and babies don't keep.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Friends and Marital Loyalty
So I was going to leave a comment on this blog, but it was getting a bit ridiculously long for a blog comment when I thought, "Hey, you have your own blog, you know."
The primary point of the blog post is summed up in this sentence: Never say anything negative about your spouse to anyone. Ever. [The exceptions being God, in prayer; your bishop, a counselor or your spouse]. I would add that this includes the kind of jokes you make about your spouse.
It was refreshing to read this after an article I came across last week that had 15 tips for a successful marriage. Most of the article was actually quite good--it sounded like it was written by someone who actually had a long-term successful marriage--but one tip made me laugh out loud, "Complain to his mom, not to yours". Bad, bad advice, in my opinion. You shouldn't be complaining to either of them.
One of the most wonderful blessings in our lives and our marriage has been that, during the most intense and challenging times in our lives, my husband's two closest friends happened to be the husbands of my two closest friends. There were two couples we spent a lot of time with, and we were all close to each other--I worked with one of the men for some time while I was working outside our home part time, the other was my bishop while I was Young Women's president, and both of the sisters had at various points worked with my husband because of his callings, and we all love each other and have high opinions of each other. All of us have very good marriages, something each couple puts a high priority on. Knowing that one of us had some frustration or agitation with our husband would never diminish the favorable opinion that the others had of that man as a husband, father and individual, but because there was such wonderful affection on all sides, there was never much temptation to complain or criticize. Because the people around you saw the best things about your spouse and appreciated those things, it made it easier for you to remember those things yourself. It has been such a comfort in life to have friends who love my husband and are as forgiving of his flaws as they are of mine. Neither of those sisters would've indulged me if at some point I started ranting or complaining about my husband--I'm sure they would've either changed the subject or, as politely as possible, excused themselves. Had my husband started complaining about or criticizing me to his friends, I'm quite certain they simply would've stopped him mid sentence. Spending time with our friends was edifying to, not erosive to, our relationship with each other.
I don't think I appreciated as much as I should what a blessing that was until I saw a contrast. Many years ago, a friend of my husband's (now, sadly, a former friend, for many reasons) came to the house in the middle of the day. To see me. When he knew my husband wouldn't be there. Big. Red. Flag. So inappropriate. Also, completely bizarre. I let him sit down, because, well, my impulse is always to be polite and accommodate people, and I certainly didn't suspect him of mendacious motives. He sat down and proceeded to give me relationship advice, basically (this was rather amusing for a multitude of reasons I won't get in to). At one point, despite my trying really hard to be polite, I actually laughed out loud at him. Then, he succeeded in getting under my skin just before he left, when he turned and made a remark about how some joke that my husband had made about me at work that week had surprised him at how rude and over the line it was. He also wouldn't tell me what the joke was (because that would've been a violation of my husband's trust, which clearly he was very concerned about [insert eye roll here]), and then left. For about 10 minutes, I was very upset and rather disturbed. I kept thinking to myself, "What on earth could he have said that this man thought was so over the line?!" Suddenly it occurred to me: nothing. Obviously, this dunce had to have wildly misinterpreted something.
When I stopped to evaluate it, I realized I knew my husband's character, I knew what kind of marriage we had, and I trusted my husband completely. This guy got something wrong. He'd gotten nearly everything else wrong that day, why would I think he was accurate here? I trust my husband--he's given me every reason to, and no reason not to trust him. So much did I trust my husband, that by the time he got home from work I had completely forgotten about it. Several days later, something he said reminded me of that particularly bizarre portion or an entirely weird conversation, so I asked him what he thought the man was talking about. He thought for several minutes, then remembered a joke he'd made the previous week that he thought may have been the catalyst. And I laughed. Because its a joke he would've been comfortable making in my presence. And I would've laughed if he'd told it in front of a group of people. We often show affection by teasing, and it was little more than that.
From that moment on, I began to be a lot more appreciative of that entirely-warranted trust I had in my husband. But I also began to appreciate the trust I had in his friends, and in mine: I knew that for the most part we had friends that would not indulge such destructive nonsense, who certainly wouldn't try to maximize the damage by sneaky go-rounds to the offended spouse.
If someone regularly indulges you in ranting and raving and complaining about your spouse, they are probably more interested in drama and entertainment than they are in your well-being. Get ahold of your tongue. Only spend significant amounts of time with people who bring out the best in you. If someone else finds ways to pick on your spouse, defend when you're able, change the subject if you're having a hard time getting through, and if they won't drop it, drop them. Real friends will want you to succeed and be happy--especially in the most important relationship in your life.
