After Apple Picking<\/p>\n
My long two-pointed ladder\u2019s sticking through a tree -Robert Frost<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I have mentioned this before, but since I was called to be a R.S. president I write down the names of the sisters I visit or interact with each day on my calendar. It is my reminder that the work is about individuals, not activities, lessons, and cookbooks. It reminds me that I didn’t fail *these* sisters today, even if I am concerned about so many. Most of the time, it is incredibly helpful to me to keep this record.<\/p>\n In December, I gave up writing down the names. I was looking at life through a distorted lens, as through ice over water. Despite my efforts, the problems multiplied in my mind. There are a lot of reasons for my discouragement, some obvious, some subtle, some avoidable, and others unavoidable. I am not beating myself up about this. It is OK to be tired sometimes, and I don’t resent or regret anything I did for others.<\/p>\n I played a musical number with Daniel on Christmas Eve for the ward and hurried away from church because with this last service of giving music, I had given my all. Everything. I was dry. I couldn’t even face compliments. When Richard came home ready to tell me all the positive things people had to say about our music, I simply told him, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and made my way out the door for one last visit to a sister before Christmas.<\/p>\n Instead of coming home after the visit, I drove to the temple and sat in my car in the parking lot for a long time. I remembered the impression from the Spirit that I had during the sacrament a few hours before. It was simply, “I love you. Don’t worry about working on anything else for now,” and I drove home with that thought.<\/p>\n How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is giv’n,<\/em><\/p>\n Still God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heav’n. <\/em><\/p>\n -O Little Town of Bethlehem<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I have rested, I have rededicated myself to habits that bring me strength, and I am being gentle with myself. I know it IS enough to simply love someone through their problems, for this is the pattern that Heavenly Father showed me on Christmas Eve. I took some needed and worthy time for rest, and this included not keeping a catalog of my efforts.\u00a0I take comfort that \u201call things are written by the Father\u201d (3 Nephi 27:26) and no detail of my silent and private service is lost to Him.<\/p>\n On January 2, I started writing down the names again. When I awoke to the news on January 3 that President Monson had passed away, I couldn’t think of a better way to honor President Thomas S. Monson on his last day on earth than to make those visits and keep a record of their precious names, even though I know that angels are doing the same on the other side. This day, writing the names didn’t deplete any energy, it invigorated me.<\/p>\n You are, of course, surrounded by opportunities for service. No doubt at times you recognize so many such opportunities that you may feel somewhat overwhelmed.\u00a0Where do you begin? How can you do it all? How do you choose, from all the needs you observe, where and how to serve?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Often small acts of service are all that is required to lift and bless another: a question concerning a person\u2019s family, quick words of encouragement, a sincere compliment, a small note of thanks, a brief telephone call.<\/p>\n If we are observant and aware, and if we act on the promptings which come to us, we can accomplish much good.<\/p>\n -President Thomas S. Monson<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After Apple Picking My long two-pointed ladder\u2019s sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there\u2019s a barrel that I didn\u2019t fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn\u2019t pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent … Continue reading There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, cherish, and lift<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8,13,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14471","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-church","category-family-time","category-life-according-to-angela"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14471","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14471"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14471\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14483,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14471\/revisions\/14483"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14471"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14471"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14471"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nToward heaven still,
\nAnd there\u2019s a barrel that I didn\u2019t fill
\nBeside it, and there may be two or three
\nApples I didn\u2019t pick upon some bough.
\nBut I am done with apple-picking now.
\nEssence of winter sleep is on the night,
\nThe scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
\nI cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
\nI got from looking through a pane of glass
\nI skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
\nAnd held against the world of hoary grass.
\nIt melted, and I let it fall and break.
\nBut I was well
\nUpon my way to sleep before it fell,
\nAnd I could tell
\nWhat form my dreaming was about to take.
\nMagnified apples appear and disappear,
\nStem end and blossom end,
\nAnd every fleck of russet showing clear.
\nMy instep arch not only keeps the ache,
\nIt keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
\nI feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
\nAnd I keep hearing from the cellar bin
\nThe rumbling sound
\nOf load on load of apples coming in.
\nFor I have had too much<\/span>
\nOf apple-picking: I am overtired<\/span>
\nOf the great harvest I myself desired.<\/span>
\nThere were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,\u00a0<\/span>
\nCherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.<\/span>
\nFor all\u00a0<\/span>
\nThat struck the earth,<\/span>
\nNo matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,<\/span>
\nWent surely to the cider-apple heap<\/span>
\nAs of no worth.<\/span>
\nOne can see what will trouble
\nThis sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
\nWere he not gone,
\nThe woodchuck could say whether it\u2019s like his
\nLong sleep, as I describe its coming on,
\nOr just some human sleep.<\/p>\n