tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11419782526338457352024-02-07T09:28:48.924-08:00One Mother's MusingsI'm a full-time mother, a full-time wife, and a full-time child of God. No pressure, right? With a love of learning and a curious mind that knows almost no bounds, I hope you'll join me in exploring what all of these things can mean to this one mother.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.comBlogger375125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-48068828160364566792021-03-18T20:25:00.000-07:002021-03-18T20:25:22.375-07:00A Survivor of Abuse: My First Round of Counseling and a Few Years of Peace<p>I didn't know who to trust with this new pile of garbage I'd been forced to remember. Fortunately my parents knew of a semi-retired counselor in their church. Mom gave them a call and he agreed to see me, to see if we'd be a good fit.</p><p>I saw him on a semi-weekly basis for a few months. The first thing he told me was he believed me. I was honestly shocked. It had never occurred to me that someone wouldn't believe. I was telling the truth. I WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!!! While it was reassuring to know he believed me, it made me wonder if anyone around me didn't. </p><p>Those first few months were not easy. I had a handful of memories return that were awful when they came, but the really hard part were the constant panic attacks. I hadn't really known much about panic attacks until my oldest started going through them. My attacks were different than hers, so at first I didn't recognize them for what they really were. I thought they were a form of "muscle memory", as if I was some how going through moments of my abuse from the past.</p><p>When the doctor told me they were simply panic attacks I made them stop. I know that sounds weird and probably not real, but looking back at it I think it was a way of "stuffing" that abused and frightened part of myself back down into the recesses of my mind. I put a lock back on that door and it would be years before it opened back up.</p><p>One of the things the doctor had me do was write a letter to my abuser, telling him what his actions had done to me over the years. No one should ever have to write a letter like that. Still, it felt good to finally put the thoughts down on paper. It was nice to say in writing exactly what I'd been thinking. I hated this man. I loved this man. I wanted him to be happy and despised him for using me in such a way that I would believe in my core I would never deserve to be happy. How do you put those feelings and more into mere words? And was I a bad person for wanting him to hurt?</p><p>Another day the doctor asked me to sit in my chair while he placed another chair right in front of me and imagine my abuser was sitting there. All of a sudden that chair was <i>way too close. </i>Did he have to be so close, even if it was only in my mind? I was supposed to talk to my abuser, to tell him what I wanted to say right to his imagined face. I went from the gut. I spoke as if he really was in front of me. It was terrifying, obviously worse than writing the letter. My doctor would occasionally prompt me by saying, "Tell him how you're feeling right now" or asking "What did that one action cause to happen in your life?"</p><p>Then I was asked to do the impossible. I was asked to sit in <i>his </i>chair and speak in <i>his</i> voice. While I hated every moment of it - never did I want to understand this man - it was a good thing. Not because I gained empathy for the man, but because trying to see things from that side of the situation helped me to understand on some level that no matter what I did or didn't do to or for my abuser, he was never going to be happy. He would never be satisfied. All of this really was his problem, not mine.</p><p>Too bad it didn't mean I would or could suddenly forgive and forget. I did gain a measure of peace for a few years. Little did I know what was brewing under the surface, frantically trying to scrape its way out from that locked door. I would get indications of it here and there, like sudden dizzy spells that in the past would mean a panic attack was trying to come on or a sudden vision of his face hovering over mine as he yelled and yelled at me. Like the moment I realized I didn't have to give in to those panic attacks, I would simply deny it all from happening, in essence putting a cork in a volcano.</p><p>In a few years time that volcano began showing signs it was ready to erupt.</p><p><br /></p>LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-22313113766475531312019-07-17T09:12:00.000-07:002019-07-17T09:12:28.979-07:00Weird DreamsThe women in my family are vivid dreamers, and oh baby can those dreams get weird. I tend to go through dream spurts where I have tons that are unforgettable, but then I have a famine period when I don't recall having any or I simply can't remember what they were about. The last one I had a few nights ago is a doozy. So of course I decided to share it with all those who are bored enough to read through it!<br />
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I dreamed my oldest quit the school where she works as a lunch lady, so my former boss <b>T</b> (who just retired) made me come back. I was in charge of the pizzas. The only problem was the central kitchen had no more pizzas. So for several days the ladies had been forced to call in pizza orders to a pizza place (like a combination of Big Daddy's and Papa Johns). One coworker told me I was in charge of calling in. I did, and the lady on the other line had no idea what I was asking for and promptly hung up. I tried to call back, but someone was already on the other end of the line. She said someone had called the animal hospital from our number. I said I didn't call her. She also hung up.</div>
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I tried calling the pizza place again (starting to get nervous because it's getting closer to lunch time) but couldn't call out because <b>T</b> and <b>K</b> (manager and asst mngr) kept getting on the line. I go to coworker and tell her I can't get through to the pizza place. What to do? She said, "Keep trying!"</div>
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So I go to <b>T</b>'s office only to find out they are the ones calling the animal hospital because another coworker's dog needs to see a doctor immediately! I don't even know if that particular coworker has a dog! They won't listen to me, so I decide to take matters into my own hands and walk downstairs to the freezer. I want to see if they have any chicken so I can make chicken salad sandwiches. That'll show them.</div>
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Keep in mind there is no downstairs at the actual school kitchen, and the moment I leave the kitchen and start down the stairs I'm back at my parents' previous home (where I grew up). At the bottom of the stairs I have to turn on a light because there's a ghost and it doesn't like me very much.</div>
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In a previous dream I'd had many weeks ago the central kitchen was also out of diced chicken. In this dream I remembered that little fact and became concerned that not only would I not be able to order in pizzas, but there wouldn't be chicken for sandwiches. Sure enough, no chicken. Now what?</div>
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I walk back upstairs where now the upper level of my parents' home is not just the school kitchen, but is also combined with JC Penney. I tried to find <b>T</b> to let her know we're not going to get the pizzas in time when I notice a woman trying to stuff a purse down her right sleeve. I was furious! I marched right over and demanded she put it back! The woman tried to get away, but I wouldn't let her past me. We literally started a not so fun game of tag when I decided to ignore the "Don't get in the way of a customer who is stealing from us" policy and grabbed the woman's arm, lifted up her sleeve, and removed the purse.</div>
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"Were you intending to pay for this?" I asked with full sarcasm dripping disdainfully from my lips. She stammered and stuttered and I dragged her over to <b>T</b> to tell her what happened. As I'm explaining I see out of the corner of my eye the woman patting herself down in different areas. "Did you try to hide other things?!" "Why no, of course not," she said with a full southern twang and a guilty look. I reached over to her other arm and put my hand up her sleeve. I don't remember what I pulled out, but by that time security came and I turned her over, disgusted. I looked at <b>T</b> and said angrily, "I have to pee!"</div>