The primary point of the blog post is summed up in this sentence: Never say anything negative about your spouse to anyone. Ever. [The exceptions being God, in prayer; your bishop, a counselor or your spouse]. I would add that this includes the kind of jokes you make about your spouse.
It was refreshing to read this after an article I came across last week that had 15 tips for a successful marriage. Most of the article was actually quite good--it sounded like it was written by someone who actually had a long-term successful marriage--but one tip made me laugh out loud, "Complain to his mom, not to yours". Bad, bad advice, in my opinion. You shouldn't be complaining to either of them.
One of the most wonderful blessings in our lives and our marriage has been that, during the most intense and challenging times in our lives, my husband's two closest friends happened to be the husbands of my two closest friends. There were two couples we spent a lot of time with, and we were all close to each other--I worked with one of the men for some time while I was working outside our home part time, the other was my bishop while I was Young Women's president, and both of the sisters had at various points worked with my husband because of his callings, and we all love each other and have high opinions of each other. All of us have very good marriages, something each couple puts a high priority on. Knowing that one of us had some frustration or agitation with our husband would never diminish the favorable opinion that the others had of that man as a husband, father and individual, but because there was such wonderful affection on all sides, there was never much temptation to complain or criticize. Because the people around you saw the best things about your spouse and appreciated those things, it made it easier for you to remember those things yourself. It has been such a comfort in life to have friends who love my husband and are as forgiving of his flaws as they are of mine. Neither of those sisters would've indulged me if at some point I started ranting or complaining about my husband--I'm sure they would've either changed the subject or, as politely as possible, excused themselves. Had my husband started complaining about or criticizing me to his friends, I'm quite certain they simply would've stopped him mid sentence. Spending time with our friends was edifying to, not erosive to, our relationship with each other.
I don't think I appreciated as much as I should what a blessing that was until I saw a contrast. Many years ago, a friend of my husband's (now, sadly, a former friend, for many reasons) came to the house in the middle of the day. To see me. When he knew my husband wouldn't be there. Big. Red. Flag. So inappropriate. Also, completely bizarre. I let him sit down, because, well, my impulse is always to be polite and accommodate people, and I certainly didn't suspect him of mendacious motives. He sat down and proceeded to give me relationship advice, basically (this was rather amusing for a multitude of reasons I won't get in to). At one point, despite my trying really hard to be polite, I actually laughed out loud at him. Then, he succeeded in getting under my skin just before he left, when he turned and made a remark about how some joke that my husband had made about me at work that week had surprised him at how rude and over the line it was. He also wouldn't tell me what the joke was (because that would've been a violation of my husband's trust, which clearly he was very concerned about [insert eye roll here]), and then left. For about 10 minutes, I was very upset and rather disturbed. I kept thinking to myself, "What on earth could he have said that this man thought was so over the line?!" Suddenly it occurred to me: nothing. Obviously, this dunce had to have wildly misinterpreted something.
When I stopped to evaluate it, I realized I knew my husband's character, I knew what kind of marriage we had, and I trusted my husband completely. This guy got something wrong. He'd gotten nearly everything else wrong that day, why would I think he was accurate here? I trust my husband--he's given me every reason to, and no reason not to trust him. So much did I trust my husband, that by the time he got home from work I had completely forgotten about it. Several days later, something he said reminded me of that particularly bizarre portion or an entirely weird conversation, so I asked him what he thought the man was talking about. He thought for several minutes, then remembered a joke he'd made the previous week that he thought may have been the catalyst. And I laughed. Because its a joke he would've been comfortable making in my presence. And I would've laughed if he'd told it in front of a group of people. We often show affection by teasing, and it was little more than that.
From that moment on, I began to be a lot more appreciative of that entirely-warranted trust I had in my husband. But I also began to appreciate the trust I had in his friends, and in mine: I knew that for the most part we had friends that would not indulge such destructive nonsense, who certainly wouldn't try to maximize the damage by sneaky go-rounds to the offended spouse.
