys room.  I was amazed.  This was more than I had even dared to dream of.   Not only did they bring new beds, they brought mattresses, pillows, sheets, and blankets and they put them all together before they left for the evening.  Somehow my secret wish for Christmas was materializing right in front of me. The desperate prayers of a single mother had been heard, and I knew right then that Heavenly Father had sent his earthly angels my way.

My mysterious angels then handed me a white envelope, gave me another round of grins, and took turns hugging me. They wished me a Merry Christmas and disappeared into the night as suddenly as they had appeared.  I still did not know who they were, what organization (if any) they were from, or how they had found out about us. 

Amazed and deeply touched, I looked around me at the boxes and wrapped gifts strewn at my feet and felt the ache of depression suddenly being lifted into joy. I knew, as surely as if I had seen a group of real angels, that my Father in Heaven was mindful of me.  I knew that He knew my needs and the desires of my heart.  Most of all, I knew He really loved me.  I began to cry. I cried hard, sobbing tears of the deepest gratitude. When my tears were finally all spent, a calming sense of peace filled my heart. The knowledge of God's love reaching into the darkness of my corner of the world enveloped me like a warm quilt. My heart was full. With gratitude in my heart, I fell to my knees amid all the boxes and bags and offered a heartfelt prayer of thanks.

Sitting back up, I suddenly, I remembered the envelope. I shakily opened the flap and gasped at what I saw. I had thought that the generosity of strangers was complete.  Instead, a shower of bills flitted to the floor. Gathering them up, I began to count them. As my vision blurred with yet more tears, I counted the money, then recounted it to make sure I had it right. Sobbing again, I said it out loud: "One hundred dollars."

Tucked in with the money was a simple note that said, "Thank you for giving us this opportunity to serve you.  We have loved preparing this surprise and we have been eagerly looking forward to this day.  Know that you are loved and that someday you will also have the opportunity to make someone else's Christmas dreams come true."
That was all.  It was not signed.  I still did not know who those people were, nor have I ever found out. 
I looked in the rooms at my children who were now sleeping soundly on their freshly made beds.  My heart was full and I remember feeling more at peace and loved than I had felt in a long, long time.  Tomorrow would be a wonderful Christmas Day. One visit from complete strangers had magically turned a painful day into a special one that we would always remember...with joy, thanksgiving, and happiness.

It is now many,many years since our Christmas angels visited. Those small children have grown and now have families of their own.  I have remarried, and our household is happy and richly blessed. Every year since that Christmas, I have tried to help others less blessed than my family. I volunteer to buy or make them carefully selected gifts.  The children have all participated and been willing to give of themselves to help others.  It has been our way of passing on what was given to us. It's like a pebble that is dropped in the water and the ripples go out in ever widening circles on the water.  That first deed from my Christmas angels was the pebble and today the circles continue reaching far out into the lives of others.  

May we each remember that Love is the greatest gift of all.  And may you find ways to enrich the lives of those around you, especially those who need to experience the gift of a Christmas angel.

A stocking for Jesus

I love old movies.  They are always the ones that you don't have to worry about the content.  You know that if your children walk in on you, there will be nothing in the movie to make you uncomfortable.  I can sit down and enjoy the movie for itself.  Sometimes, the acting can be a little cheesy, or the special effects aren't as good as the ones today, but I love the simplicity and the story lines of the old Hollywood cinema films. 
I have just re-discovered a wonderful Christmas movie.  I actually forgot how much I liked it before I watched it again.  This time, I saw something in it that I had somehow missed the last few times I watched it.

The Bishop's Wife, was produced in 1947, and it is the story of an angel who comes to earth to save a woman and her husband, who is a priest, from spiritual doubt, and a lack of love for life itself.  It is about a man who has lost the joy in the everyday adventure that is our life here upon the earth.  He became so involved with the difficulties in his job of being a preacher, that he forgot how important his own family was. 
But this movie is even more than that.  It features a sermon at the end that is just as applicable today as it was at the time the movie was made.  We live in a commercialized world and sometimes, it seems, as if we are so in need of a simple, non-commercial message of Christmas. So here is the message for today.  I hope that you find it as meaningful as I have. 

Here is the closing sermon from the movie, The Bishops Wife:

"Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.
Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.
But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. For we forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. Its his birthday we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that.
Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shinning gifts that make peace on earth".