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We're not done yet!</div>
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I head down a hall and suddenly I'm in an office building that's also connected to LDS Hospital. I figure, "It's a hospital. There's gotta be a bathroom somewhere." But all I can find are men's rooms. That's it. Only men can go potty in this building! I find a diaperless baby on the way - who has to poop - and I am even more desperate to find the Ladies Room. The more I look the more frantic I become! Anyone who has ever held a baby with do diaper will understand!</div>
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Suddenly <b>T</b> steps out of an elevator and claims she has to pee as well. This isn't shocking. At work she always had to use the bathroom. "I can't find a women's restroom," I cry out in frustration. "There are only men's rooms!"</div>
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We're in a hallway right next to a men's room, and one door over is a theater auditorium. On the other side I can see another hallway and I think, "If the men's room is on this side, then the women's room HAS to be on the other side!" But the ushers at the door won't let me through because I didn't buy a ticket and don't trust I'm not going to sit and watch the show (with my diaperless baby). <b>T</b> says she knows a secret way around. Believe it or not, we found a women's bathroom!</div>
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I take the baby in and wait for it to poop while <b>T</b> uses the toilet. When she's done I hand her the baby to clean up so I can take my turn. Only the toilet has disappeared! And when I turn around to ask about it <b>T</b> and the baby have vanished as well. I don't know what to do. Then I remember, it's a hospital. There's a maternity ward. There HAS to be a women's bathroom there!!! </div>
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I make my way to the lower levels where I BEG the security guard to let me in so I can use the bathroom. He says okay, but apparently the bathrooms in the maternity ward are very well protected. "When you go through the door make a left, then a right, then another right..." and proceeds to tell me all the directions in the maze they created to keep out unwanted bathroom users. I go through the door, follow his directions, right down to the mysterious five holes in a wall at the end of the maze. I was told to pick the hole that said "pull". I place in my hand, grab a lever, and pull it so hard it stretches all the way out of the hole. A secret door opens up! As I run through the door a man slips through with me. We're heading to the same area. Except this is the maternity ward so no men's bathroom for him! We keep pace with one another until at last I see the placard above the door that will finally end my torture. Except it doesn't. Because it says MEN.</div>
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That's when I woke up</div>
LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-84467725885575945112019-06-28T11:21:00.000-07:002019-06-28T11:21:42.571-07:00I am a Mormon from Utah, NOT a Utah MormonI am Utah born and bred. Forty plus years of living here have been ingrained into my bones. Take me away from my precious mountains and I am beyond lost. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which is pretty common here as it is the home base of this particular religion. And I absolutely hate the term "Utah Mormon".<br />
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It's used by members and nonmembers alike, but most of the time the term appears to be insulting. I don't want this to be a negative post, but I would like those out there to know how much it hurts to be lumped into a perception that does not stem from understanding where our particular bunch came from.<br />
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Are we a peculiar lot? You bet! Do people outside of our state have a preconceived notion of what it must be like to live here? No doubt! Is it a culture shock to actually be in the midst of us? Of course! I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to come here, whether you are or are not a member of our church, and spend some quality time with us. For some we are a loving lot, for others we come across as having a better-than-thou attitude.<br />
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My hope in writing today is to give people out there a small glimpse into why we are the way we are. Maybe, if I'm very lucky, you might see something of yourself in us.<br />
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To do this we need to do a speedy quick history lesson. Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ. He was directed to form a church. Missionaries were sent out. New members flocked from around the area and as far away as England. The people were repeatedly mobbed, harassed, and chased from their homes. Some were murdered. Their lands were coveted and stolen from them. Time and again they lived in such fear and destitution that many members left this new church in the hopes of finding some form of peace.<br />
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Joseph and a few other leaders were then murdered, and their people were forced to flee once more. This time, instead of trying to find a place close by, as they had before, the members were led far to the west. The journey was harrowing. There were tragedies and triumphs along the way. Many of the men were asked to join the army, leaving their women and children to make the trek alone. While getting to the Salt Lake Valley was their goal, it was a far from ideal place. The valley was pretty barren. They had to start all over again, and this time with next to nothing and little energy to do it. Most families were forced to live in dugouts until enough time passed and enough resources were gathered to build humble homes.<br />
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Families may not have remained in the valley itself. There were so many who were asked to go into areas with even harsher conditions up and down the territory and try to make a life. They began to build a temple when horrible news came: rumors were spreading to the US government that those Mormons were building an army against them. It was completely unfounded, but once more the members were afraid. This fear was now so much a part of who they were. Was there a place far enough away from hatred that would allow them to live without fear? These members had lost so much already.<br />
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Were these people perfect? Not even a little. Yes they had been through some horrendous things, were continuing to go through so much more. God had asked them to endure an awful lot, but I know He was with them every terrifying step of the way. Even here they made a whole lot of mistakes, ones which carry scars to this day in our hearts.<br />
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Let's fast forward to this time, keeping in mind the mindset of our pioneer ancestors has greatly influenced how their descendants have turned out and how we think. There is this niggling idea in the back of our minds that what has happened all those years ago might happen again. Their fear is still our fear. If you don't think the things your ancestors have endured have anything to do with your own way of thinking in the here and now, you're fooling yourself. Just take a look at someone who had a slave as an ancestor (I'm talking slaves of all kinds - African, Irish, Russian, etc. Slavery is an unfortunate mark of every history), and ask if that individual is not influenced by what their ancestor endured. Just as there are traits passed along from generation to generation (like musical abilities, writers, athletes), fear and tragedy can be passed along as well.<br />
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So for years and years our odd collection of people lived in a whole lot of fear from those who were not members of our church. It's a familiar worldwide story, I'm sorry to say. Ours was not the first to go through things like this. Having it happen here in America, where we were supposed to be free of such things, was certainly a drastic first. Keeping to ourselves became a protection, even as we tried so hard to live the tenets of our religion. Like any other religion we have individuals who are amazing at living what we are taught, and those who struggle with the basics.<br />