If someone regularly indulges you in ranting and raving and complaining about your spouse, they are probably more interested in drama and entertainment than they are in your well-being. Get ahold of your tongue. Only spend significant amounts of time with people who bring out the best in you. If someone else finds ways to pick on your spouse, defend when you're able, change the subject if you're having a hard time getting through, and if they won't drop it, drop them. Real friends will want you to succeed and be happy--especially in the most important relationship in your life.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Murphy's Law
For some mysterious reason, I spent a week and a half dealing with some mysterious fatigue (going to bed at 10:30, sleeping in til 7:30 and still feeling exhausted and in desperate need of a nap by 2 in the afternoon), so only the basic tidying and absolute essentials had been getting done, cleaning-wise, around the house. Yesterday, I finally felt myself again, so I scrubbed the house top-to-bottom: cleaned the floors, remade all the beds, scrubbed the bathrooms, etc. Then, when I was finally finished, I went to pick up older kids from school and we went and scrubbed the church (its still our month, and I knew none of us were going to want to do it after dinner, and no one was going to be interested when we got home from wrestling on Saturday). Then I got home, finished dinner, got everyone bathed, picked out their clothes for the next day (early morning), fed them dinner, watched our family movie, and got everyone put to bed, ready for the 6:30 wake up call.
I was on my feet for nearly 12 hours straight, and was pretty excited about getting to bed. I had been reading in bed for about five minutes when Kylie emerged from her bedroom looking dazed, with some sort of brown substance all over her pajama top. The light was dim, and I strained for a minute and realized it was on her hands and face, too, and it clicked: she had eaten three--yes, three--brownies after dinner. "Did you throw up?" I asked. She wearily responded, "I think maybe?" I got up and pulled her hair back (in case it happened again) and looked at her bed: covered in brown vomit (including both her Pillow Pets). I took her to the bathroom to clean her up, and she said she had to go potty. While she was sitting there, copious amounts of brown vomit covered the freshly scrubbed toilet and floor. I was rubbing her back and said, "I'm so sorry, baby", to which she responded tearfully, "Its not your fault, Mommy." I rinsed her off in the bath quickly, then put some fresh, warm pajamas on her and put her in my bed and, thinking her stomach must surely be empty by now, went to rinse her bedding and pajamas off before going downstairs to get her a bowl. When I walked through my room, she looked at me with big, pathetic eyes and I started to walk toward her to ask how she was doing. She asked, "Did you hear that?" I started to ask, "Hear what?" just as I stepped in a big puddle next to my bed.
So much for all my scrubbing yesterday.
She continued to heave every hour or so for most of the night (though it was mostly dry heaves after the first time--the poor little thing had a very empty stomach by then). So I'm home in a not-so-clean house with two little girls while Doug, Keilana and Dylan are off to Helena for Dylan's first wrestling tournament of the year. He looked so cute in his Copperhead singlet. I wish I got to watch him, but I finally gave Kylie some water and cereal about a half an hour before they left, and she didn't eat the cereal and promptly threw up the water. A car ride doesn't seem like such a good idea, and a gym full of other kids sounds like an absolutely horrible one.
I need a nap.
I was on my feet for nearly 12 hours straight, and was pretty excited about getting to bed. I had been reading in bed for about five minutes when Kylie emerged from her bedroom looking dazed, with some sort of brown substance all over her pajama top. The light was dim, and I strained for a minute and realized it was on her hands and face, too, and it clicked: she had eaten three--yes, three--brownies after dinner. "Did you throw up?" I asked. She wearily responded, "I think maybe?" I got up and pulled her hair back (in case it happened again) and looked at her bed: covered in brown vomit (including both her Pillow Pets). I took her to the bathroom to clean her up, and she said she had to go potty. While she was sitting there, copious amounts of brown vomit covered the freshly scrubbed toilet and floor. I was rubbing her back and said, "I'm so sorry, baby", to which she responded tearfully, "Its not your fault, Mommy." I rinsed her off in the bath quickly, then put some fresh, warm pajamas on her and put her in my bed and, thinking her stomach must surely be empty by now, went to rinse her bedding and pajamas off before going downstairs to get her a bowl. When I walked through my room, she looked at me with big, pathetic eyes and I started to walk toward her to ask how she was doing. She asked, "Did you hear that?" I started to ask, "Hear what?" just as I stepped in a big puddle next to my bed.
So much for all my scrubbing yesterday.
She continued to heave every hour or so for most of the night (though it was mostly dry heaves after the first time--the poor little thing had a very empty stomach by then). So I'm home in a not-so-clean house with two little girls while Doug, Keilana and Dylan are off to Helena for Dylan's first wrestling tournament of the year. He looked so cute in his Copperhead singlet. I wish I got to watch him, but I finally gave Kylie some water and cereal about a half an hour before they left, and she didn't eat the cereal and promptly threw up the water. A car ride doesn't seem like such a good idea, and a gym full of other kids sounds like an absolutely horrible one.
