Nick - His first "video game" was a program Mark brought home from work that his company had designed to help medical students learn anatomy. At age four he almost had all of the bones memorized. We thought for sure he had inherited the PhD gene from my grandfathers. Nick lost interest when he started kindergarten.
Phoebe - She needed to be disciplined one afternoon, long after I had run out of mommy power, so I instructed her to go spank herself. She turned and left the room in tears to carry out the sentance.
Kate - When she was finally told the true identity of Santa Claus, she sighed in deep relief and exclaimed how glad she was to know because, in her words, "I was just going to keep on believing no matter what all the kids at school said". Wow, talk about conviction!
When we were living in Maryland, Kate was nine and was assigned to write an essay on Martin Luther Kings birthday. The theme was "I have a dream". Kate wrote: "I have a dream that all the people in Maryland will start being Mormons so they can be good." Her teacher did her best to express her objection in red ink without sounding too incensed, but it was hard to hide her incredulity.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
From My Bouquet
"God gave us memories, so that we might have roses in December." From my bouquet:
~I remember going on business trips with my dad. He had to drive up and down the Oregon Coast for sales calls and those of us that were old enough were invited, one at a time, to accompany him on some of these treks. This meant; missing school, seeing new landscapes, one on one time with dad, a heaping of music from the 60's, sitting in the front seat without having to take turns or fight with siblings, endless restaurant food, hotels with indoor pools and...Good Morning America.
I would wake up in the mornings to the sounds and smells of a freshly groomed father getting ready for his sales calls that day. The smell was probably a mix of "classic hotel" (chlorine, coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke) and Old Spice. The sound was always Good Morning America and an electric razor running in the background. I'm dizzy with nostalgia just thinking about it. Those were happy times.
Now, it's difficult if not impossible, to recreate the smell of a hotel room when you need a good sensory hug. And maybe that's a good thing. But, to this day, I still find the sound of GMA on the TV to be extremely comforting during times of stress or uncertainty. It got me through a lot of tough "Operation Desert Storm" mornings when I would have otherwise been all alone. There's no doubt in my mind where that little emotional/sensory crutch came from.
Does the Emmy go to ABC? No way. It could have been any show playing in the background on those business trip mornings. The award goes to Dad for making a little kid feel not so little, a passion of his that he has refined over the years and now passes down to his grandkids.
~I remember going on business trips with my dad. He had to drive up and down the Oregon Coast for sales calls and those of us that were old enough were invited, one at a time, to accompany him on some of these treks. This meant; missing school, seeing new landscapes, one on one time with dad, a heaping of music from the 60's, sitting in the front seat without having to take turns or fight with siblings, endless restaurant food, hotels with indoor pools and...Good Morning America.
I would wake up in the mornings to the sounds and smells of a freshly groomed father getting ready for his sales calls that day. The smell was probably a mix of "classic hotel" (chlorine, coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke) and Old Spice. The sound was always Good Morning America and an electric razor running in the background. I'm dizzy with nostalgia just thinking about it. Those were happy times.
Now, it's difficult if not impossible, to recreate the smell of a hotel room when you need a good sensory hug. And maybe that's a good thing. But, to this day, I still find the sound of GMA on the TV to be extremely comforting during times of stress or uncertainty. It got me through a lot of tough "Operation Desert Storm" mornings when I would have otherwise been all alone. There's no doubt in my mind where that little emotional/sensory crutch came from.
Does the Emmy go to ABC? No way. It could have been any show playing in the background on those business trip mornings. The award goes to Dad for making a little kid feel not so little, a passion of his that he has refined over the years and now passes down to his grandkids.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Tops for Tots
I unintentionally ran a home based business from 1993-2000. It started when my son was born 14 months after my daughter was born (also unintentional). Unlike his big sister, he didn't come out of the womb with a shock of thick, dark hair covering his head. Also unlike his sister, I couldn't dress him up with ribbons and bows. So to me, he sometimes seemed half dressed with nothing on his bald, albeit cute, little noggin.