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We are not a perfect people. We struggle with doing things as Christ would: we judge, we sin, we're sometimes lazy, we say things that can hurt without realizing it, we fall short of expectations, etc. It's called being human. We are every bit as human as those who live outside of our state and our beliefs. Some are prideful, some so humble they may never believe they can make it back to live with our Heavenly Father. Some give everything they have, while others struggle to let go of the most basic things. Some are rude and arrogant, while others are loving and selfless. Some don't want to serve, while others volunteer for everything. Don't we all know people like this, no matter what beliefs they may hold? Are we not all like this at times? I know I am.<br />
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In the last twenty years or so I've seen a great shift in the words of our prophets that I believe is especially geared toward the members here in Utah. Instead of being taught to only date members of our church, to keep our members the closest as our friends, to look out for our fellow members first, we are now being encouraged to look outside of ourselves. It's a shift that has been necessarily slow. No change comes super easy, and changing the outlook of a religion-based state will come with difficulties. Yet now I believe those who are not members of our church outnumber those who are, or at least those who are active.<br />
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With our most recent prophet, President Russel Nelson, change is happening fast. So many of us are super excited, but there is still a presence of resistance that pervades, especially in the older generations. I am reminded of the Israelites Moses brought out of Egypt, who struggled so much to let go of their old traditions and had to wander through the wilderness for forty years. What good did that do? It allowed a newer generation to grow up - one that was prepared to accomplish a new work. I have witnessed it here in my own ward (local congregation). Boundaries were realigned among our neighborhoods that created a whole new ward. Most of those who grumbled about the change were the much older generation, because it wasn't what they were used to. Then changes began within the Church of Jesus Christ itself, and the grumbling intensified. However, I look at the younger generations and they are so ready for things to change! They are the ones who are making the strides us oldies-but-goodies simply can't...or won't.<br />
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We are learning, I promise!<br />
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All I am asking is for you to be cautious when you talk about those "Utah Mormons". Just as any other person in any state, any country, and any city, we are the way we are for a reason. Try to understand us. Be gentle. We're attempting to make it back to heaven in our own imperfect ways too.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-57346099489377448982019-04-29T09:10:00.000-07:002019-04-29T09:10:00.946-07:00A Survivor of Abuse: TriggersIt's easier to look back now and and see the "signs" that abuse must have been a part of my past. Until those memories began to return I never would have guessed so many odd behaviors I couldn't explain were trying to tell me something.<br />
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I have two instances in my life that, knowing what I know now, should have been huge indicators. At the times I simply explained it away as being an empath - having an ability to feel what others feel.<br />
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The first time was in high school. I was taking a family education class (you know, the one where you get the fake baby, only we had plants...much quieter) and we had come to the section on child abuse. I sat through 45 minutes of pictures on how children had been inflicted with injuries by people who were supposed to love and take care of them. I saw pictures of water burns, cigarette burns, broken limbs, and other things I've blocked out. This was just day one.<br />
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By the time class was done I was so upset I spent the rest of the day in my room, hiding. I wouldn't even come out for dinner. My family knew <i>what</i> had upset me, but none of us knew <i>why</i> I was so upset. It must be my tender heart, we all said.<br />
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The next day I couldn't make myself go to the class. I was a straight A student who never missed school unless I was really sick. That was the first time in high school I purposely didn't go. I made my way across the street to our church's seminary building where instead of hearing about the evils forced on little children I was able to hear about the Savior and His love for us.<br />
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Skip forward many years. I now had three children. My boys were 2 and 4. One evening I received an email from someone close to me. It was one of those pass along emails we would get and then forward to those on our email lists (before <span style="background-color: yellow;">social media</span>). It was the story of a little 3 year old boy who was lured away from his mom by two others boys at a local store, and basically tortured then killed.<br />
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By the time I was done reading the horrific things that were done to this little one I was sobbing. I prayed and prayed the email wasn't true, but an Internet search proved it did happen several years before. In my mind the little boy would take on the face of my two boys and I could not make it go away.<br />
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The entire next day I tried my best to be normal, but then I would begin the uncontrollable sobbing again. My sweet husband called in the late morning and I tried to explain what had upset me but like the time in high school he couldn't understand <i>why </i>I was so upset. As I was supposed to be a part of an activity that night with some of our local teenagers, he willingly gave me a priesthood blessing. It immediately helped calm my mind, and I realize now the veil was placed back over my memories so I would not remember. It wasn't time yet.<br />
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While typing all of this out I have had one more memory come. I remember as a teenager reading a book called, "Secrets" written by Blaine M. Yorgason and Sunny Oaks. It was a novel involving all types of abuse coming out into the open. I hated that book, but I still have it. It felt wrong to get rid of it. I don't recall much of what was in it; another form of repression on my part. Maybe one day I'll feel strong enough to read it again.<br />
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After that email both my husband and I knew I couldn't handle anything that had to do with the abuse of children. I had to stop watching the news. Many of our favorite television shows were switched off if abuse was a topic. I knew this was a trigger for me, I just didn't fully understand why.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-59823065034213753552019-04-22T11:08:00.002-07:002019-04-22T11:08:54.420-07:00Life is Like... Cheering for Everyone's TeamMy younger son, B, loves sports. Being born into a family who isn't overly involved in sports has come as a grave disappointment to him, but we're all learning to cope. I simply prefer to cope with a hand full of chocolate.<br />
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In seventh grade B decided to try wrestling. I have no idea what that must have been like as an actual participant, but as a parent it was excruciating. I have never wanted to jump up from a bleacher, run down to the floor, and pull the hair of some unsuspecting fellow athlete in my entire life! All so he would just leave my son alone!<br />
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Fortunately I was able to temper those natural mama-bear instincts. Even more fortunately B decided against continuing on for another year. Instead we tried basketball.<br />
