Neglectful but not Disobedient

Oprah’s coming to SC in December to campaign for Obama. Did you know that? Yep, it’s true, and apparently there are a lot of people who are in a dither about it. Can Oprah, one of the most influential  women in the world, convince undecided South Carolinians to vote for her friend, a man who reportedly won’t pledge allegiance to the American flag? Oh, and there’s more news. The State’s editorial board isn’t too happy about the Supreme Court modifying the Bar exam AFTER the fact, thus allowing 20 people who had failed to pass. Then there’s the wife of former Governor McNair, Josephine, who died a mere eight days after her husband. According to the newspaper, she was quite a gracious and beloved First Lady.

Why am I filling you in on the news that I learned yesterday? Because I think you might be in the same boat that I am, neglectful but not disobedient. Shortly after reading the newspaper, skimming a magazine, and checking out the latest on MSN.com, I picked up the November Ensign, a church publication, and read a great conference talk by Elder Keith K. Hilbig. Based on Paul’s admonition to “Quench not the Spirit,” Elder Hilbig’s address said that anything that diverts us from the straight and narrow path can dull our sensitivity to the promptings of the Spirit.

“Yes, yes, I know that already,” I thought, but then I came across a question that stopped me in my tracks: “Do I read newspaper religiously but find it difficult to read scriptures daily?” I DO read something from the scriptures daily, but to be perfectly honest, I spend more time reading other things.  I’m going to change that because I believe Elder Hilbig’s promise that, “Whatever level of spiritual development each of us may presently have, there always exists a higher level within our reach.” I want to reach that higher level, don’t you?

Elder Hilbig closes his presentation with a reminder to “quench not the Spirit through disobedience or neglect.” I’ve been neglectful but not disobedient. By that I mean that I don’t lie, cheat, steal, commit adultery, or murder. I try to love my neighbor as myself, do good deeds now and then, and give a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. But do I read and ponder the scriptures as much as I do other materials? No, I’ve been neglectful.

Fine or Jail?

Does this strike anyone else as being a little odd? On the way to work this morning, I was listening to the morning news and caught this little item about the increasing numbers of people arrested for “aggressive begging,” defined by the newscaster as out and out asking for money. Here’s the paradoxical part. The punishment for such behavior is either spending 30 days in jail or paying a $500 fine. I was thinking that the former might not necessarily be a bad thing; the mendicant would be warm, fed, sheltered, and free of the need to beg. The latter? Well, that just seems preposterous. How can a person pay a fine so high when he or she can’t even buy a hamburger from Wendy’s without assistance?

I could go on and on about this and related topics (trust me), but I won’t. However, if you get me started with a comment of your own, then….

Happy Birthday Senor Guapo

Today is my son’s birthday, and I still marvel at his birth and life. Well meaning “friends” hinted that perhaps I was too old to have another baby. Certain family members wondered aloud if perhaps I didn’t already have enough on my plate. I KNEW, however, that I was meant to have another baby and that things would be fine for all parties. I well remember the afternoon when an adjunct psychology instructor with whom I had been sharing some of my “older mother” concerns put a positive twist on everything when he said, “This is going to be a special baby, one that will complete your life and be the child for your old age…the one to keep you young.”

Although the pregnancy was uneventful, there were some scary uncertain days around 11 weeks. Then there were the crazy things I did like participating in three 10Ks despite extreme heat.  And in those days, I was into running to set personal records, not jogging and walking for pleasure and exercise. Still, this tough baby hung on despite his mother’s strenuous activities and advanced age and was born on a beautiful Saturday morning. Even then, however, we weren’t “out of the woods” since there were some challenges because of the umbilical cord. As I’ve mentioned already, he was destined to be here, and I knew things would be fine.

The night of the 18^th was a miserable one for me. Tossing and turning, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable and finally moved to the baby’s newly set-up room to catch a few zzzzz’s. About 3:00 o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by that familiar sensation of a contraction. “Can’t be,” I thought. “The baby isn’t due for two more weeks.” Fully awake, I tried to lie there calmly to see if this was a false alarm, and in about five minutes it happened again. I can still remember feeling excited, almost electrified with joy, because I knew and the baby knew (sort of) that the drama was about to unfold, and no one else knew. All were sleeping peacefully.