At that time in my life, at home all day with two very little children, I maintained my sanity by spending lots of time behind the sewing machine as well as at the fabric store. In fact, it was at a fabric store where I discovered a pattern for baby baseball caps. What a revelation! It never occured to me that I could make a baseball hat, let alone one for a baby. But in the end, I would end up making over a thousand.
The hats were created solely for Nick at first. Then I started making them for baby showers that I had been invited to. Soon, friends who were going to other baby showers started calling and placing orders. This led to the idea that I might be able to sell them at the Wymount Terrace yard sales on Saturday mornings. The first time I sold out of hats in less than an hour...I knew I was on to something good.
This is where my dad comes in. He knew the buyer for a baby boutique in American Fork called "Little Things Mean A Lot". Sharon agreed to look at my hats to see if they would be a good fit for the store. She really liked them, but suggested a few tailoring tips that would make them look more professional, which I immediately implemented.
After filling a couple of orders for her store I began to feel more confident in my product. I started approaching other baby boutiques in the valley. At one point I had hats in three different stores in Utah. They took me 1/2 hour to make and cost anywhere between $1 to $2 dollars for the materials. I sold them for $6, the stores turned around and sold them for $12-16 each.
At the climax of my little business I found myself sitting with the buyer for the Nordstrom store in downtown Salt Lake City. To my surprise, she wanted to order a dozen hats and run a test market on them. I was dizzy as I drove home. Dizzy with excitement and the magnitude of it all. I started adding up everything I would have to do to be a supplier for a national chain, starting with getting insurance and a business license to hiring other women to help with the manufacturing.
But as I pulled into the driveway of my house, a house that was filled with three beautiful children and all the love I could ever want...I instantly, without a doubt or even a nod of regret, knew that I would not be fetching a business license anytime soon. I waited a few weeks and called Nordstrom to let her know my decision and I have never looked back.
I sold hats in my little boutiques for four more years and two more children after that. Then one day while filling an order, between nursing my fifth child and packing my family to move across the country to Baltimore, I knew it was time. I finished the hat I was working on, wrote a letter of apology for the partial order, as well as one of thanks for the years of patronage, and closed shop.
I opened it once more a couple of years later when I was desperate for airfare to fly back to Utah for a visit but never again since then.
How fun that was and how lucky I am to have that chapter in my life, unintentional or otherwise. I know without a doubt, that this was just one instant of many where the inspired leaders of our church taught me the truth about the true meaning of success.
At that time in my life, at home all day with two very little children, I maintained my sanity by spending lots of time behind the sewing machine as well as at the fabric store. In fact, it was at a fabric store where I discovered a pattern for baby baseball caps. What a revelation! It never occured to me that I could make a baseball hat, let alone one for a baby. But in the end, I would end up making over a thousand.
The hats were created solely for Nick at first. Then I started making them for baby showers that I had been invited to. Soon, friends who were going to other baby showers started calling and placing orders. This led to the idea that I might be able to sell them at the Wymount Terrace yard sales on Saturday mornings. The first time I sold out of hats in less than an hour...I knew I was on to something good.
This is where my dad comes in. He knew the buyer for a baby boutique in American Fork called "Little Things Mean A Lot". Sharon agreed to look at my hats to see if they would be a good fit for the store. She really liked them, but suggested a few tailoring tips that would make them look more professional, which I immediately implemented.
After filling a couple of orders for her store I began to feel more confident in my product. I started approaching other baby boutiques in the valley. At one point I had hats in three different stores in Utah. They took me 1/2 hour to make and cost anywhere between $1 to $2 dollars for the materials. I sold them for $6, the stores turned around and sold them for $12-16 each.
At the climax of my little business I found myself sitting with the buyer for the Nordstrom store in downtown Salt Lake City. To my surprise, she wanted to order a dozen hats and run a test market on them. I was dizzy as I drove home. Dizzy with excitement and the magnitude of it all. I started adding up everything I would have to do to be a supplier for a national chain, starting with getting insurance and a business license to hiring other women to help with the manufacturing.
