Letters from Home – Page 140 – A blog by Angela Ross

Answers

Simplify.

Delegate.

Cancel.

Slow down.

Breathe.

Look at the Sky.

Enjoy those flowers.

Don’t be hard on yourself.

Focus on family now.

You are doing enough.

Visit her now.

Walk away from it.

Decline that request.

That project can wait.

Stay for the whole game.

You don’t need to fix this.

It’s ok that you have limitations.

These are a few of the simple messages that the Spirit taught me this month. Also, it reminded me of this talk by President Uchtdorf.

One of the things we learn from studying the growth of trees is that during seasons when conditions are ideal, trees grow at a normal rate. However, during seasons when growing conditions are not ideal, trees slow down their growth and devote their energy to the basic elements necessary for survival.

…What do you suppose pilots do when they encounter turbulence? A student pilot may think that increasing speed is a good strategy because it will get them through the turbulence faster. But that may be the wrong thing to do. Professional pilots understand that there is an optimum turbulence penetration speed that will minimize the negative effects of turbulence. And most of the time that would mean to reduce your speed. The same principle applies also to speed bumps on a road.

Therefore, it is good advice to slow down a little, steady the course, and focus on the essentials when experiencing adverse conditions.

This is a simple but critical lesson to learn. It may seem logical when put in terms of trees or turbulence, but it’s surprising how easy it is to ignore this lesson when it comes to applying these principles in our own daily lives. When stress levels rise, when distress appears, when tragedy strikes, too often we attempt to keep up the same frantic pace or even accelerate, thinking somehow that the more rushed our pace, the better off we will be.

-Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “Of Things that Matter Most,” October 2010

The morning my grandmother died, and before I got the call, I gathered these flowers from my yard. How appropriate that as memories of her come into focus, every window, and nearly every surface of the house offers a view of flowers. The impression that my grandmother’s sparkly, selfless, beautiful spirit has left causes me to sit up a little straighter, not complain, give generously, and offer a polished, ladylike response at some times, and at others, try (unsuccessfully)not to giggle during the prayer. Popcorn, flags, red things, and heirlooms are good. Pierced ears, sloppy nails, and wearing t-shirts at church are not so good. I think that I will never sit with someone with such elegance and dignity again.

Relief Society message

I give a 5-minute message at the beginning of our weekday Relief Society activity which happens 9-10 times a year.. This is the message I shared last night at our service activity. We had sisters ages 8 and older there, preparing fleece blankets, cards, framed gospel art, and necklaces for people in El Salvador. I told someone I would post my message because she wasn’t able to be there. I stumbled a little as I spoke, trying to remember what I prepared to say without reading from my notes. This is the more complete version of what I hoped to say.

When I was about 10-years-old, I was invited to participate with the Relief Society in a quilting activity. I came by myself because my mom wasn’t able to attend. I walked to the church and sat down next to my white-haired neighbor. The sisters showed me how to thread the needle and begin the stitches on the quilt that rested before us in the frame. My stitches weren’t tiny like the others, but I remember the women were so kind to me and said I was doing a good job. I ran home at dinnertime and told my mom I wanted to go back and spend some more time quilting.

Why do I remember this experience? I have an idea, but first I want to develop it with another story.

Just before Jesus went to Jerusalem for the last time, he was in Bethany, in the home of Simon the leper and a woman having an alabaster box of precious, expensive oil came and anointed Jesus’ head. (Mark 14) Some thought it a “waste” of precious money. Jesus said, “Let her alone; why trouble ye her? She hath wrought a good work on me…She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying.” In other words, he taught that her generous act showed that she understood that he was the Christ (The Anointed One).

Jesus also said, “Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of her for a memorial of her.” In the Gospel of Mark, the woman is not named, but her action is. Through her act, she testified of Christ.

Going back to my experience as a 10-year-old girl, quilting with the Relief Society sisters, perhaps I remember this experience because this was my first glimpse into what Relief Society really is: more than a club, more than a class, more than a place to go. It is the Lord’s organization for women of covenant, where women again and again do as the unnamed woman disciple: we do what we can to show that Jesus is the Christ. I couldn’t have put it into these words when I was ten, but I felt something special was going on with these sisters.