How wonderful is that short but sweet sermon given by this good Bishop.  The sentiments are now over Sixty years old, but still apply today.  May we each take the time this Christmas to find something to give from ourselves and to place in the Savior's Stocking.  May we each give to Him that part of ourselves which matters most of all.  May you remember the very reason that we celebrate this beautiful day and may you find the time to let Him know how much He means to you.   
Merry Christmas to all.

The Best Christmas

When I think of Christmas, I think of warmth, family, candy canes, nativities, Christmas carols, friends, home, and love.  Christmas has always been a magical time for me.  From the time I was a child, it was a season filled with wonder.  I have always loved the way that people go the extra mile at Christmas.  They do things for others, they deliver goodies, the buy presents, they call, they write, they care.  To me, Christmas is filled with the joy of love. 
When I think of Christmas, I remember Him whose birth we celbrate and remember.  There are many ways of putting Christ back into Christmas.  I suppose that we live at a time in the world where we need to be careful of how we express our beliefs.  But, Christmas starts with Christ.  I would never be comfortable taking Him out of my celebration.  I love to remember and rejoice in the story of His birth.  When shepards watched and angels sang.  When a star rose in the sky and guided the wisemen on thier journey to find the child.  I love the simplicity of the story.  I marvel that He was born in a stable. 
Time flies and things change, but the simple truth of this story continues to stand as a witness of Him.  The seasons come and go, but every Christmas still brings a new time to better the life of another.  Kindness begats kindness.  Love is shown and expressed more at this celebration of His life that at any other time.  There are so many opportunities to give of ourselves available to us at this time of year.  We can search out those who morne, comfort those who stand in need of comfort, lift those who are weary, feed the hungry and clothe the naked.  We can strive to serve others as we know our Savior would serve them.  We can make each Christmas a present to Him. 
As I was looking through the December 2008 Ensign, I found a talk by President Monson and he tells this story that is now one of my favorites. 
"In the early 1930s, Margaret Kisilevich and her sister Nellie gave a Christmas gift to their neighbors, the Kozicki family, which was remembered by them all their lives and which has become an inspiration to their families.

Home to Margaret back then was Two Hills, Alberta, Canada—a farming community populated largely by Ukrainian and Polish immigrants who generally had large families and were very poor. It was the time of the Great Depression.
Margaret’s family consisted of her mother and father and their 15 children. Margaret’s mother was industrious and her father was enterprising—and with all those children, they had a built-in labor force. Consequently, their home was always warm, and despite their humble circumstances, they were never hungry. In the summer they grew an enormous garden, made sauerkraut, cottage cheese, sour cream, and dill pickles for barter. They also raised chickens, pigs, and beef cattle. They had very little cash, but these goods could be exchanged for other commodities they could not produce themselves.
Margaret’s mother had friends with whom she had emigrated from the old country. These friends owned a general store, and the store became a depot for folks in the area to donate or trade surplus hand-me-down clothing, shoes, etc. Many of these used items were passed along to Margaret’s family.
Alberta winters were cold, long, and hard, and one particularly cold and difficult winter, Margaret and her sister Nellie noticed the poverty of their neighbors, the Kozicki family, whose farm was a few miles away. When the Kozicki father would take his children to school on his homemade sleigh, he would always go into the school to warm himself by the potbelly stove before returning home. The family’s footwear consisted of rags and gunny sacks cut into strips and wrapped about the legs and feet, stuffed with straw, and bound with twine.
Margaret and Nellie decided to invite the Kozicki family, by way of the children, for Christmas dinner. They also decided not to tell anyone in their family of the invitation.
Christmas morning dawned, and everyone in Margaret’s family was busy with the preparations for the midday feast. The huge pork roast had been put in the oven the night before. The cabbage rolls, doughnuts, prune buns, and special burnt sugar punch had been prepared earlier. The menu would be rounded out with sauerkraut, dill pickles, and vegetables. Margaret and Nellie were in charge of getting the fresh vegetables ready, and their mother kept asking them why they were peeling so many potatoes, carrots, and beets. But they just kept peeling.
Their father was the first to notice a team of horses and a sleigh packed with 13 people coming down their lane. He, being a horse lover, could recognize a team from a long distance. He asked his wife, “Why are the Kozickis coming here?” Her response to him was, “I don’t know.”
They arrived, and Margaret’s father helped Mr. Kozicki stable the horses. Mrs. Kozicki embraced Margaret’s mother and thanked her for inviting them for Christmas. Then they all piled into the house, and the festivities began.
The adults ate first, and then the plates and cutlery were washed, and the children ate in shifts. It was a glorious feast, made better by the sharing of it. After everyone had eaten, they sang Christmas carols together, and then the adults settled down for another chat.
Margaret and Nellie took the children into the bedroom and pulled from under the beds several boxes filled with hand-me-downs they had been given by their mother’s merchant friends. It was heavenly chaos, with an instant fashion show and everyone picking whatever clothes and footwear they wanted. They made such a racket that Margaret’s father came in to see what all the noise was about. When he saw their happiness and the joy of the Kozicki children with their “new” clothes, he smiled and said, “Carry on.”
Early in the afternoon, before it got too cold and dark with the setting sun, Margaret’s family bid farewell to their friends, who left well fed, well clothed, and well shod.
Margaret and Nellie never told anyone about their invitation to the Kozickis, and the secret remained until Margaret Kisilevich Wright’s 77th Christmas, in 1998, when she shared it with her family for the first time. She said it was her very best Christmas ever."
President Monson went on to say, "If we are to have the very best Christmas ever, we must listen for the sound of sandaled feet. We must reach out for the Carpenter’s hand. With every step we take in His footsteps, we abandon a doubt and gain a truth.
It was said of Jesus of Nazareth that He “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”   Do we have the determination to do likewise?  One line of holy writ contains a tribute to our Lord and Savior, of whom it was said, He “went about doing good … ; for God was with him.” (Acts 10:38)