But as I pulled into the driveway of my house, a house that was filled with three beautiful children and all the love I could ever want...I instantly, without a doubt or even a nod of regret, knew that I would not be fetching a business license anytime soon. I waited a few weeks and called Nordstrom to let her know my decision and I have never looked back.
I sold hats in my little boutiques for four more years and two more children after that. Then one day while filling an order, between nursing my fifth child and packing my family to move across the country to Baltimore, I knew it was time. I finished the hat I was working on, wrote a letter of apology for the partial order, as well as one of thanks for the years of patronage, and closed shop.
I opened it once more a couple of years later when I was desperate for airfare to fly back to Utah for a visit but never again since then.
How fun that was and how lucky I am to have that chapter in my life, unintentional or otherwise. I know without a doubt, that this was just one instant of many where the inspired leaders of our church taught me the truth about the true meaning of success.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Drama Queen & The Ruby Ring
I was six years old. I still believed in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. I still believed the kid on the bus who told me that if you picked a scab while you were outside, you would die. And I still believed in monsters too. (By the way...not only do monsters eat kids...but they do it in one gulp...)
This is the world I was living in when I met my teacher at church for the first time. She was the first grossly obese person I had ever encountered. From my perspective, all 43 inches of me, I couldn't help but notice that her tummy was approximately the same size that I was. From this observation my six year old brain immediately came to the only reasonable conclusion I could draw at the time: She ate kids.
I started to cry and run after my mom. I cringe just thinking about what this poor lady heard me say as I darted out of the room. Poor Sister So-in-so. How incredibly humiliating that must have been and how sorry I am for the incident.
But she must have forgiven me because the following week she brought me a shiny, plastic, ruby ring that was the most beautiful thing I had ever owned. I was spellbound from there on out. Turns out she wasn't a dangerous ogre that ate children afterall! She was really a generous queen who gave away priceless jewelry! At least, that was the only reasonable conclusion I could draw at the time.
This is the world I was living in when I met my teacher at church for the first time. She was the first grossly obese person I had ever encountered. From my perspective, all 43 inches of me, I couldn't help but notice that her tummy was approximately the same size that I was. From this observation my six year old brain immediately came to the only reasonable conclusion I could draw at the time: She ate kids.
I started to cry and run after my mom. I cringe just thinking about what this poor lady heard me say as I darted out of the room. Poor Sister So-in-so. How incredibly humiliating that must have been and how sorry I am for the incident.
But she must have forgiven me because the following week she brought me a shiny, plastic, ruby ring that was the most beautiful thing I had ever owned. I was spellbound from there on out. Turns out she wasn't a dangerous ogre that ate children afterall! She was really a generous queen who gave away priceless jewelry! At least, that was the only reasonable conclusion I could draw at the time.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Attractive is as attractive does.
This is my life. It is my mess and my masterpiece, and these are my stories. You my friends, are making messes and masterpieces all of your own, right along side me. What a wonderful human race we make together! How amusing it is to stop once in a while and peer into each others worlds, through the written word. And here we go again...
When I was in high school I left a bright and promising career at Taco Bell to work behind the snack bar of a Venture store. (A Venture store is something in between a Target and a Kmart.) I went from smelling like a taco to smelling like popcorn and from wearing brown polyester to wearing black.
As happy as I was about those changes, I was unhappy about the realization that WAY too many teenagers frequented that snack bar at Venture. My natural inclination at the time was to maintain a very low-profile while wearing polyester and pumping ICEE's. So this was not good. I spent most shifts neck-high in self-absorbed adolescent angst and feeling very sorry for myself.
Then one day while out visiting a friend in a neighboring town, we popped into her local Venture store. I casually glanced over at the snack bar on our way to the jewelry department to see if I could catch a glimpse of what I was certain would be a fellow comrad in misery. To my surprise, I saw the girl behind that counter looking way cuter than she should have. I did a double take to see what kind of uniform she got to wear and discovered it was just like mine.