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From the parental point of view, basketball was a refreshing change. I didn't have to watch as my son was contorted into unnatural positions and was able to keep my inner beast under control. The only problem with basketball is B hadn't been playing it since he was in the womb. While other young men whose fathers had coached them since the dawn of time dribbled the ball up and down the court with the ease of the NBA, my son was learning how to play with others. It's easy to keep the ball from being stolen when no one else is there to steal it.<br />
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Basketball lasted a little more than a year before he decided it was fun when with friends, but it definitely wasn't something he wanted to continue. His latest venture is track. There are two different types of runners in track: sprinters and long distance. The first year he joined B decided to be a sprinter.<br />
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Being a sprinter entails running your absolute hardest in the shortest time possible. For me to understand the desire to make this happen I imagine a group of people being chased by a mountain lion, but if I make it to the goal first I won't get eaten. Just don't ask me why the mountain lion no longer hungers for me once I've crossed the finish line.<br />
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Sprinting wasn't B's absolute favorite, especially on the shorter races. The longer races seemed to be a better fit (like once or twice around the track). He did well, but suffered from shin splints.<br />
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During the summer one friend talked him into trying cross country running. He enjoyed it enough to decide on abandoning the sprinters and joining the long distance runners in track this year (and yes, there IS a difference between cross country and track). This is where we get in to the best part of our post.<br />
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There is a mentally handicapped young man on the team this year. He wanted to join the same team as his big brother, a senior this year. The young man obviously can't run the long distances, but that hasn't stopped him from running. His event is the 100 meter dash.<br />
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The team has had about 5 track meets this year, and in every single one I have seen something that makes my heart absolutely sing. Our sweetheart of a young man stands ready at the starting line, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of running another successful race. The official raises his hand while the other runners get into position, and then BANG! the gun goes off.<br />
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Lanes two through eight are quickly emptied as the other runners have crossed the finish line in mere seconds, while our young man pumps his legs as fast as they will allow. Along the way are each of his other teammates who are clapping and cheering him on every step of the way. Interspersed we see members of the other teams who begin to do the same. They pump their fists in the air, cheer at the top of their lungs, clap their hands to give encouragement. And the farther down the lane he goes, the louder they get, until a massive yell of triumph comes from the lungs of every person there. Parents and students alike from three different schools all come together to cheer for and encourage one young man.<br />
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It's pretty awesome.<br />
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Sometimes life is like finding a moment to cheer for every one's team. We tend to get separated into various groups whether at school, at work, at home, at church, whatever. Groups can easily get competitive, and if we're not careful, competitive can turn ugly. But every once in a while there's someone who is able to erase boundaries, make us look a little deeper within, and remember we're all on the same course in life, whether we realize it or not in the daily grind of living.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-66904042134156256262019-04-15T09:48:00.002-07:002019-04-15T09:48:59.145-07:00A Survivor of Abuse: RememberingYears ago there was a commercial for a fast food restaurant that supposedly had such a good deal a person was willing to break open an adorable piggy bank just to get that food. There was a moment when the little piggy was hiding in a closet and the shadow of it's owner would come through the wooden slats, a hammer in hand, ready to destroy the precious little being in order to obtain some sort of wealth inside.<div>
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I hated that commercial.</div>
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Why did I hate that commercial?</div>
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As I look back over my life there have been obvious clues that there was something deep within the recesses of my mind I was so afraid of letting out. Of course it's so much easier to look back and see the pattern unfolding, than to try and make sense of it as it's happening.</div>
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About five years ago I was coming to a crossroads. Things were simply not <i>right </i>with me. Though my depression was a bit more under control, I felt more attacked mentally, emotionally and spiritually than ever before. I knew I need help, but not the usual doctor/counselor/therapist/medication sort of help. Everything in my mind kept screaming at me that I was nothing. Yet this didn't make sense because all I had been taught in church said I was of so much value.</div>
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A few months previous my parents had been introduced to energy work. This wasn't my own first experience with it as I had been using it to get rid of many of my allergies through NAET. What my mom and dad had found, however, was a whole different line of energy work. My mom had offered more than once to introduce me to Sue, and had offered to pay for my first visit as well. One afternoon I was so desperate for the inner voices to go away I finally called my mom and asked her to make me an appointment.</div>
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It was awesome. It was difficult. I felt like a little child in her hands, something delicate and afraid and hopeful and trusting. Near the end of our second session she was deeply concerned that I had so many doubts of being worthy of happiness. She could sense that deep down I absolutely did not believe I deserved a happy life. In another session she stopped me once and said, "What happened when you were three?" I thought this particularly odd because only two years before my NAET doctor had asked me the same thing when realizing there was something that happened to me at the age of three that was keeping me from healing. </div>
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"We moved to a new house," I told her. </div>
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"Did you ever suffer any abuse?" she asked.</div>
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I answered with full confidence, "No." She sat there and stared at me, a subtle notion of <i>I'm so sorry for what you're about to go through</i> on her face.</div>
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Two different people asking me the same thing. What happened when I was three? I had no memory of anything bad happening. We had moved to a new house close to where I live now. We were there until I was about eight and we moved again. My best friend lived across the street, and my older brother's best friend lived two houses down (I always thought of him as my boyfriend).</div>
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One night as I had been pondering on so much I was in bed and a thought came out of absolutely nowhere. "I wonder if the reason I can't lay on my back is because he was so heavy." I've never been able to lay down on my back. I would get dizzy and disoriented and unable to breathe. I always thought it had to do with a nerve in my back that would somehow pinch. Not anymore.</div>
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I began to sob, gut wrenching, soul crushing sobs. I was afraid of waking up my husband so I went into our living room. I sat on the floor in front of our couch and pressed my face into the cushion to muffle the crying. </div>
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I had to be making this up.</div>
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No way could this be real.</div>
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How could I have forgotten?????</div>