I finally awakened my husband and off to the hospital we went. When I heard the words, “It’s a boy,” I could hardly believe it, and yet there he was, all eight pounds and seven ounces of him. We had decided on Benjamin Paul for a boy’s name, but when his dad took his newborn son to the nursery and heard the nurse say, “Ah, look at little Benjie,” he quickly changed Paul to the first name.

Names are important, and although we had thought about naming him John Edward after both grandfathers, somehow that name lacked the zing and sound we wanted. I asked my friend June what some of her favorite boys’ names were, and she said she’d always liked Benjamin. Me too! After thinking about what would sound good with Benjamin, we decided on Paul. His dad and I were in agreement that we wanted a strong name, one that would underscore this child’s individuality.  Both of his names are those of people we admire from the scriptures, Paul of New Testament fame and King Benjamin from the Book of Mormon.

A bouncing baby boy no longer, this fine young man has served a two-year mission in Mexico and is an exceptional college student, a senior. This seems as good a time as any to remind him that he was meant to be here and that he has a special destiny.

P.S. to Seasonal Philanthropy

Earlier this week I vowed to do something a little out of the ordinary in the giving department every day in the hope that it would become habit. After all it is ThanksGIVING week. So far, my efforts have been (in my opinion) a little puny. Sure, I’ve opened a few doors for people, treated my daughter to some birthday goodies, visited a sick friend a couple of times, given a few compliments…the usual stuff. However, I’m a little disappointed in myself in that I haven’t really sacrificed or gone beyond the “regular” activities.

Upon leaving the hospital after visiting my father-in-law this evening, I got my BIG idea. There in the elevator was a poster about a Red Cross Blood Drive on Wednesday the 21st. “Give the gift of life,” it said. “That’s it,” I thought. “That’s my chance to ‘put my money where my mouth is’ and do some real giving.” For those of you who are regular donors, you need to realize that I’m a person who feels weak just thinking about needles and who nearly fainted the one and only time she gave blood.  However, I have a rare bloodtype, B negative, and I’m always being reminded of how needed it is. Usually, I ignore such statements and rationalize that there are others who are braver than I, including a brother, a sister, and a daughter.

None of my paltry giving efforts of the past few days compare even remotely to giving blood. I’ll be there on the 21st. What about the rest of you guys and gals? How are your giving efforts coming along?

Count Your Many Blessings

In the words of Howard W. Hunter, “As we approach this Thanksgiving, we should be grateful for the goodness of the Lord to us. Every day should be a day of thanksgiving.” 

In an effort to be even more aware of my many blessings from above, I’m going to begin this special Thanksgiving week by enumerating a few of the things I’m especially grateful for. My hope is that you’ll do the same, and that by our joint efforts, we’ll all be a little more inspired and aware of all the good stuff in our lives.

For starters:
Music, especially Christmas hymns like “Carol of the Bells.”
The caramel color of the half bath; it’s so luscious looking.
Words…like turquoise and stellar and williwaw.
The hugs I gave and received from loved ones this week…and the ones I anticipate this coming week.
The yummy Ghirardelli chocolate brownies I baked earlier today.
The gospel of Jesus Christ and the peace it brings.

Okay, it’s your turn. Please post something that you’re especially grateful for.

Tea Cake, Diamond, and Baby Faith

I’m on a roll today. I keep thinking of things I want to write about and have to do it before I forget what they are and how strongly I feel about them.

Some friends of mine and I started a book club about three years ago, and it really took off, in a manner of speaking. About three months in, however, a member chose a book that some people found a little risqué, and those folks stopped coming. At first I was a little perplexed about how someone could read the Bible with all of the tales of adultery, incest, greed, and murder, and be offended by a liaison between two single people. But whatever…I got over it (sort of). In any case, it’s a story for another day.

Today I’m on fire with some information that I heard on a CD with commentary about Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. You see, at our initial meeting we decided that one of our guidelines was that we were going to read fiction and only fiction. All of us read so much nonfiction because of our jobs and other responsibilities that we wanted stories about people past and present, old and young, rich and poor. It’s been quite an adventure for all of us. We’ve read classics such as Pride and Prejudice, children’s books like Because of Winn Dixie, and thought provoking books like The Screwtape Letters. There’s no need to go on and on about our literary feast. Suffice it to say that we’ve been fed, both by the books and by our shared discussions.