I need a nap.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Cats in trees
So, my little girls were watching a cartoon while I cleaned this morning, and a cat got stuck in a tree so they called the firemen. Is this one of the stupidest ideas ever or what?
If someone tied up emergency services to "rescue" a stubborn cat, I'd be really irritated if my house caught on fire. And what is this nonsense about rescuing treed cats, anyway? They're cats, for Pete's sake! I'm pretty sure if a cat won't come down from a tree, its because he's sick to death of being man-handled by the overly-aggressive preschooler in the neighborhood. But even if he really was stuck, so what? All summer long, I'm telling my kids, "If you can get yourself up, you can get yourself down." If they climb themselves up too high and then get worried, that's their problem. I think this is an important lesson in choices and consequences (though if they are exceptionally high or in a particularly precarious position, I'll stick around til they get to the ground, just in case). If I'm not gonna call the fire department to help my treed kid, I'm certainly not going to bother them about my cat. Its a cat, for Pete's sake!
Rant over.
If someone tied up emergency services to "rescue" a stubborn cat, I'd be really irritated if my house caught on fire. And what is this nonsense about rescuing treed cats, anyway? They're cats, for Pete's sake! I'm pretty sure if a cat won't come down from a tree, its because he's sick to death of being man-handled by the overly-aggressive preschooler in the neighborhood. But even if he really was stuck, so what? All summer long, I'm telling my kids, "If you can get yourself up, you can get yourself down." If they climb themselves up too high and then get worried, that's their problem. I think this is an important lesson in choices and consequences (though if they are exceptionally high or in a particularly precarious position, I'll stick around til they get to the ground, just in case). If I'm not gonna call the fire department to help my treed kid, I'm certainly not going to bother them about my cat. Its a cat, for Pete's sake!
Rant over.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Turning Weaknesses into Strengths
The last year or so, I have confused a few people who watched me grow up as the youngest child in a large family by making occasional reference to "my baby sister". I meant, of course, the wonderful Rachel, Doug's baby step-sister. I didn't meet Rachel until she was 10 and I was 19, but I very much think of her, and love her, as my baby sister.
We ran down to Rexburg in November and stole her away to spend Thanksgiving with us. She and I were able to have some really good conversations while she was here. Rachel's mom had some health problems already when she got pregnant with Rachel (who was very much a surprise and a trailer baby--her oldest brother is 22 years her senior). She didn't live very long after Rachel's birth, and Chuck, Rachel's dad, was suddenly left with a couple of young adult sons, a teenager, a five-year-old and tiny infant to take care of, all while trying to keep his business together and deal with his own overwhelming grief. He had some very difficult years trying to find his way forward, and Rachel and her older sister spent several years living with Chuck's younger sister, who lived close. After several years, Chuck was able to start putting his life back together and heal. When Rachel was a little girl, he started courting Doug's mom, Katy, not long after her own difficult divorce. They courted for several years before being sealed in the Fresno, California temple.
As Rachel and I talked about her mom, her dad, and her brothers and sisters, and her step-mom and step-brothers and step-sisters, she expressed a thought that resonated with me: as much as she would have loved to have known her mother and grown up in a traditional family right from the start, she realizes now how much she has gained through the people and experiences the Lord has placed in her life because of that loss, and she would likely be a very different person without those challenges and losses, and somewhat compensatory blessings. She is grateful for the things she has gained and understood because of the things that were missing. Though I lacked far less in life, I had often had this same thought about my own life, and I was impressed to hear this 19-year-old girl coming to such a wise and mature view of her life and blessings.
What I don't think I'd ever thought about much, or at least articulated any appreciation of, was how the difficulties and losses in Doug's family, and how the respective individuals responded to those challenges, have blessed my life. I am not grateful that Chuck had to experience the heart-wrenching loss of his companion, at a relatively young age, and all the many challenges that spring from such a tremendous loss. I am not grateful that Doug and the rest of his family had to live through a difficult marriage and messy divorce. But I am tremendously grateful, having joined the family after all that was in the past, that those losses and difficulties provided Chuck and Katy with the opportunity to find each other. Chuck and Rachel have been such extraordinary blessings in my life, I honestly can't imagine a version of my life with Doug's family to which they are not essential. Chuck is the kind of man that you hope your daughters will have in a father-in-law: affectionate, kind, patient, and wonderfully generous. He's exactly the kind of grandpa you want your kids to have: playful, gentle, and, again, so wonderfully affectionate. Rachel dotes on my children--she is the half-generation, several years older than all the grandkids, but several years and a life phase or three behind all of her siblings, and instead of resenting that, she has found delight (and delighted all of us) in lavishing attention and affection on her nieces and nephews.