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After an hour I went to Facebook and not so subtly asked if it was possible to have forgotten something so horrible for so many years. The answers were a resounding YES! Many brave women came forward and told me they too had repressed those memories. I was grateful for their courage, but I hated the truth forced on me.</div>
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Still I didn't believe. The next morning was Sunday. The moment I saw my bishop and my husband I asked for a priesthood blessing. We went into the bishop's office where he asked what was going on. I told them, so afraid to look my spouse in the eyes. What if he didn't believe me? </div>
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They placed their hands on my head and gave me a blessing from my Heavenly Father. I immediately felt peace, and was told in no uncertain terms that it was real, and it was time to start healing.</div>
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<a href="about:invalid#zClosurez" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for shattered piggy bank" border="0" 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" /></a>I have no doubt there is a time for everything, and in that moment I knew my body and my mind were ready to begin dealing with the horrors forced on me when I was too weak to fight back. That was when I realized why I hated that fast food commercial so much. For too long I was the little piggy bank, hiding in the closet, terrified of the shadow outside the door just waiting to take my wealth.</div>
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LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-88470527202671567492019-03-11T12:56:00.000-07:002019-03-11T12:56:26.787-07:00Life is Like...Sorting SocksHave you ever had to sort socks? Have you ever had to sort socks for more than one person?<div>
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There are six people living in my little home. Six pair of feet to cover for seven days a week, especially in the winter months. In one week we can manage to dirty forty-two pair of socks. That's eighty-four individual socks. The individual number is important. I'll even tell you why.</div>
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I sat on my bed this morning with a laundry basket FULL of socks. They were mostly white socks, but a few colors were mixed in. I'm always grateful for the colors, they make matching socks so much easier.</div>
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Imagine this basket full of at least eighty-four individual socks (I say 'at least' because inevitably some have walked off leaving behind many that don't get to have a match). Some are for big feet, some are for slightly smaller feet. Some have the brand name printed along the toes, while others have darker shades along the heels. There are socks that will go up high on the leg, and those that love to snuggle your ankles. We have the special Daddy's socks, which are different from the boys', which are different from the girls', which are different from Mom's socks.</div>
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All in all, there are a whole lot of socks.</div>
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As I sorted these various feet coverings I began to wax philosophical (tends to happen when I've been in my head for too long), and it occurred to me that life really is like going through a basket chock full of socks.</div>
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All socks start their journey by coming out of a package. They are pristine. The whites are as white as they will ever be. Colors are vibrant. Patterns are clear. Even the threads are undamaged and identical socks can be doubled up with any that look just like it. We are much the same way.</div>
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Until, of course, the inevitable happens and someone puts their feet into the socks. Some are worn on the right foot, some on the left. Some are worn outside without shoes on, while others are constantly covered. At times these socks will go to scout camp, where I am convinced the dirt in these boy-concentrated places has a special bond that mixes so completely with the socks that it never, ever, EVER comes out, no matter what magical incantations I might employ to make said socks look clean. Then there are those times the socks are not turned right side out before they are washed (no matter how many times I tell them to please please please turn them right side out before putting them in their laundry hampers!), meaning the dirt, which sticks more to the outside then the inside, often remains on the outside. I do not understand the logic of this, seeing as how all the stinky from the inside of the sock is washed out even if the sock itself hasn't been turned inside out.</div>
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After months and months of being worn, and washed, and worn, and washed, and...you get the idea...socks start to look less than pristine. In our house they begin to get those annoying little balls that get bigger and bigger until you actually sit down to tear them off. Of course these annoying little balls are bits of your sock slowly fraying, thinning them out until you can actually see parts of your skin. Hopefully those parts of skin are beautiful, rather than dry and crackly.</div>
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Eventually even the most beloved sock gets holes in them. Back in the "good old days" people used to darn their socks. No, that doesn't mean they would shake their fists at it and say, "Darn you!" It means they would take thread and painstakingly attempt to fix those holes. We don't do that any more, for which I am grateful. I think my family would decide going sockless to be a beautiful thing if I made them wear the ones I attempted to darn.</div>
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If you're anything like my husband getting rid of something that has a few holes in it is tossing out the most comfortable item of clothing in the world. Those are always, in his own words, "MY FAVORITE!!!" Silly boy. Still, every sock eventually comes to the point where it has to go away. Sometimes because it is worn out, others times because gremlins crept into the laundry basket and stole unmatched pairs, and no matter how long you keep a hold of those single-but-unable-to-mingle items, the gremlins refuse to grow a conscience and return their matches. Then comes the day you finally get rid of the singles, only to do a more thorough cleaning of your room and find the match behind your dresser. You'd think by now I'd have learned to look there first.</div>
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Over time sorting similar socks even becomes difficult, because I try my best to sort socks into similar pair of dirtiness. I think I might OCD.</div>
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Believe it or not, life is often like this. Um, not like me having OCD, but like being a sock.</div>
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We are all born into this world coming from the same package - that is, heaven. Some of us look so much alike we could be interchangeable (though I don't recommend proving it!). We are vibrant, unmarked, clear, and whole.</div>
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Then life starts. We are placed into different families and circumstances that stretch us in different ways. We are taken through various experiences that make us more individual than we were at birth. Some of those experiences are pretty stinky, some leave marks we can't seem to get rid of, while others others allow us to live good, long lives filled with amazing memories. At times we believe our perfect match has been stolen, but then realize we were meant for another pairing. We may begin life with many friends with which we can be interchangeable, then over time we recognize there are only a few we really want to match with.</div>
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Some individuals wear out fast, but are fixed along the way, helping them to last longer. Others feel they are past fixing, or refuse to be fixed. The best people are those who have worn out their lives making the lives of others a bit more comfortable, who will be missed horribly when they are called home to their Maker.</div>
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Bet you can't wait until I come up with another thing life is like ;)</div>
LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-73083811585729917862019-02-10T21:07:00.003-08:002019-02-10T21:07:45.576-08:00What's in a Name Change?Okay, I know, it's been over a year since I last wrote. You know those words, "There is a time for everything", well, the last few years have definitely NOT been a time for blog posting. It's not that I haven't had things to write about. There simply wasn't enough 'time', nor energy for that matter.<br />
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During my Sunday meeting with the women of my local congregation, we discussed a recent talk given by the president of our church, Russel M. Nelson. In this talk he was directing us to stop utilizing the more common nicknames of our church, and go back to the direct name given through inspiration to the first prophet of this dispensation: the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.<br />
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The discussion prompted by this talk among my sisters in church was awesome. Ideas were shared, answers were given, and we were all agreed this wasn't a major, life-changing event. Regardless, it's important.<br />
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In the culture of our religion we had taken on many nicknames: LDS, Latter-day Saints, The Church, and Mormons. Every single one of these names excluded the very person we claim to worship with all our hearts, minds, and bodies. The name of Jesus Christ.<br />
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President Nelson said, "To remove the Lord’s name from the Lord’s Church is a major victory for Satan. When we<i> discard</i> the Savior’s name, we are subtly <i>disregarding</i> all that Jesus Christ did for us—even His Atonement."<br />
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When I first heard the words <i>a major victory for Satan</i> I sat back, stunned. I began to think about how happy it really must make Satan to take out the very name of the individual he most hates. Of course he would want to subtly lead us down a path that would keep us from using His name. Tiny little acts like these, that to us may seem vastly unimportant, place us on a road that will separate us from our Lord. And one day we will look back and wonder why we feel so far from Him.<br />
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This is why we need individuals like our dear prophet, who gives us firm, loving reminders to correct our course while the going is still easy. Something as simple as remembering to whom this gospel belongs, and being willing to make the little changes necessary to keep on His path.<br />
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I knew I needed to change the name of this blog, but I was slow in getting to it, simply because my time has been needed by other things. Fortunately my Savior is patient, and gives me even more reminders like going back over this awesome talk.<br />
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I am not a Mormon. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am going to be more vigilant in making sure I use the correct name of the church I believe the Savior restored upon this blessed earth.<br />
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If you would like to read the talk by President Nelson following this link: "<a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2018/10/the-correct-name-of-the-church?lang=eng" target="_blank">The Correct Name of the Church</a>".LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-57848671949027466762017-10-01T13:30:00.000-07:002017-10-01T13:30:00.069-07:00To Stand or KneelFor the last couple of years the high school at which I work as a lunch lady has had a wonderful project to help the students and even faculty get to know one another better and to take a moment to see things from someone else's point of view.<br />
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It's called "Swap a Heart". Everyone gets a t-shirt to decorate any way they want, hopefully relating to the short essay they are encouraged to write. It is hoped one will write about something they are passionate about, that makes them tick. I'd like to share what I wrote and painted here:<br />
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For a little over a year now I have taken time to observe the faculty and students at ______ High School. Working in the lunchroom doesn’t give me a chance to observe them in the classrooms, but seeing them wander by, wander in, and wander through the lunchroom has had me thinking about one thing in particular: the observance of the Pledge of Allegiance.<br />
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One particular co-worker of mine is crazy into scouting. She has worked with the cub scouts for possibly more years than I have been alive. When I first came here about five years ago I marveled as she paused every morning to place her hand over her heart and recited the Pledge. Every morning! It brought home to me my own lack of respect when it came to what the Pledge of Allegiance meant to me.<br />
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In the years since I have only seen one young man stop on his way to class (even though he was late) to place his hand over his heart, face toward the flag, and recite the Pledge. One young man. That’s it. I became saddened. It takes a minute at most, yet no one else has done the same.<br />
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In recent months a popular protest amongst Americans is to kneel during the Pledge of Allegiance and the singing of the National Anthem. I have been struggling to understand why, in particular because the things they are protesting for are the very things the National Anthem, the flag, and the Pledge stand for. In my mind these individuals were disrespecting the very things this land was dedicated toward preserving.<br />
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Most of the time I find social media difficult to stomach, as people far and wide have decided it’s the best place to lay out their every opinion, whether it’s warranted or not. I was grateful for it in the last few weeks, however, as I was given a small insight into the reasoning behind those who kneel.<br />
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The reasons came down to one simple thing: hope. Hope for something better. We are a nation of individuals who hope for more than the lot we have been given in life.<br />
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Hope for freedom to walk down the street without fear.<br />
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Hope that our words can and will make a difference somewhere.<br />
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Hope that as we go about our daily lives there will be those who see us, our needs, our fears, and our courage.<br />
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Hope that if we did not start our lives in America, we can make more of our lives here.<br />
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Hope that the color of our skin, our hair, or our eyes will not make people uncomfortable, but embraceable.<br />
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Hope that when someone looks our way the state of our smile will be more important than the state of our clothes, our car, or our home.<br />
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Hope that our children will grow up to be the leaders who will make the changes necessary to allow our hopes to become reality.<br />
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And when our hope feels frail, as though the fires have been trampled to the point where even the embers are unseen, that is when we kneel. That is when we take the broken and shattered pieces of our hope and place them at the feet of God, in whom we trust.<br />
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This we do in the hopes that one day He will heal our hope enough that we can see ourselves stand once more, hands over our hearts, one nation under His protection and guidance, whole again.<br />
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LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-40039628320834172232017-04-02T21:06:00.001-07:002017-04-02T21:06:08.951-07:00The Impressions We Leave BehindThis weekend, being the LDS Church's annual General Conference, is one of the busiest for my husband. He helps to cook the food for all the Church leaders who meet to speak and teach, for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir who performs, and for the audio/visual and security and all the others who work behind the scenes for two incredibly busy days.<br />