The only difference was...she was smiling. And self-confidant. She was rockin' that geek suit and owning the crowd.
For better or for worse, that's how it works ladies and gentleman. We are attracted to happy and confident. Happy and confident will always trump style and chic. Which, by the way...you should note that nothing makes you happier or more confident than having the spirit of God with you. In the inspired words of Sheri Dew: "No amount of time in front of the mirror will make you as attractive as having the Holy Ghost with you."
Amen.
When I was in high school I left a bright and promising career at Taco Bell to work behind the snack bar of a Venture store. (A Venture store is something in between a Target and a Kmart.) I went from smelling like a taco to smelling like popcorn and from wearing brown polyester to wearing black.
As happy as I was about those changes, I was unhappy about the realization that WAY too many teenagers frequented that snack bar at Venture. My natural inclination at the time was to maintain a very low-profile while wearing polyester and pumping ICEE's. So this was not good. I spent most shifts neck-high in self-absorbed adolescent angst and feeling very sorry for myself.
Then one day while out visiting a friend in a neighboring town, we popped into her local Venture store. I casually glanced over at the snack bar on our way to the jewelry department to see if I could catch a glimpse of what I was certain would be a fellow comrad in misery. To my surprise, I saw the girl behind that counter looking way cuter than she should have. I did a double take to see what kind of uniform she got to wear and discovered it was just like mine.
The only difference was...she was smiling. And self-confidant. She was rockin' that geek suit and owning the crowd.
For better or for worse, that's how it works ladies and gentleman. We are attracted to happy and confident. Happy and confident will always trump style and chic. Which, by the way...you should note that nothing makes you happier or more confident than having the spirit of God with you. In the inspired words of Sheri Dew: "No amount of time in front of the mirror will make you as attractive as having the Holy Ghost with you."
Amen.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Room that Rosemary Built
Once upon a time there was an LDS meetinghouse without a mother's room. That's right, no room for a woman to sit and rock her baby, feed her baby, or change her baby when needed.
An old brown metal folding chair wedged tightly between the sink and the bathroom stall in the ladies restroom was somehow supposed to suffice.
There are certain things about that set-up that make it disgusting, not to mention demeaning to a young woman who has not only chosen to bring God's children into the world, but bring them to His church as well. But such as it was, year in and year out, babies and bummies made due (and doo-doo) with the situation.
Then one day while looking for a quiet room to discipline a child in, one of those young mothers happened upon an empty classroom in the hall adjacent to the chapel. After reproving the child with sharpness, she couldn't help notice that the services in the chapel she had just left, were being piped into that classroom through a speaker in the ceiling. Could it be? Did her ears deceive her? A long, lost mothers room, stripped of it's true purpose?
Excited inquiries danced past the ears of many a priesthood leader. As far as support from those leaders went, the flesh was willing, but the spirit was...delegated. Excitement grew to disillusionment as nothing...ever...happened.
But it wasn't long before the disillusionment took the form of audacity as I, the aforementioned young mother, took matters into my own hands. I ordered a door plaque that read 'Mother's Room' that matched the door plaques on the other specially designated rooms in the building. I took my drill and my three young children to church one night and proceeded to screw the plaque onto the door. I moved all the classroom chairs out of the room and dragged two of the upholstered chairs from the foyer (one actually swiveled and rocked) into the room. Top it off with some lovely framed art stolen from the Relief Society room, and viola! Instant mother's room.
Through the grapevine, I learned that the High Priests Group Leader was considerably put out that someone had stolen his quorum's classroom and that he left a mean spirited note on the chalkboard for the mothers to read, but other than that, there were no inquisitions, no letters read from pulpits, no repercussions of any kind. I was prepared to repent if caught, but there never was a witch hunt to begin with. And much to my delight, when I went back to that church for a 20 year ward reunion...the room was still there as I had designed it, in all it's accomodating comfort and glory.
Viva la mama!
(Disclaimer: By no means does the author encourage or endorse the unauthorized altering or remodeling of any publicly or privately held property. My behavior was shameful and should not be emulated. Do not try this at home. Danger Will Robinson, danger!)