I am continually impressed by my husband's ability to hang on to the good things he learned from his parents' marriage and parenting, and let go of the rest. I have watched him and all of his sisters try (and usually succeed) to build on the good things that they were taught at home, while simultaneously trying to change the things that didn't work. It is much to their parents' credit, as well as their own, that they are all themselves good parents and generally kind, supportive spouses to their companions. Even if execution of principles was sometimes elusive, they were always well instructed in how things should be, on what was truly important, and they paid attention to those things.
I think that while individuals lives vary in difficulty, its probably safe to say that no life is easy. I am grateful to have married into a family--that is actually two families--that has shown me a wonderful example of using the weaknesses and deficiencies in life as opportunities to learn and grow and become better, all the while building on the strengths with which they've been blessed.
We ran down to Rexburg in November and stole her away to spend Thanksgiving with us. She and I were able to have some really good conversations while she was here. Rachel's mom had some health problems already when she got pregnant with Rachel (who was very much a surprise and a trailer baby--her oldest brother is 22 years her senior). She didn't live very long after Rachel's birth, and Chuck, Rachel's dad, was suddenly left with a couple of young adult sons, a teenager, a five-year-old and tiny infant to take care of, all while trying to keep his business together and deal with his own overwhelming grief. He had some very difficult years trying to find his way forward, and Rachel and her older sister spent several years living with Chuck's younger sister, who lived close. After several years, Chuck was able to start putting his life back together and heal. When Rachel was a little girl, he started courting Doug's mom, Katy, not long after her own difficult divorce. They courted for several years before being sealed in the Fresno, California temple.
As Rachel and I talked about her mom, her dad, and her brothers and sisters, and her step-mom and step-brothers and step-sisters, she expressed a thought that resonated with me: as much as she would have loved to have known her mother and grown up in a traditional family right from the start, she realizes now how much she has gained through the people and experiences the Lord has placed in her life because of that loss, and she would likely be a very different person without those challenges and losses, and somewhat compensatory blessings. She is grateful for the things she has gained and understood because of the things that were missing. Though I lacked far less in life, I had often had this same thought about my own life, and I was impressed to hear this 19-year-old girl coming to such a wise and mature view of her life and blessings.
What I don't think I'd ever thought about much, or at least articulated any appreciation of, was how the difficulties and losses in Doug's family, and how the respective individuals responded to those challenges, have blessed my life. I am not grateful that Chuck had to experience the heart-wrenching loss of his companion, at a relatively young age, and all the many challenges that spring from such a tremendous loss. I am not grateful that Doug and the rest of his family had to live through a difficult marriage and messy divorce. But I am tremendously grateful, having joined the family after all that was in the past, that those losses and difficulties provided Chuck and Katy with the opportunity to find each other. Chuck and Rachel have been such extraordinary blessings in my life, I honestly can't imagine a version of my life with Doug's family to which they are not essential. Chuck is the kind of man that you hope your daughters will have in a father-in-law: affectionate, kind, patient, and wonderfully generous. He's exactly the kind of grandpa you want your kids to have: playful, gentle, and, again, so wonderfully affectionate. Rachel dotes on my children--she is the half-generation, several years older than all the grandkids, but several years and a life phase or three behind all of her siblings, and instead of resenting that, she has found delight (and delighted all of us) in lavishing attention and affection on her nieces and nephews.
I am continually impressed by my husband's ability to hang on to the good things he learned from his parents' marriage and parenting, and let go of the rest. I have watched him and all of his sisters try (and usually succeed) to build on the good things that they were taught at home, while simultaneously trying to change the things that didn't work. It is much to their parents' credit, as well as their own, that they are all themselves good parents and generally kind, supportive spouses to their companions. Even if execution of principles was sometimes elusive, they were always well instructed in how things should be, on what was truly important, and they paid attention to those things.