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That's a whole lot of people to feed.<br />
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Some people volunteer to be on the serving lines and help to clean up. One such woman took a look at my husband as he made the rounds and said, "I just love your wife." He had never met this woman before and couldn't understand how she knew we were married.<br />
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Come to find out she was a friend of mine from high school. We latched on to one another early on in our Freshman year. I remember loving her long, blond hair and bubbly laugh. I remember us walking down the hall one day and saying in a seriously cheesy teenage tone, "Hi Jared" to a boy we both thought was cute. I remember laughter and tears, and most of all love.<br />
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When my husband asked what I was like in high school, I don't think she could recall much more than I did, only to say, "I just know when she was around everything was happier. She made life fun." My friend also remembered me being there while her parents were going through a divorce.<br />
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Those words of hers meant a lot to me, especially as I've been doing some serious soul-searching the last few weeks. Being a Relief Society President in a ward (basically the leader over the women of our local congregation) requires things, and some of those things do not come naturally. For me, it's getting out of my house and going visiting. Some of you may think, "That's not so hard." Others (fellow introverts unite!) may be mentally patting me on the back in understanding.<br />
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There is a huge emotional block when it comes to placing myself in the personal space of others. I begin to psych myself out with thoughts of people not wanting me to visit them, to call, to ask about their personal life. Yet common sense tells me that's exactly where I am supposed to go and what I am supposed to do. I watch as my counselors are easily able to accomplish precisely what I am so unwilling to do, and then begin chastising myself for not being like them.<br />
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During the different General Conference sessions the last two days, I have been given insight into what I need to do in order to overcome this. The answers came from three different speakers, but the messages all came together for me.<br />
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1. Look up. When I am busy hanging my head in fear and disappointment in myself, look up. Therein lies the Light of Christ. Therein sits the goal of who I want to become and what Heavenly Father needs me to be. I must look up in order to get up and move forward.<br />
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2. Stretch a little farther. Just as the woman with an issue of blood had to stretch in order to touch the hem of the Savior in full faith that she would be healed, I need to stretch a little farther to fulfill my calling of looking after the sisters of the ward. The Savior will reach out to help me along that path, but I also have to reach out to Him, knowing He will help me push past this block.<br />
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3. Fear and faith cannot reside side-by-side. I know this. I really do know this, and I am getting better at putting aside fear and stepping forward in faith. It is simply time for me to put into practice the things I know. Fear is crippling, and for some reason it runs deep through the lines of my father's family. Breaking the chains takes putting faith into action.<br />
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4. I am not meant to be the leaders before me. It's one of the hardest things for any leader to shake off - the ghosts of those who came before. Relief Society leaders hold this position for about 3 years, sometimes more or less. When I look into the room on Sunday it is filled with women who have been where I now stand, and I cannot imagine how I am supposed to live up to their legacies. Today I was told I don't have to. I have my own purpose, and it is to love in the best ways I know how.<br />
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I thought about the impressions I left with this friend of mine from over 20 years ago, just as she left her impressions with me. I began to think about what sort of impressions I want to leave with the sisters, and I decided that if I can leave them with similar feelings as I did with my friend, then I have done good. This means make them laugh, let them think of love, and be there when they need a shoulder to cry on.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-54305164184456057152017-03-25T22:17:00.000-07:002017-03-25T22:17:41.029-07:00Two Years and a Lot of ChangesIt's been almost two whole years since the beginning of another new journey, one that has taken me down roads I never thought I'd travel. One thing I discovered about getting rid of false ideals that have taken years to pile on, they don't disappear in one go. As I peeled off a few layers of lies, the forgotten truths that first created those lies reared up biting.<br />
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WARNING: If any of you find child abuse to be a trigger, please don't keep reading. Please.<br />
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It was the same night that I wrote about in my last post. I was still flying high from the peace I felt when I went to bed. I have always been a side or stomach sleeper. Always. Laying on my back, even in the dentist's chair, makes me dizzy and sick to my stomach. That night I happened to think about this silly fact when these words popped into my mind: "Maybe I can't sleep on my back because I couldn't breathe when he would lay on me." Just like that I couldn't breathe. Just like that I was curled up in a ball biting back sobs so I wouldn't wake my husband.<br />
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When I gained enough control over myself I crept into the living room to sit on the floor, rock, cry, and pray. I don't know how long I was there. It doesn't really matter. The next day was Sunday. The moment I was able to get a hold of my husband and my bishop at the church building I asked for a blessing. I was numb for a good while.<br />
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The next night I sat on our back porch, grateful the kids were gone that evening to various friends' houses. Instead of putting down negative thoughts about myself I began a tirade of angry words at this man (a neighbor). I filled pages and pages until I couldn't write much more. The words most penned -<i> I was just a little girl</i>.<br />
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At last I ran out of steam, no more room to be angry...for the moment. It was then more words came to my mind. <i>Be gentle. You have no idea how he was abused as a child.</i> Though I cannot explain it, I knew with absolute certainty that whatever he had done to me and other children in our neighborhood was nothing compared to what his own father had done to him over years and years. This knowledge was placed into my head because in that moment I had a choice. I could either choose to dwell in the misery and anger this new found truth brought, or I could choose to forgive with the understanding that even as it would set me free, one day this man would have a reckoning with his Savior.<br />
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Being who I am, I chose forgiveness. What surprised me was the healing it brought when it came to how I thought of myself. I had spent years trying to understand why I always felt like a dirty, sinful creature. I would mentally beat myself up for things I didn't even understand. There was this lie so deeply etched in my child's mind that if something was wrong I couldn't tell anyone. Especially my parents, because my parents would be so mad at me. Looking back on my life, on the things I kept reprimanding myself for, they were due to the false beliefs this man forced on me. I didn't want to live those lies any more.<br />
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One day during that week I took some time and attended one of our temples. I prayed. Oh how I prayed. Near the end of my time there an answer came in the form of a scripture:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