An old brown metal folding chair wedged tightly between the sink and the bathroom stall in the ladies restroom was somehow supposed to suffice.
There are certain things about that set-up that make it disgusting, not to mention demeaning to a young woman who has not only chosen to bring God's children into the world, but bring them to His church as well. But such as it was, year in and year out, babies and bummies made due (and doo-doo) with the situation.
Then one day while looking for a quiet room to discipline a child in, one of those young mothers happened upon an empty classroom in the hall adjacent to the chapel. After reproving the child with sharpness, she couldn't help notice that the services in the chapel she had just left, were being piped into that classroom through a speaker in the ceiling. Could it be? Did her ears deceive her? A long, lost mothers room, stripped of it's true purpose?
Excited inquiries danced past the ears of many a priesthood leader. As far as support from those leaders went, the flesh was willing, but the spirit was...delegated. Excitement grew to disillusionment as nothing...ever...happened.
But it wasn't long before the disillusionment took the form of audacity as I, the aforementioned young mother, took matters into my own hands. I ordered a door plaque that read 'Mother's Room' that matched the door plaques on the other specially designated rooms in the building. I took my drill and my three young children to church one night and proceeded to screw the plaque onto the door. I moved all the classroom chairs out of the room and dragged two of the upholstered chairs from the foyer (one actually swiveled and rocked) into the room. Top it off with some lovely framed art stolen from the Relief Society room, and viola! Instant mother's room.
Through the grapevine, I learned that the High Priests Group Leader was considerably put out that someone had stolen his quorum's classroom and that he left a mean spirited note on the chalkboard for the mothers to read, but other than that, there were no inquisitions, no letters read from pulpits, no repercussions of any kind. I was prepared to repent if caught, but there never was a witch hunt to begin with. And much to my delight, when I went back to that church for a 20 year ward reunion...the room was still there as I had designed it, in all it's accomodating comfort and glory.
Viva la mama!
(Disclaimer: By no means does the author encourage or endorse the unauthorized altering or remodeling of any publicly or privately held property. My behavior was shameful and should not be emulated. Do not try this at home. Danger Will Robinson, danger!)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Last Sunday our Fast and Testimony meeting was one of those meetings where you don't want to get up when it's over, you just want the feeling to last forever. Fortunately, the spirit was carried throughout the rest of our classes and into the rest of that day's activities. It's really quite invigorating when that happens and you feel like you can do anything, and you probably would if that darn sun would just stay up a bit longer!
Conference weekends have the same effect.
I have long struggled with the unsustainability of such spiritual highs. Sometimes it can really bring me down, when despite my best efforts, the magic dosn't lasts long enough for me to do all that I'm inspired to do, in the manner I know God would have me do it.
So yesterday, when I took a day off work to spend more time ministering to my neighbors and my family, and after having the best experience ever (despite problems with auto technicians), I came to the end of the day with the same conundrum. So in an effort not to wake up the next morning bummed out about it, I said this prayer to God:
Dear Father,
Thank you for filling my day with opportunities to minister to my brothers and sisters here on earth. Thank you for letting me see the beauty that lives inside each individual, that comes from the light you have placed in their soul. Thank you for giving words to those around me that have edified and instructed. Thank you for expanding my heart to consider each moment for its true significance in terms of eternity. Thank you for this day...in all its perfection.
Please bless me, as I lay down to sleep and wake to a new morn, that I will not descend into despair when I realize that the unique blessings of this day do not carry over to the next. Please help me accept the hills with the valleys, the ordinary with the extraordinary, and the miraculous with the hum-drum.
But please, do not delay the forthcoming of the next chance to walk by your side, so that through your grace and that power alone, I may have another day of Heaven on earth.
Conference weekends have the same effect.
I have long struggled with the unsustainability of such spiritual highs. Sometimes it can really bring me down, when despite my best efforts, the magic dosn't lasts long enough for me to do all that I'm inspired to do, in the manner I know God would have me do it.