I think that while individuals lives vary in difficulty, its probably safe to say that no life is easy. I am grateful to have married into a family--that is actually two families--that has shown me a wonderful example of using the weaknesses and deficiencies in life as opportunities to learn and grow and become better, all the while building on the strengths with which they've been blessed.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Deep breath. . .
I wrote this in November of 2009. I found it in my "Drafts" folder while doing some sorting. I had forgotten I'd ever written it. I remember now why I didn't post it at that point, but I thought I'd post it now, if for no other reason that I'd like to have it, and this way I won't forget about it again.
I have largely avoided my blog and my journal lately, save for trifles. Writing has always been how I empty my mind, how I sort my thoughts and emotions. For me, often just finding a way to articulately express what I'm feeling is enough to move past it. Lately, writing anything down has made it too real, even privately. So much has transpired so quickly, but, as is often the case in life, each of the numerous heartbreaks and frustrations we've experienced lately was a long time coming, each represents a deeper problem. Life pivoted suddenly on a cancer diagnosis, but Brad's cancer is the least insidious and destructive one we've been dealing with.
I have largely avoided my blog and my journal lately, save for trifles. Writing has always been how I empty my mind, how I sort my thoughts and emotions. For me, often just finding a way to articulately express what I'm feeling is enough to move past it. Lately, writing anything down has made it too real, even privately. So much has transpired so quickly, but, as is often the case in life, each of the numerous heartbreaks and frustrations we've experienced lately was a long time coming, each represents a deeper problem. Life pivoted suddenly on a cancer diagnosis, but Brad's cancer is the least insidious and destructive one we've been dealing with.
My life is quite easy. There's a part of me that always feels absolutely ridiculous and self-centered for daring to be upset. For all the troubles I've come across in life I know that my life is still ludicrously easy compared to so many others--I've always struggled to believe that I have any right to ever be anything less than completely happy. My life--the parts that pertain only to me--has always been easy. I've always had plenty to eat, a nice place to live, clothes to wear, a car to drive and lots of people in my life who love me. I've never suffered any true abuse or neglect. But relationships are what matter to me, and those haven't always been easy and the people I most desire them with haven't always had a smooth path to say the least. When crap happens to me or I make a horribly bad choice, I feel frustrated and angry. When the people around me seem to be sinking in quick sand or thrown one curve ball after another, I am completely heartbroken.
That seems selfish somehow, even though I know I only feel that way because I love them. Several years ago a friend of mine said something along of the lines of "When I fell in love, I never expected to get my heart broken." I remember I thought to myself (and may have said out loud--I can't remember for certain), "That's what happens when you fall in love." Though there are varying degrees of goodness, all the people we ever love share the unfortunate defect of being human. There will be times when they fail, and if you love them, that will break your heart. And usually that's OK, because we mend up each other's hearts and move on.
There are times, however, when you can't do a whole lot except hang in there. You probably know what I'm talking about: its the father you never see, because every conversation is an argument and every act a betrayal; its the brother you love dearly but no longer recognize through the haze of addiction; its the beautiful girl you watched grow up who is now trying to bury a grief she can't deal with in alcohol and casual sex; its the girl you take into your home in hopes of giving her a better future than cycles of abuse, only to see her walk down the same road all over again; its the young man who lashes out at everyone, powerless and angry at parents who betrayed their responsibilities to him before he was even born; its the suicidal friend who calls you in the middle of the night, unsure he wants to live but pretty sure he doesn't want to die; its the loved one who refuses to get help, instead maximizing the collateral damage of their imbalance.
Its that person you know you can't really do much to help, and yet can't walk away from. A constant tug on the broken pieces of your heart. Long-suffering is just that: suffering long, because even though it hurts, you'd never forgive yourself if you gave up. I find myself watching train wrecks and thinking, "What else could I have done? Could I have been there more often? Could I have said something?" Its not about me, though. Maybe I could've done something more, but that's in the past and no matter what I do, that person still has their own agency. My responsibility is to move forward, to show the most love I can from this moment on, to be the best friend I can starting right now, using much prayer and the guidance of the Spirit to figure out what, exactly, that may mean from person to person and circumstance to circumstance. Being consumed by other people's pains to a point that we are focused more on how they affect us than they do the individual at hand is a problem. But there is nothing wrong with feeling someone else's hurts. The Lord provides a perfect salve for each wound because He knows well each pain--sometimes He grants to us a measure of that empathy so that we can be the kind of friend that He expects us to be.