Beyond quilts and casseroles, we are true disciples when are patient with weaknesses in others and in ourselves, giving the benefit of the doubt. We do what we can and allow the Lord to make up the difference. Relief Society is one way the Lord helps us keep our baptismal covenant to always remember him and keep his commandments to serve others. I hope you remember that as you serve. You are a woman or young woman of covenant.

Holes in the wall

If the book club is meeting at our house, I will need to redecorate for weeks beforehand. Even after this, the gallery wall will need to be rearranged the day of the meeting, still to no effective end.

If I am arranging a gallery wall, I can’t handle climbing into the attic to place the bucket in the usual spot when the roof starts leaking. Richard will need to come home and do it because my mind can only juggle so much.

The gallery wall isn’t really what occupies my mind the most; it’s the new baby in the ward and a neighbor grieving; illnesses and milestones in people’s lives that I want to help them face; it’s juggling motherhood and being a wife; It’s worry for my grandmother who has had a major stroke. But I obsess about the gallery wall.

I need to do something that doesn’t involve making more holes in the wall, I think.

How we testify

jesus-comforts-mary-martha-1104492-print — Jesus wept.

We came home from our trip to a tragedy in our next door neighbor’s family. These last 4 days I have had a unique vantage point, being a witness of a huge outpouring of support for our neighbors. Many have called me, asking what they can do. I spent some precious time with my neighbors, crying and reminiscing. I have carried florist deliveries to them in the evenings when they have come home, weary and spent.

We draw strength from one another. So many times I have gone to a funeral or visited a person who is grieving and it is my faith that has been strengthened, when I hoped it would be the other way around. It’s sometimes in our deepest grief that we have an opportunity to testify in the most powerful ways. My neighbors and their family have testified of a loving Heavenly Father who knows all things; of the Son of God, who makes it possible to return to our loved ones; of the Holy Ghost who is a steady comforter, sometimes offering sparks of light in the darkness.

I feel strength from their testimony, shared at this nightmarish time. I feel strength from people around us, willing to mourn, ready to serve, and anxious to lift. Our actions during difficulties define what we really believe. Christ lives! We are his hands. We will be there for one another.

8th year

What have you done for more than seven years? As I list the things that fall into this category, I find the big things in life, such as family roles, education, and teaching. This blog turned 7 last week while we were in Washington D.C. and like a family member, I remembered its birthday and thought, wow, I am grateful for that little blog. Then I rubbed my aching feet and kept walking.

Vintage isn’t automatically the best measure of importance, and I could never equate writing a blog with life roles. (It’s my father-in-law’s 80th birthday today. Now THAT is an actual accomplishment!) However, writing for an audience has been good for me. It’s kept my frustrations in check. (Do I really want people to read my complaints? Will I really be this upset in a few hours? No, I guess not.) It’s helped me to see my blessings. (Wow, those kids are pretty cute.) Writing has helped me form my ideas. (Do I really believe what I say I believe? How can I explain that better?) For a time, it took home schooling out of my head and to the screen where I could look at it more objectively. (Hey, I really AM educating these kids.) It has helped me to connect with people. Connection is very important to me.

Thank you for reading. You are true friends.

Washington D.C.

This was our very belated 20th anniversary celebration, and the first time we have been away for more than a night from the kids… ever. It was a good trip and I won’t bore you with captions. Anyone who has been to Washington D.C. has the same photos. We stayed in a basement apartment a few blocks from the U.S. Capitol building. We rode public transportation and walked. We tried our first Nutella shake. We attended a concert in the Kennedy Center. We were cold and bought a blanket, stocking hats, ear muffs, gloves, a thermos for hot chocolate, and a scarf over the course of the week. We saw 7 airports, and were 24 hours late getting home because of a canceled flight. We spent the night in Denver, which was certainly not part of our original plan, but all well.

We were looking at monuments and great works of art, then last night I found myself back home making spaghetti. The memories of this trip will keep my mind occupied for a long time. Richard planned the trip and we filled every minute with discovery.