Back to our choice to stick to fiction. Some members decided not to stay with the group because in their words, “Life’s too short to read fiction.” Sad, I thought, when I considered all of the many characters I’ve come to know over the years. However, I haven’t really been able to articulate what it is exactly that describes why fiction is so marvelous…until today.

As I listened to the commentary on the Fahrenheit 451 CD, one of the speakers, Orson Scott Card, spoke the words I’ve been searching for. He said that every society in the world values fictional storytelling. Even people who don’t want to read the stories often enjoy movies or television. He didn’t discount the value of nonfiction at all, but he did say that the truth of fiction and nonfiction are very different. How? When you read nonfiction (or write it), then that writing remains true only until more information is discovered that can wipe out the “facts” of your journalism or scientific inquiry. With fiction, however, such is not the case because there are no new facts. Everything about the story is contained within its pages. No matter whether we like or dislike the ending of a story or book, we can’t add anything to it.  As Card said on the CD, the authority of the author of a work of fiction is absolute.

That’s deep, isn’t it? On pretty much a daily basis, I’ll read something in a textbook, newspaper, magazine, or online and wonder just how accurate it is or just how biased the author appears. You know what I’m talking about because we’ve all had the same experience! Quick case in point. For years, there was nothing new in personality theory, and now we have the Big Five (I’m serious about that for those of you who are a little skeptical). The term IQ was considered quite important a few years ago and now there’s Goleman’s emotional intelligence and Gardner’s multiple intelligences.

As I’ve been thinking about the “facts” that I’ve read and studied, I’ve also been thinking about the books we’ve read in our book club these years. When Janie had to shoot Tea Cake at the end of Their Eyes Were Watching God, it sort of made my heart hurt. She really loved him, but what choice did she have? When Skip had to give up baby Faith in Blessings, I was a little down. Why couldn’t he keep the baby, marry Jennifer, and live happily ever after at Blessings? We all hated that Diamond died in Wish You Well, but Baldacci is the final authority on that. We were all happy that Pi and Richard Parker made it to Mexico in Life of Pi, and sometimes I think about Pi and his wife and children living a “regular” life and sort of smile to myself. He deserves it after his ordeal!

I hope you can understand what I’m trying to convey. Reading stories, long and short, is much, much more than escaping real life. It is real life, true life.

Can You Hear Me?

My friend Telene is one of the most spiritual people that I know, and she gave a great talk on Sunday that I’ve been thinking about ever since. She related a “real life” situation to our prayer experiences, and it was SO GOOD that I thought it was worth sharing with my web friends.

One day Telene got a call from her daughter Nicole who was upset and really needed to talk to her mother. At some point during the conversation, Nicole realized that Telene wasn’t responding and said something like, “Mom, I can’t hear you. Are you there??? I really need to talk to you! Are you there?” Although Telene could hear her daughter clearly and distinctly, apparently Nicole’s reception was virtually nonexistent. Realizing that it was fruitless to continue talking to Nicole to reassure her that she was listening, Telene hung up and texted (is that proper English?) her. While I don’t recall the exact words, they were something akin to, “I am here, and I can hear you. Please continue talking to me, and whenever you hang up, I’ll text you back or call you later.”

Telene said that as she was sending that text message to Nicole, she suddenly thought of the parallel between that sitation and ours when we attempt to communicate with God. He is always there, and He hears us perfectly well. However, we can’t always hear Him, and we might frantically wonder, “Are You there? Can You hear me? I really just need to talk to You.” Of course, He’s there and is aware of our pleadings, requests, woes, heartaches, decisions, and worries. Sooner or later, we’ll hear from Him, and while it might not be in the form of a text message, we’ll get our answers nonetheless.

Seasonal Belch of Philanthropy?

I love this time of year! If that sounds a little trite, sorry about that. As I was thinking about Thanksgiving and the multitudinous (yes, that many) things that I have to be thankful for, I also thought about the last part of that word, the “giving” part. While I know that Lincoln set aside the fourth Thursday in November as a specific day in which Americans could gather and thank their Creator for His generous beneficence, tonight I’m concentrating on giving, not just on giving thanks but on giving in general.