What I have to be careful of is anger. There are times when I feel like I've spent too much of my life watching people I love hurt and I just don't have anything left. I get angry because its easier than hurting. Its much easier to spit out, "They should know better" and sputter about all the things they should just figure out already than it is to acknowledge that it hurts, that you have absolutely no idea what to do about it, and go to your knees and humbly ask, "Lord, what would Thou have me do?" The answer to that question is not always comfortable. And its almost never easy.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
A Father's Love
Today in Sunday School we were discussing the First Vision (account Joseph Smith gave of his vision of God the Father and Jesus the Christ), and with that, talked about some of the history of Joseph's family and his early life. We went over the story, familiar to most anyone who has been a member of the Church for very long, of Joseph developing a bad infection in his leg when he was a 7-year-old boy. The most common treatment at the time would've been to cut off the leg and spare the rest of the body the infection, but they had a doctor willing to try cutting into the leg, right into the bone, to remove the infection. This would be an excruciating surgery, without modern anesthesia, and the doctor suggested giving the boy alcohol to numb the effects of the pain. The very young boy refused, stating that he could handle the pain if his father would hold him. He could keep his wits about him and push through the pain, if he had his father's strength and comfort.
I've thought about that story many, many times. It has always seemed to me a foreshadowing of the life he would lead. As a 14-year-old, Joseph went to the grove seeking solitude so that he could pray, searching earnestly for heavenly answers to the questions that were so troubling his young heart, he simply expected some direction, some confirmation, of a sect to join. He did now know that he would see God. He did not know that he was taking steps on the path to being a prophet--the prophet who would restore the fulness of the doctrine, ordinances and Priesthood authority of Christ's Church to the earth, authority and fulness that had been lost in the Apostasy following the Apostles' deaths--but the adversary knew. He knew who Joseph was, and what he had been foreordained to do. I've thought often of how terrifying those moments must've been for that young man as he tried to pray and found himself unable to speak, weighed down by some real and powerful force seeking his destruction. He exerted himself to his absolutely fullest extent, and just when he was about to give up and submit to destruction, he was delivered. Not only delivered, he was filled up with and surrounded by Celestial light. I often think of those moments in my comparatively small struggles--if we are doing all that we can, if we are exerting ourselves as much as we can, our God will not abandon us to destruction. Joseph saw and felt in a very literal and frightening way how powerful Satan is; and just as clearly and just as literally, he saw firsthand just how much more powerful is the Lord. I think the Lord allowed Satan to grapple with Joseph for what must've seemed to Joseph an interminably long time, so that this boy who would be prophet could know very clearly just who and what it was the work of God had to contend with--so he would know how vital it was to always exert his full might in repelling the attacks of the Adversary, to working with all his might and zeal to move forward the work of God.
I have sometimes wondered if after that moment he thought back to his young self relying on his father's strength and comfort to get him through the pain. Joseph was sent to a good family, to good parents, where he learned early to trust and rely on the wisdom and love of his parents. Surely that must've made it a bit easier to learn to rely on the wisdom and love of his Heavenly Father as the trials got bigger and the pains got deeper.
I have spent many hours thinking about what it must've been like for Joseph those many long months he was in Liberty Jail--and what it must've been like for Emma. He and those with him were hungry, cold, sick, uncomfortable. They were rarely fed anything edible, and as they suffered physically, they were in agony emotionally--their wives, their children, and their friends were all being harassed, abused and struggling to get by while these men sat wrongly imprisoned, powerless to help their loved ones. Joseph cried out to his Father, asking how long the pain must last. He felt as though he and his loved ones had been abandoned. And into the cold, dark misery of that prison came a familiar voice: "My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversities and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; and then, if thou endure it well, God will exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands."
He promised "I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you". The life of the Prophet Joseph Smith has long been a testimony of that truth. Difficulties arose often--his life was seemingly one storm right after another, but always, always, always, a Father's love and comfort attended him. He kept his wits about him and pushed through the pain with the help of his Father's strength.
I have tried hard to remember that in my own little moments of struggle and trial. We often remind ourselves (in trying to get our bums off the couch to do the things we need to do) that where much is given, much is required. But we must never let ourselves forget that where much is required, so very, very much is given. With such a love as His, we can weather any storm and defeat any foe--including the greatest foe of all. The Lord told the serpent he would have the power to bruise the heel of man, but that man would have the power to crush his head. The Holy Priesthood after the Order of the Son of God has been restored to the earth in its fullness and by the righteous exercise of its power the adversary is driven out, and he is in a panic to cause as much destruction and misery as he can before the end because he knows that he has lost, that he will never win again. Be hopeful--it may seem like the darkness is getting worse, but that is only because the light is growing ever brighter, stretching ever farther. And no matter how hard the great Deceiver is working to lead astray the souls of men, our Father and his servants are working even harder to win them home. Because ultimately, a Father's love is always more powerful than hatred, envy, misery and pride.