So yesterday, when I took a day off work to spend more time ministering to my neighbors and my family, and after having the best experience ever (despite problems with auto technicians), I came to the end of the day with the same conundrum. So in an effort not to wake up the next morning bummed out about it, I said this prayer to God:
Dear Father,
Thank you for filling my day with opportunities to minister to my brothers and sisters here on earth. Thank you for letting me see the beauty that lives inside each individual, that comes from the light you have placed in their soul. Thank you for giving words to those around me that have edified and instructed. Thank you for expanding my heart to consider each moment for its true significance in terms of eternity. Thank you for this day...in all its perfection.
Please bless me, as I lay down to sleep and wake to a new morn, that I will not descend into despair when I realize that the unique blessings of this day do not carry over to the next. Please help me accept the hills with the valleys, the ordinary with the extraordinary, and the miraculous with the hum-drum.
But please, do not delay the forthcoming of the next chance to walk by your side, so that through your grace and that power alone, I may have another day of Heaven on earth.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Save a buck, burn in hell
When I bought my laptop last year I picked up a floor model that was for sale. The sales clerk took it to the back to box it up for me and soon I was on my way to PC heaven. Not long after getting home, the store where I made the purchase called me to let me know that they accidentally put my laptop in the wrong box. Because of this mistake, I had been charged for Dell's more rudimentary model, but actually went home with the elaborate one. As they explained the situation.. I braced for the inevitable. "You owe us more money." But instead they humbly and pleadingly asked me to bring the box back to trade for the one that my computer actually belonged to, promising a big discount coupon on future purchases if I would be so kind. An unusual shopping experience yes, but by no means unpleasant.
Contrast that to what happened to me today. I ordered and paid for a set of four new tires last week. When I went to have them installed today, the "tire master" scrunched up his face as he looked at the sales slip, stammered a bit, and then informed me that they messed up and didn't charge me enough for the tires. He followed this announcement by stretching out his hand, requesting my card so he could ring up the difference. I smiled in reply and said "surely you're going to waive the difference, right?" Not so easy.
The manager was called down, he immediately sided with me. The tire master then, believe it or not, argued with the manager that I should be required to pay!!! (I know...I'll let you catch your breath and calm down....................ok, back to the story) So the manager looked at me and said "I'll let your conscience dictate what you should do, this is your personal decision." (I know...more shock and disbelief, I'll give you time.............................ok, back to the story.)
Of course, I don't give them the money. At that point I should have had them load the tires into the back of my van so I could take them somewhere where the technicians don't hate me, but instead I wait for them to do it. And wait, and wait and wait. Two hours later I learn that after our moment at the front desk, the tire master had left in a huff and his coworker was left there working the tire bay alone and at his own sweet pace. I watched as he would stop working on my van to take new customers, fulfill their orders, and then go back to my van.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, so in naivete, I walked across the store to the bakery and bought them a giant chocolate cake and set it on the front desk. Thirty minutes later he came out with my keys and wouldn't even look me in the eyes. I interrupted his icy, self-absorbed revery and asked "do you think I'm evil?" He returned "do you go to church every Sunday?" "Yes" I replied. "Then I think you're evil".
"So you won't accept my peace offering?" I followed. He picks up the cake and hands it to me across the desk. I then ask "do you go to church every Sunday?" His smug reply "no". You fill in what I should have said then, something like: "Well, if you did go to church they'd teach you not to judge people as evil based on one interaction with them." But instead, I just took my cake and walked out the door, feeling badgered and mystified. Did I just pay $500 to be treated like a doormat?
Contrast that to what happened to me today. I ordered and paid for a set of four new tires last week. When I went to have them installed today, the "tire master" scrunched up his face as he looked at the sales slip, stammered a bit, and then informed me that they messed up and didn't charge me enough for the tires. He followed this announcement by stretching out his hand, requesting my card so he could ring up the difference. I smiled in reply and said "surely you're going to waive the difference, right?" Not so easy.
