Author: Angela

I write so my family will always have letters from home.

Know Who You Are

The young women and their leaders in my congregation are at girls’ camp this week. Their camp theme is “Know who you are,” which I didn’t realize was a Moana thing until after I made this display for them. As I compiled these quotes, I saw that the scriptures have a whole lot more to say about who Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are than who we are. This is another religious paradox: we don’t learn who we are by focusing on ourselves. Instead, a knowledge of God is essential to know who we are and who we can become.

Some of what I found in my study isn’t popular. I felt myself having to draw some courage to write one of the quotes. This message from Sister Bonnie Oscarson, General Young Women president, helped me:

I worry that we live in such an atmosphere of avoiding offense that we sometimes altogether avoid teaching correct principles. We fail to teach our young women that preparing to be a mother is of utmost importance because we don’t want to offend those who aren’t married or those who can’t have children, or to be seen as stifling future choices. On the other hand, we may also fail to emphasize the importance of education because we don’t want to send the message that it is more important than marriage. We avoid declaring that our Heavenly Father defines marriage as being between a man and woman because we don’t want to offend those who experience same-sex attraction. And we may find it uncomfortable to discuss gender issues or healthy sexuality.

Certainly, sisters, we need to use sensitivity, but let us also use our common sense and our understanding of the plan of salvation to be bold and straightforward when it comes to teaching our children and youth the essential gospel principles they must understand to navigate the world in which they live. If we don’t teach our children and youth true doctrine—and teach it clearly—the world will teach them Satan’s lies.

Whirlwind Trip

We had a picnic in the mountains with Richard’s family. We visited our neighbors in Sahuarita, surprised Paige’s dance teacher, and walked around the desert museum. We saw our old house. We toured the Tucson Temple with Maria and her family. And then we came home. Phew!

Offering

I have watched children place offerings on teachers’ desks: smudged notes of thanks, treats, and drawings. They hope that their teachers will be pleased. I have placed my attempts to write, make calculations, balance reactions, and identify terms and anatomy on many desks. I always hoped I would get an A.

Other offerings I collect for a different Teacher. I place before him my poor attempt to give food to a young homeless person. She didn’t want the food I handed her, and she asked for cash to buy organic food instead. “My body is a temple. I don’t eat crappy food,” she said with defiance, pointing to her cavernous waist. When I tried to talk to her, she turned her back on me and said, “You can’t help me. Go on and have a nice day.” Unsure, I left her without speaking again, the cash (Can I truly call it mine?) still in my purse, and the food still in my hand. Was it judgment based on a substance on her breath that made me leave? Was it her challenge to my motives and level of charity? Was it because I had my family with me that I felt enough courage to approach her? Did she read fear or judgment in my eyes? Was my attempt really more like the priest’s and Levite’s, even though I didn’t physically cross to the other side of the road to avoid her?

This was a mangled offering, bruised and imperfect. I didn’t feed her. She was right. As I am now, and as she is now, I can’t help her. Somehow, my efforts made her hate me. There are no grades given in efforts like this. Instead, I must wait to see what my teacher will make from my attempt.

As I allow his lessons from this event to rest in me, I feel tender, aware of my shortcomings, and awakened to more suffering in others. Maybe this new heart and the memory of her eyes will help me navigate better next time. Extending the parable, how many times did the Good Samaritan try to help people before he was successful? Was his process to become a selfless servant just as awkward as mine?

He had a good teacher, that is certain– one who could make him just what a fellow traveler needed him to be. I will keep laying my imperfect offerings at the feet of this teacher, and depend on his grace to make me equal to lifting my own wounded stranger. I want that, even if I never know I have done it.

Cherry Tree

Outside my kitchen window, in my neighbor’s yard is a large, mature cherry tree. In the spring, its white blossoms dominate my view. After a foggy winter night, I will awaken to its bare branches swathed in white frost. After the hush of a snowstorm, every twig carries a deposit of snow, highlighting the intricacy of its design. In summer, the filtered light through its leaves at sunrise and bright red cherries are my delights. In autumn, its leaves are some of the last to fall among the trees in the neighborhood.

Today there are green cherries all over the tree. In my view of so much emerald green, my mind struggles to remember the more harsh views of winter. My memory feels feeble and ungrateful as I try to remember what it was like to look out the window just a few months ago. Winter is beautiful, but when the leaves are out, it’s hard to remember that there was a winter.