My prayer is that at this Christmas season and all the Christmas times to come, we may follow in His footsteps and go about doing good to each other and to our neighbors.  That we might continue to strive in all we do and say to be more like Him.  Then each Christmas will truly become the best Christmas ever.

The Other Wise Man

Today, is officially the start of the Christmas season for me.  I am not sure why it did not start until today, but today I realized that it is only about three weeks until Christmas.  I came home from work today and Anya ambushed me with her request for books.  The school is ordering the monthly Scholastic books and she wants some for Christmas.  I am looking at the order forms, and surprise, there is not one book that is about the true meaning of Christmas.
I think it is time to break out some of my favorite Christmas stories.  I think that I am going to go get one of my favorite books called "The Other Wise Man", and read it to the girls.  
This is the story of a man named, Artaban.  He is a seeker of Truth. He is supposed to be the other wiseman (or the fourth wiseman) who sought the Savior foretold in ancient scripture.  He recognized the sign for the Savior's birth when he saw the Star of Bethlehem.  He was delayed on his way to meet the other three wisemen. When he arrived at the meeting place, he discovered that they had left without him.  He set out on his own to find the Savior and present his gifts to the little king.
Artaban, came upon a town where Roman guards were taking and killing the small children. He heard a muffled cry from one of the houses, entered and found a woman crying and clutching her baby tightly to her breast.  A Roman soldier came and tried to enter the home, but Artaban paid him to leave the child alone by giving the soldier the ruby he had been saving for the Savior.  He saved the child's life.  He took comfort in knowing he still had other gifts to give the newborn king. 

The rest of the story goes on to tell of Artaban's travels, and how he found more people to help, each time sacrificing one of his precious gifts for the Savior. At the end of his life, he arrives in Jerusalem on the same day when Jesus was to be crucified. He did not know that Jesus was the King whom he had been seeking for so long.

At one point, Artaban heard a disturbance behind him. He turned to see a soldier trying to take a young girl from her parents. Artaban discovered that the girl had been sold as a slave to pay her parents' debts. Artaban, with his last jewel, paid the debt the parents owed and the girl was freed. 

At that moment, the Savior died and there was an earthquake.  A wall fall on Artaban before he could flee. As he lay dying, he was so sad because he had never been able to find the king and give him his gifts. Right before he passed away, he heard a voice saying "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

In all the ways that mattered, as he served and loved others, Artaban, had indeed, found his Savior and King.

Today, I am reminded of Artaban and his love and kindness, and his journey through life.  I know that my own life is a journey much like Artaban's.  It is a journey to find my Savior and my King.
I don't have worldly jewels, but I do have things in my life that I want to give up so that I can be more like Him.  I have virtues that I want to strengthen and grow.  I am hoping to find my Savior this year as I work on being more kind and loving to my family.  I want to speak softly and lovingly in all I do and say.  I want to control my temper and my tongue.
This year I am reminded of the importance in seeking truth wherever we find it. The story of Artaban, helps me to remember that I can live my own story of Christmas.  Although I might never see the Savior in this life, I can still serve Him and help Him and show my love for Him, by taking care of others and truly loving them.   May you each find a gift inside yourself to give to the Savior this Christmas Season.