General Priesthood Session

Richard and the boys got to attend the General Priesthood session at the Conference Center. That outtake in the second position just makes me laugh. I didn’t watch the session, but it didn’t take me long to learn there was a Chewbacca reference in one of the talks. They never talk about Star Wars with the sisters, not that I am complaining.

This song

https://youtu.be/GBvSCrRNA34

I lay awake the other night thinking about the kids. Thoughts ranging from worry to frustration and tenderness to sympathy had a carnival in my head. Dramatic catastrophic scenarios, too, came to my mind, a signal that late night thinking just kindles the crazy in me. I can’t physically pick up my children and carry them out of trouble and home to hugs like I used to. Instead, sometimes I lapse into worry. This phase of mothering is lonely and spiritually demanding. When my words of encouragement aren’t welcome, I tap into a reservoir of faith. I have a Heavenly Father who sees me as a daughter who is sometimes unaware of His acts of kindness. He is patient with me, so I can be patient with my children, too.

Better than worry is what I do each day, trying to be helpful. I shuffle down the hall early each morning and sit with the boys, to be met with unenthusiastic response. The secret to mothering teens is knowing that what I am doing is important, even if I am met with bristles and barbs. When they come home, I am where they left me that morning, but hundreds of objects in the house have been handled or cleaned since they walked out the door. Dinner is at 6. We eat together, but sometimes they are in such a hurry to get up from the table, I wonder if they tasted any of the food that went down. My kids always thank me for dinner, whether they taste it or not. They are good about that.

I think in the adolescent fog, I come across not really as a person, but a voice that reminds them to do their jobs. But I know I am more than that. I know that it takes real strength to build independent children. It takes quite an effort to keep a supply of poster board for last-minute school projects and know how to make alterations in clothing; to sit through years of baseball games and ballet rehearsals and years of schooling. It takes love to keep a light on late at night and wait for the garage door to rumble, signaling our child is home and safe. It takes two great commodities, time and self, to wait in parking lots while a child makes steps to get a new job, perform piano pieces behind closed doors, and clean up the trappings of a concert. I no longer walk them in and out of buildings, holding their hands. When they are old enough to drive themselves, I miss our talks in the car.

I know that mothering is important, and it’s a gift. However, the carrying and snuggling from the earlier years seems easier now that I have to be subtle in showing the same things: I am here, I am yours, I love you.

The Tradition Lives On

Richard came home from work last night and said that he thought we should do the Easter egg lesson for Family Home Evening. I had worried that the 15-year-old tradition was too juvenile so we didn’t do it for Easter this year. I am glad we went back and fixed that.

Our Easter lesson isn’t unique. I am sure it’s a popular idea. It is a collection of 12 plastic Easter eggs which I have numbered, each holding a scripture reference and small object related to Christ’s sufferings, death, and resurrection. The final egg is empty to represent the tomb. Inside the eggs are just simple things, such as a tiny cup, a length of rope, a nail, different fabrics, a sponge, a stone, a small angel, etc. Each year we take turns opening these eggs and talk about these objects and the events of Jesus’ last days. Some years we open one egg each day leading up to Easter. Other years, we have opened them all at once. The conversation has matured as the kids have grown. I think the scriptures are the key to inviting the Spirit, and we don’t read long passages. The objects are the key to keeping the younger children’s attention, but handling them does something powerful for adults. Richard was right. We shouldn’t give up this tradition, and as he taught in FHE, we should celebrate Easter all the time.

We sang, “Jesus Has Risen” from the Primary songbook about an octave and a half lower than the music is written. As the deep voices of the boys filled the room, I smiled. It wasn’t long ago that we were singing that song straight from the book, their sweet voices melting my heart. Do you want to hear what they sounded like 7 years ago? Go here. The suits! The little boys! The pale pink Easter dress! I’m dying.

This morning I packed away the lesson in our Easter decorations box, ready to be used in 2017. I may expand the lesson next year, but if I don’t, I won’t use it as an excuse not to do it. Simple traditions are sometimes the best.