I drive my truck around the neighborhood, with several simple birthday gifts for Relief Society sisters on the seat next to me. I could easily walk this route, but I want to finish my errands quickly. The more noble part of me wants to knock on the doors to give the women the carefully wrapped gifts and cards written with my heart. The shy part of me wonders whether I should just leave the gifts on the doorsteps and avoid knocking. After all, this week’s demands have been great. Perhaps I have given enough. But then I remember the tree outside my window.

How many times has this tree blessed my life? How many times has it provided fruit and shade in the summer? How many cold seasons has it weathered, to live to amaze us with its unrestrained display of white flowers? How many times has its presence been enough to inspire me, in frost, in heat, sunshine, and storms?

I knock on the doors. I can be like this tree.

Worth the time?

A pretty house near Weber State campus that I saw on my walk during Daniel’s SAT exam.

What is the value of a minute in a day? Some of the most important words and acts in our lives take less than a minute to accomplish. What is the value of a few more minutes, consistently given each day to a cause or a goal? An hour devoted to something every day adds up quickly to a good measure of who we are and what we accomplish.

This way of looking at time opens my mind to so many possibilities. Even if I can only give 10 minutes a day to something, over a week, that is better than not trying because I think 10 minutes isn’t enough.

We become who we are by the things we do. Our faith, fears, weaknesses, responsibilities, obligations, and bodies compete for attention as we make decisions about our time. I have learned the value of down time, of play time, and time for serious study and effort. I have also learned the value of morning hours for accomplishing big things.

I have given a lot of faith and time to allow people into our lives on this blog. Maybe it’s just entertainment to people, and not a means of feeling connected, as it is for me. As the years go by, there is less about the kids and more about me in the posts. They need their privacy as they grow up. I don’t blame anyone for giving up reading. I don’t need much attention, but I want to do something that matters to someone beyond myself. I am beginning to feel writing this blog is not worth the time it takes to do it. This post has taken an hour, interrupted by a conversation with Mark and some morning tasks. A really “good” post takes a few hours. Surely more things could have been accomplished if I hadn’t done this, but it’s not without value to me personally.

A small solution

These coasters make me happy because they are pretty and they will help us not run out of water glasses by 10 am every day this summer. I searched many fine stores over the years for coasters I liked, but finally found these at Walmart this week. I placed a name on each coaster and now we are officially ready for summer. That is all for today.

You get a car… and you get a car!

We learned very quickly that having four drivers, three jobs, and three schools was a real challenge in logistics for our family, so we bought another car. It’s like an episode of Oprah here. Not that I really watched that, but you know what I mean.

Richard finished work on our PUP trailer (notice my lingo) this weekend.

I re-shelved the school books on Friday through teary eyes. I will face the clean-out of elementary school books someday.

Daniel and Timothy have a penchant for finding funny YouTube videos to show our family, especially at bedtime when we all need to be doing other things.

Paige, the sous chef, is back and I love the company in the kitchen. Mark still excels at muffins and other breads. Timothy, growing tall rapidly, lingers at the stove each night, watching things simmer, pitifully hungry, asking when dinner will be served.

Timothy pines for a smart phone and refuses to carry his dumb/non-smart phone. No problem; every other human has one he can use to call home. Slight problem: we can’t get a hold of him. Timothy has always been very smart and determined. He will probably win soon. Don’t tell him that.

I am in the middle of reading 5 books again. I find this is the magic number of what I can’t handle. I look at the stack, can’t decide what to read, throw my hands in the air, and take a nap instead.

Memorial Day weekend was simply the most beautiful and perfect I have ever enjoyed. The weather, the neighbors’ yards, the flags at every house in sight, the memories, the neighbors’ children and grandchildren playing in the cul-de-sac, and good food made it wonderful. I spent an afternoon reading and napping beneath our trees. I love how our neighborhood comes alive this time of year.

Things I loved about last week:

  • going out for pizza with Mark and Paige
  • watching BBC’s War and Peace
  • discovering the Great British Baking show master classes
  • giving some time for a stranger and making a new friend
  • driving in a clean car
  • having a clean mud room and school room
  • helping my boys assemble furniture
  • planning adventures this summer