Life according to Angela – Page 81

4,616 questions answered

I finished a substantial goal last Friday: I finished my study of the Gospels by answering all 4,616 questions from Julie M. Smith’s book, Search, Ponder, and Pray: A Guide to the Gospels. My goal was one page per day. Some days this took me 15 minutes. Other days this took me hours. I began on January 1 and finished on November 6. Who knew that my study of the New Testament would include looking up and pondering so many Old Testament scriptures? Who knew that I would love the Gospel of Mark best because it made me want to get out and help people all the time? Matthew nearly killed me, and John always makes me breathless with its depth. Did you know that there were efforts to combine all the Gospels into one account in the early Christian church? I am thankful for the distinct voices of the Gospels.

I was at my “desk” at the kitchen table most of the day to celebrate my birthday by finishing my goal. It was Richard’s gift to me and my gift to myself.

This is the answer to the final question of Julie’s book that I wrote out on my precious day.

Q: How has your testimony changed as a result of studying the Gospels?

A: My testimony of Christ has grown as I’ve focused on the Gospels this year. I’ve seen the Savior in greater dimension. I have felt inspired to be more like him. My study of the Gospels has drawn my heart out to others instead of making me rigid in my appraisal of them. I’ve appreciated the women’s voices and influence in the NT. I’ve appreciated the disciples’ honesty in how they did not understand the doctrine even with Jesus in their midst, but understanding came to them later, a gift from our Father in Heaven. I feel like I know Jesus better; that I can see more clearly how he would handle situations in the world today. He was more than “Love,” although he was its personification; He was more than doctrine, although he preached it and represented it without fear. He didn’t stand for inclusion in a worldly sense, but through his completion of the Atonement, he is the ultimate instrument of inclusion for all of God’s children. I am changed by my study. I won’t remember all of the details, but I am not the same person that I was when I began.

To the Rescue with Children

This week I am in charge of a funeral luncheon and there are several sisters in poor health in my congregation. I was trying to think of how to meet so many needs and I remembered this adventure from my memoir project. I’m grateful that our children are old enough to take care of themselves this week!

To the Rescue with Children, 2003

Our phone rang almost all of the time during the years that I served as the president of the Relief Society in my church in Austin. On this day in 2003, the call was from a woman who needed me to pick up her son from school because he was sick. She was a bus ride away from home and had no way to pick him up. Her son lived with many disabilities and I was on the list of people who had permission to pick him up from school.

I looked down at my three young children, ages a few months to age 6. How was I going to pick up this boy with all of these kids in tow? I had many people who helped watch the children during these years, but finding a sitter wasn’t always possible. Today I didn’t have time to call around for help; the boy needed to be picked up right away. I loaded the kids into the van and drove to the high school.

It was a cool, blank-skied Texas spring afternoon with some rain. My mind dashed among the incompatible players in this situation. Should I bring the kids into the school? I couldn’t believe that this was a good idea. I needed both of my hands to help the boy to the car. What if he was angry and unwilling to come with me? I tried to shield my children from a lot of the anger and grief I saw as I did my Relief Society work. The cool rain gently spattered the windshield as I pulled into the school, still with no solution.

I looked at my children in the rear view mirror and spied a blanket in the back seat. As I gathered up baby Timothy I told Paige and Daniel, ages six and three to hide under the blanket while I was gone. I didn’t want anyone to notice the abandoned children in our van. This was not a smart solution. But it was all I could do. Any other solution would have meant leaving them alone for a longer period of time. I didn’t worry about their safety as much as what people might think if they saw them. I became a mother in the early years of the attachment parenting movement which evolved into helicopter parenting. The cultural reflex to judge a parent harshly when children are seen alone, even in a cool car with its doors locked, caused me more angst than was helpful for the kids.

Those ten minutes while I collected the boy from school were filled with guilt and frustration. I was relieved that he didn’t need to be coaxed into coming with me because he was interested in the baby I had tied against me in a sling.

My children probably remember my work with this family because I would abandon them to do it. “Play in this tree while I go inside this house, kids,” and, “Hide under this blanket while I go and fetch this boy from the high school,” and “Have fun with Grandma and Dad while I go for a visit!” I hope that I was able to frame these maneuvers as adventures to them.

This art makes me feel like I’m not cutting corners, and it expresses how I feel about drivers ed

This is my 13th year of home schooling. I only have one student now, but that has its own challenges. It’s harder to be fun with just one kid. I’m 13 years older, too. When we finish our subjects and tasks, I’m am usually out the door or in the kitchen doing something for Relief Society. Driving the older boys to and from school, Frisbee practice, piano lessons, and performances takes additional time. This is why I am thankful for Mark’s art teacher Renon. She supplements Mark’s education in a beautiful way. We are still waiting for Daniel’s drivers ed teacher to issue the final certificate so he can get his license. Every day of this delay is literally hours of driving for me. Here is a painting of how long this process feels like it is taking:

Bells, piano keys, hymns, Relief Society, symphony, art, and black socks

It was a week of music for our family. We watched Daniel play in his first bell choir concert. His current bell assignment is to play some of the big bass bells. He says playing these bells is like pouring out a full gallon of milk with each note, your wrist and forearms carefully managing the weight. In other words, they are heavy. I felt Christmas drift through the air as they played, even though these weren’t Christmas pieces. December will be a busy month for bells and they will be playing at Temple Square. I am really looking forward to that.