The manager was called down, he immediately sided with me. The tire master then, believe it or not, argued with the manager that I should be required to pay!!! (I know...I'll let you catch your breath and calm down....................ok, back to the story) So the manager looked at me and said "I'll let your conscience dictate what you should do, this is your personal decision." (I know...more shock and disbelief, I'll give you time.............................ok, back to the story.)
Of course, I don't give them the money. At that point I should have had them load the tires into the back of my van so I could take them somewhere where the technicians don't hate me, but instead I wait for them to do it. And wait, and wait and wait. Two hours later I learn that after our moment at the front desk, the tire master had left in a huff and his coworker was left there working the tire bay alone and at his own sweet pace. I watched as he would stop working on my van to take new customers, fulfill their orders, and then go back to my van.
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, so in naivete, I walked across the store to the bakery and bought them a giant chocolate cake and set it on the front desk. Thirty minutes later he came out with my keys and wouldn't even look me in the eyes. I interrupted his icy, self-absorbed revery and asked "do you think I'm evil?" He returned "do you go to church every Sunday?" "Yes" I replied. "Then I think you're evil".
"So you won't accept my peace offering?" I followed. He picks up the cake and hands it to me across the desk. I then ask "do you go to church every Sunday?" His smug reply "no". You fill in what I should have said then, something like: "Well, if you did go to church they'd teach you not to judge people as evil based on one interaction with them." But instead, I just took my cake and walked out the door, feeling badgered and mystified. Did I just pay $500 to be treated like a doormat?
Friday, December 31, 2010
My Hero
After weeks of planning, shopping and baking, our Christmas countdown was no longer how many days ‘til Christmas but how many hours. The excitement was palpable. The whole family was brimming with joviality. Every one that is, except one little girl.
She, on the other hand, was discovered lying on the sofa whimpering, hot with fever. Why is it that ear infections always happen at the most inopportune times? Fortunately, one phone call later I discovered that the Spanish Fork Clinic was actually open on Christmas Eve. Hooray!!!
Soon we were sitting in the waiting room with a few other folks whose celebrations had also been interrupted by illness. Had we not been seen by the doctor so fast, I imagine that we all could have formed some sort of pathetic fellowship while sitting there. Our flag would have been made out of back issues of People magazine. Hail Brad and Angie!
But as it were, we were on our way out the door before we knew it and almost home when suddenly, out of my rearview mirror something caught my eye. A second glance revealed the smashed remains of my taillight flapping in the breeze. Someone had hit me in the parking lot of the clinic! Despair and frustration raced through my mind as my thoughts immediately took me back six months prior when the same taillight had been smashed out by a hit and run driver in the parking lot at Wal-Mart. I was instantly consumed with the thought of having to spend another couple hundred dollars to get it fixed… again.
I kissed joviality goodbye and headed back to the clinic for clues as to who the perpetrator was. Finding nothing to go on in the parking lot I went inside to ask the receptionist if anyone had reported seeing the accident. Much to my surprise, she produced a slip of paper with the name and number of the man who had slid on some ice and hit the back of my car while trying to park next to me. He was so apologetic and kind when I called and best of all…I didn’t have to pay another repair bill for someone else’s error.
His honesty and integrity has made him a hero to me ever since. Accountability has become an option to most people, and one rarely taken if ever. The real men and women left in our world carry the torch of accountability alone. “ Good men are bound by conscience and liberated by accountability. Dignity is the reward of holding oneself accountable to conscience.” Wes Fessler
I will probably never meet him and I’ve already forgotten his name, but to me he will always be handsome. He will always be strong. He will always be a hero.
She, on the other hand, was discovered lying on the sofa whimpering, hot with fever. Why is it that ear infections always happen at the most inopportune times? Fortunately, one phone call later I discovered that the Spanish Fork Clinic was actually open on Christmas Eve. Hooray!!!
Soon we were sitting in the waiting room with a few other folks whose celebrations had also been interrupted by illness. Had we not been seen by the doctor so fast, I imagine that we all could have formed some sort of pathetic fellowship while sitting there. Our flag would have been made out of back issues of People magazine. Hail Brad and Angie!