A few years ago I read an editorial that contained the phrase “seasonal belch of philanthropy.” I recall staring at the words and actually feeling somewhat offended by them. Why? Because they rang true. There’s just something about this season that makes me feel a little kinder, generous, and more tolerant. But why does it just have to last for a few weeks? Why does it have to be a “seasonal belch” that begins fading on December 26^th and pretty much disappears by March?

I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I’ve decided that beginning tomorrow, I’m going to be more purposely giving everyday. I will consciously seek opportunities to speak encouraging words, pay compliments, smile, buy lunch for a friend, or better yet, buy a stranger’s lunch who happens to be behind me in a drive through. Maybe if I do it often enough and long enough, my philanthropy won’t be seasonal.

What about you? Will you join me on this “mission?” Maybe we could share our stories at day’s end.

Get Used to It, Rich

Funny story. At least I think it is, and I think that any seasoned parent will agree. A couple of weeks ago, my 4-year-old grandson Braden went on a field trip to a raptor site. His mother and his two sisters usually accompany him and his class on these excursions, but this time my son-in-law decided to go instead. Rich arranged to take the day off and was excitedly looking forward to going with Braden on this little trip.

The excitement began to wane a little when the bus and car caravan didn’t begin at the stroke of 8:30. Permission slips had to be checked, and every child’s needs had to be attended to. A little annoyed, Rich called Carrie to share his frustration at the delay, and she assured him that this was par for the course. Okay, so picture this. Everyone’s ready to load up and move out, but wait, there’s Braden boarding the bus with his buddies while Rich is waiting by the family car. He goes over to Braden to ask him if he’ll ride in the car with him, and the little tyke says no. He wants to ride with his friends and is quite adamant about it. The raptors were an hour away, and all that time Rich drove behind the bus, somewhat incredulous that this child preferred his friends to Daddy.

Although it isn’t all that funny (yes it is!), I can identify with Rich, and I want to say to him, “Get used to it!” One day you have this adorable baby who can’t even crawl yet or feed himself or talk, and then you turn around, and he’s riding with his comrades while you’re following behind. It will only get worse (my 24-year-old is spending Thanksgiving with his girlfriend’s family), so enjoy Braden and his sisters NOW before they get farther and farther away.

I looked up “On Children” by Kahlil Gibran and am sharing part of it with Rich and all of the other left behind parents out there.

“Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.”

Pretty sobering stuff. True too.

Happy Birthday EPC

Nice, huh? This is the lovely face of my daughter Elizabeth that greets me everytime I get a call from her. Aren’t cell phones great? Today is Lib’s birthday, and I thought I’d share a little about the special day she was born and the great young woman that she has become. 

 The day of November 13 had been a long and uneventful (as far as babies were concerned) one. Throughout the day my mother had asked several times, “Are you sure you feel okay?” Now that I’m a grandmother myself, I can well understand her concern, especially since the baby was two weeks overdue. During a shopping expedition the week before, I had even fallen off of a curb onto the hard sidewalk, but still no baby. She just wasn’t ready to make her arrival.

Late on the evening of the 13th, my mother and I were watching the evening news when she insisted that I awaken my husband and that we rush to the hospital. Although I wasn’t that uncomfortable YET, I complied with her request, mainly to mollify her. My mother stayed behind to care for our other daughter and later declared that she didn’t close her eyes until she received the call telling her that her daughter and granddaughter were both doing well. I recall that the night was warm and balmy and that I felt a little foolish about going to the hospital when I wasn’t even in labor.

 We arrived about midnight, and shortly thereafter, my sweet baby decided it was time to make her move. At 3:08 a.m., she entered the world with a strong cry, and as soon as I heard it, the doctor pronounced, “It’s a girl.” He noticed that I was crying and said in a somewhat reprimanding tone of voice, “I hope you’re not crying over the sex of your baby!” “No,” I replied. “I’m crying because it’s a baby, and she’s so perfect.” Within moments, her father had cradled her in his arms and brought her up close to my face so that I could get a good look at my little daughter. I touched her tiny cheek and have never forgotten the hot, soft, “aliveness” of her. It was incredible…like a rose petal.

Her father and I had talked about names, but we didn’t finally decide upon one until we saw Lib’s face. We knew then that there was nothing else more appropriate than Elizabeth, a name that (to us) symbolized beauty, strength, and grace. It was a perfect choice, for today she is a poised, beautiful, strong young woman who blesses the lives of all around her. Happy Birthday, EPC!