He did not abandon Joseph to destruction--he cast out the enemy and filled his child with light. He will do the same for each of us in time.
I've thought about that story many, many times. It has always seemed to me a foreshadowing of the life he would lead. As a 14-year-old, Joseph went to the grove seeking solitude so that he could pray, searching earnestly for heavenly answers to the questions that were so troubling his young heart, he simply expected some direction, some confirmation, of a sect to join. He did now know that he would see God. He did not know that he was taking steps on the path to being a prophet--the prophet who would restore the fulness of the doctrine, ordinances and Priesthood authority of Christ's Church to the earth, authority and fulness that had been lost in the Apostasy following the Apostles' deaths--but the adversary knew. He knew who Joseph was, and what he had been foreordained to do. I've thought often of how terrifying those moments must've been for that young man as he tried to pray and found himself unable to speak, weighed down by some real and powerful force seeking his destruction. He exerted himself to his absolutely fullest extent, and just when he was about to give up and submit to destruction, he was delivered. Not only delivered, he was filled up with and surrounded by Celestial light. I often think of those moments in my comparatively small struggles--if we are doing all that we can, if we are exerting ourselves as much as we can, our God will not abandon us to destruction. Joseph saw and felt in a very literal and frightening way how powerful Satan is; and just as clearly and just as literally, he saw firsthand just how much more powerful is the Lord. I think the Lord allowed Satan to grapple with Joseph for what must've seemed to Joseph an interminably long time, so that this boy who would be prophet could know very clearly just who and what it was the work of God had to contend with--so he would know how vital it was to always exert his full might in repelling the attacks of the Adversary, to working with all his might and zeal to move forward the work of God.
I have sometimes wondered if after that moment he thought back to his young self relying on his father's strength and comfort to get him through the pain. Joseph was sent to a good family, to good parents, where he learned early to trust and rely on the wisdom and love of his parents. Surely that must've made it a bit easier to learn to rely on the wisdom and love of his Heavenly Father as the trials got bigger and the pains got deeper.
I have spent many hours thinking about what it must've been like for Joseph those many long months he was in Liberty Jail--and what it must've been like for Emma. He and those with him were hungry, cold, sick, uncomfortable. They were rarely fed anything edible, and as they suffered physically, they were in agony emotionally--their wives, their children, and their friends were all being harassed, abused and struggling to get by while these men sat wrongly imprisoned, powerless to help their loved ones. Joseph cried out to his Father, asking how long the pain must last. He felt as though he and his loved ones had been abandoned. And into the cold, dark misery of that prison came a familiar voice: "My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversities and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; and then, if thou endure it well, God will exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands."
He promised "I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you". The life of the Prophet Joseph Smith has long been a testimony of that truth. Difficulties arose often--his life was seemingly one storm right after another, but always, always, always, a Father's love and comfort attended him. He kept his wits about him and pushed through the pain with the help of his Father's strength.
I have tried hard to remember that in my own little moments of struggle and trial. We often remind ourselves (in trying to get our bums off the couch to do the things we need to do) that where much is given, much is required. But we must never let ourselves forget that where much is required, so very, very much is given. With such a love as His, we can weather any storm and defeat any foe--including the greatest foe of all. The Lord told the serpent he would have the power to bruise the heel of man, but that man would have the power to crush his head. The Holy Priesthood after the Order of the Son of God has been restored to the earth in its fullness and by the righteous exercise of its power the adversary is driven out, and he is in a panic to cause as much destruction and misery as he can before the end because he knows that he has lost, that he will never win again. Be hopeful--it may seem like the darkness is getting worse, but that is only because the light is growing ever brighter, stretching ever farther. And no matter how hard the great Deceiver is working to lead astray the souls of men, our Father and his servants are working even harder to win them home. Because ultimately, a Father's love is always more powerful than hatred, envy, misery and pride.
He did not abandon Joseph to destruction--he cast out the enemy and filled his child with light. He will do the same for each of us in time.
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