But as it were, we were on our way out the door before we knew it and almost home when suddenly, out of my rearview mirror something caught my eye. A second glance revealed the smashed remains of my taillight flapping in the breeze. Someone had hit me in the parking lot of the clinic! Despair and frustration raced through my mind as my thoughts immediately took me back six months prior when the same taillight had been smashed out by a hit and run driver in the parking lot at Wal-Mart. I was instantly consumed with the thought of having to spend another couple hundred dollars to get it fixed… again.
I kissed joviality goodbye and headed back to the clinic for clues as to who the perpetrator was. Finding nothing to go on in the parking lot I went inside to ask the receptionist if anyone had reported seeing the accident. Much to my surprise, she produced a slip of paper with the name and number of the man who had slid on some ice and hit the back of my car while trying to park next to me. He was so apologetic and kind when I called and best of all…I didn’t have to pay another repair bill for someone else’s error.
His honesty and integrity has made him a hero to me ever since. Accountability has become an option to most people, and one rarely taken if ever. The real men and women left in our world carry the torch of accountability alone. “ Good men are bound by conscience and liberated by accountability. Dignity is the reward of holding oneself accountable to conscience.” Wes Fessler
I will probably never meet him and I’ve already forgotten his name, but to me he will always be handsome. He will always be strong. He will always be a hero.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Jet Lag...minus the Jet
More and more I am convinced that it's not the size of the trial, but the longevity of it. Make it hard, make it ugly, but please...make it fast!
"Endure to the end". Maybe I've just missed it, but in my accounting, there hasn't been a whole lot of time dedicated in preaching those four words even though it seems like they get tagged on to the end of many an admonition from God.
As an example: "Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life." 2 Nephi 31:20
Countless sermons on hope, love, feasting on the word...not so many on the enduring part.
It's really almost too depressing to write about. The fact that trials can last F O R E V E R, or at least feel that way. That's why we are so fond of Doctrine and Covenants 121:7 "My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment..."
Small moment = good. All your waking moments = bad.
I guess we need to reset our clocks to God's time zone, cause we have some serious spiritual jet-lag. I don't know about you, but I get tired of my trials way too soon. I want to put them to bed yesterday.
I think we all see the punch line coming on this one: Always just assume it's going to last forever, right? When it turns out to be brief, we get to be pleasantly surprised. But if it drags on forever ...then no biggie, we were expecting that.
Mental health professionals have already come up with a thought process to help people acclimate to the latter. They call it "the new normal". When, against your dreams, hopes and wishes, your life has been irreversably altered for the worse, there comes a time when you have to stop searching for your old life, or waiting to feel "normal" again. You have to embrace your new normal and move on.
"Endure to the end". Maybe I've just missed it, but in my accounting, there hasn't been a whole lot of time dedicated in preaching those four words even though it seems like they get tagged on to the end of many an admonition from God.
As an example: "Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life." 2 Nephi 31:20
Countless sermons on hope, love, feasting on the word...not so many on the enduring part.
It's really almost too depressing to write about. The fact that trials can last F O R E V E R, or at least feel that way. That's why we are so fond of Doctrine and Covenants 121:7 "My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment..."
Small moment = good. All your waking moments = bad.
I guess we need to reset our clocks to God's time zone, cause we have some serious spiritual jet-lag. I don't know about you, but I get tired of my trials way too soon. I want to put them to bed yesterday.
I think we all see the punch line coming on this one: Always just assume it's going to last forever, right? When it turns out to be brief, we get to be pleasantly surprised. But if it drags on forever ...then no biggie, we were expecting that.
Mental health professionals have already come up with a thought process to help people acclimate to the latter. They call it "the new normal". When, against your dreams, hopes and wishes, your life has been irreversably altered for the worse, there comes a time when you have to stop searching for your old life, or waiting to feel "normal" again. You have to embrace your new normal and move on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)