The boys had a piano recital. Daniel played Preludium in E minor by Felix Mendelssohn. Timothy played Little Story by Sergei Prokofieff. Mark played Etude in A minor by Dmitri Kabalevsky. (Like those names mean anything…) I know the pieces just by the tunes. I rarely learn the names and composers, but I sing along in my head to every piece, well-learned by echoes moving through the house at all hours.

I did Relief Society things. Lots of that, but the specific lessons I am learning and the heartache and loneliness that I am exposed to is part of a private journey that I am taking with some sisters. We can all be more aware of, prayerful, and helpful to others.

In general, I spoke at a Relief Society meeting, participated in a ward council meeting, and presented specific ways to involve women in decisions and discussions and how to improve in ministering to others; I also counseled with the Bishop in a private meeting. I wrote, helped set up tables, washed linens, baked, and cooked. I texted, wrote letters, and talked on the phone. I hugged people who were crying and received counsel about how to do things better. I visited a sister late one night. I listened and admired. I thought hard and made plans. I used my calligraphy skills. I drew strength from scripture study and prayer and hugs from Richard. Please don’t think I am bragging. I am painting a picture of our life. I am not unique in what I do.

On Saturday Richard and I joined my sister Sarah and her husband Bryan for dinner at Lamb’s and the symphony.

Daniel played the organ in church on Sunday. A sister on our row in church lifted her infant son dressed in a flannel shirt and I remembered Daniel at that age wearing a flannel shirt. I looked at the contrast between this infant and Daniel at the organ and marveled at the time that has passed without effort. I held that tall young man in my arms not so long ago.

We visited Paige for a few minutes on Sunday night and as always I asked to see some of her art. This was one of her doodles-in-progress, not for an art class. She is critical of it, but there is LIFE in this drawing. I had to share it.

Also, even her scrap pieces of paper with color gradations and paint mixes could be hung on the wall. I smile every time I visit the dorms because the windows and walls are more decorated each time. Twinkle lights, banners, flags representing mission calls to other countries, and little touches of homemaking are creeping into each unit.

And finally, there is Timothy, who goes to school in the dark early hours for jazz band practice. I bought him some new black shoes and black socks to wear with shorts because that’s what you wear now, at least in middle school. It looked strange at first, like they forgot to change out of their dress socks, but I’m good with it now.

Oh, and Halloween is this Saturday and Mark and I have not made any progress on his costume. Aaack!

This post might be TMI but I don’t feel like editing out pieces of our story today like I usually do.

I made cookies

I made these cookies yesterday because I wanted to. I took pictures because it’s a rare treat for me to sit down and decorate fancy cookies. The temple cookies are decorated with royal icing but the autumn cookies have buttercream frosting which isn’t pretty but tastes so much better.

My faithful companion

I felt sluggish today so I hitched a ride on Mark’s enthusiasm for getting things done. I cleaned when he cleaned. I practiced the violin when he practiced the piano. I studied and wrote while he worked on school. He’s a great companion and help to me. I’m so grateful for him. In this picture he’s tied himself to the chair to keep from getting up and playing with the Legos on the floor by his desk. Now that’s self discipline!

Goblin Valley

Richard came home from a Scout camp in Goblin Valley last weekend and said he really wanted to take the family back. So we took an impromptu, quick trip with perfect weather and good company. We didn’t camp because we didn’t want all of the extra gear. We stayed in a cramped motel in Hanksville and watched super hero movies late into the night. We were gone for 31 hours, but we filled those hours full.

The boys were mountain goats. I don’t know how they had the energy to climb all day long. We loved the hike through Little Wild Horse Canyon which had slot canyons one after another, each with its own look and colors.

My floppy hat has flopped through its last trip. It’s time for a new one. I’ve said this before, though. This trip was not the same without Paige. Someone said you never stop missing them; you just get used to it. I’m not there yet. Regardless, the boys were super fun and Richard gave his all to make the trip a success, as usual. It’s good to be in this family.

Anything but…

I am working on getting rid of a bad habit. Whenever I am tempted to run to that familiar pattern, I try to do something else. “Do anything but [my bad habit],” I tell myself. This means that I give myself permission to do any wonderful thing that I want.

This weekend I stitched this doll to keep me from falling back to my bad habit. I did other things, too, but it’s nice to have something positive to show for my battle.

Dinner Party

You know it’s a good time when your dinner party guests stay through breakfast the next morning… We love the Withams!

We spent a lot of time together in Arizona. In fact, the Google Maps image of our house included Melinda parking her van in front of our house. Ha!

No regrets

I finished a book this week about the impact that different women have made on the world. One of the women in the book was Mother Theresa. It wasn’t the many deeds of service that she did that made the biggest impression on me. It was her words about sometimes feeling distant from God as she did good works. I have felt that way this week and other times.

In my life I expect that service and scripture study will make me feel light and happy, but that doesn’t always happen. I have learned that if we want to become like the Savior, it means that we will have days where we become acquainted with grief, a little like the Savior, who was also a “man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” And that feeling of distance from God may not always be a feeling of distance. Perhaps at times it’s a closeness to what He feels for his children, and sometimes that is grief. Of course there is always a distance between me and God, and this leads me to see how much I need the gift of grace.

I have no regrets for my time spent in the scriptures and service, even if I don’t always feel warm and fuzzy about it. I DO have regrets about my time spent doing frivolous things. 24 hours really is a lot of time each day to get things done. How much time I waste, worrying what other people think of me and following news that isn’t important!