"That ye might be sanctified from all sin."</div>
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To be sanctified means to be cleansed, not only just the body but the spirit as well. If I was to move forward and find happiness and light and become the person my Heavenly Father saw, I needed to be cleansed in both body and spirit. That is what I worked on for a good year.<br />
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Memories popped up now and again. Some were horrific, others were fairly benign. Yet they each held the emotions of that little girl as she experienced them. I dealt with panic attacks, yet was blessed that I was still able to work through it all. I received counseling from a man who was definitely guided by the Spirit as to how to help me best.<br />
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I have to credit my amazing parents. They had no idea what was going on, but they gave me a home full of love and the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was safe there. I have no doubt that made all the difference.<br />
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Since that time other major changes happened, changes that needed me to be much more whole. Our ward (local congregation) and another ward that meets in our same building had both been struggling for years for enough people to fulfill the necessary positions. Church officials on a higher level counseled together and decided to combine our congregations. When our new bishop was called, he asked me to be the Relief Society President - I was now to watch over more than 300 women in our new ward. I have two counselors and a secretary with whom I work.<br />
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Yet I still feel as though I'm not enough. I can't seem to get to everybody to talk and chat and visit with. In the almost one year we've been together my presidency and others have overseen more than 14 funeral luncheons. Being a part-time worker and a full time wife and mom doesn't leave a ton of time to do everything I want to do, and I can feel those ugly lies trying to take hold again.<br />
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If I had not been awakened to what happened all those years ago, if I had not let go of all those lies, my ability to function in this position would have had me drowning. Instead I am treading water with a life jacket on. My Savior will not let me drown.<br />
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It's been two years since I last wrote, but it's been an amazing two years.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-86465558580674882452015-08-06T10:41:00.000-07:002017-03-25T21:26:08.551-07:00Day 2 of The Negative Thought PurgeYesterday I went to see Sue, though not for me. This was the second visit for my daughter, <b>M</b>, who is also in need of some healing of the mind, body and spirit. I was definitely meant to be there with them both, as things took place to make a major shift in my knowledge of what's going on in my family. It also lead me to understand more the power of forgiveness. More on that later.<br />
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After last night's purge I felt better than the day before. So much so that when I sat down to write my negative thoughts it was difficult to come up with them. Instead of having a bunch of murky, nasty, vindictive, untrue statements flow easily from my mind I found myself feeling more contemplative. The bad beliefs went deeper and were harder to come up with. Why?<br />
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I truly believe it's because under the surface of all that negativity I had to fight to find the lies. Truth is beginning to resurface. There is the Light of Christ shining through again, though there is a lot of work yet to be done and a lot more healing to experience.<br />
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The first day I managed to fill almost all three pages. This time around I barely managed a page and a half. I probably could have done more but my spirit was too busy being filled with the beauty of watching the clouds roll quickly across the sky, flowing from one vibrant color to another as the sun settled behind the western mountains.I believe when I prayed for all the empty spots that had been occupied with the icky, murky, nasty thoughts that had taken root to instead be filled with peace, there was nowhere for nastiness to settle back in.<br />
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The peace and love of our Savior is truly incredible.<br />
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The overlying feeling left with my spirit was one of forgiveness. Forgiveness of others and of myself. So long as I held on to all of those negative beliefs there was no way I could forgive anyone, least of all imperfect me. If I can't forgive myself how can I possibly forgive others?<br />
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Forgiveness is freeing. It lightens the soul and gives room for peace. The natural man doesn't want to forgive. It wants to hold tight to grievances and grudges. That's not how the Savior works. He doesn't want to see us live that way. He wants us to be happy, even if we don't believe we can ever experience it, or deserve it.<br />
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Challenge for day 2 of your negative thought purge. After you've written down all of those negative thoughts for a second day in a row, pray for the spaces to be filled with peace and forgiveness. Even if you can't believe it'll make a difference, trust in the Savior.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-18506944936150429012015-08-04T19:30:00.000-07:002017-03-25T21:24:43.755-07:00The Power of a ThoughtIn the last few weeks I've started to visit with an energy healer. I won't go into why at the moment, but yesterday's visit got me thinking about the power of thoughts.<br />
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Sue, my practitioner, told me it takes just as much energy to think of something positive as it does to think of something negative. Yet we always tend to gravitate toward thinking negatively, especially about ourselves. As I pondered this thought, I realized just how damaging or healing that one choice can be: will I tell myself something negative or something positive?<br />
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I hold deep within my mind and heart a lot - and I really do mean a LOT - of negative beliefs about myself. They all run along the lines of not being enough. For anyone. I'm not<i> smart enough, pretty enough, funny enough, serious enough, rich enough, poor enough, outgoing enough, quiet enough, loud enough, fast enough, thin enough, social enough, religious enough, service-oriented enough, energetic enough</i>...and the list goes on and on. Because of all these negative thoughts I've told myself and allowed others to tell me and convinced myself it's what people were saying to/about me I no longer exist. Not as I once was.<br />
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With every negative thought I gave away a tiny slice of my personal power. I now feel broken in my spirit, my mind and my body. I don't even believe I'm worth putting back together - and that's a very difficult thing to admit, because I thoroughly believe everyone else in this world is worth fixing. <b>So why not me?</b><br />
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Sue gave me some homework for the next seven days. I am to find a quiet spot, I am to start with a prayer, and then I am to take three blank pages and begin writing down every negative belief I have about myself. Not holding back. Just let it all out. When I was done I was NOT to go back and reread it, but to crumple it up and either burn the pages or throw them away. After those seven days I am supposed to do the opposite. I am to take three blank pages and begin writing down every positive thing about myself - even if I don't necessarily believe it. I can write things others have said about me if I can't think of anything myself, just as long as they are positive I AM statements.<br />
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I began my first list of negative things tonight. To be honest I didn't think I'd be able to write much. Once the words got going I couldn't stop. I had no idea I believed so many bad things about myself! After half an hour my mind was exhausted. I had filled up a lot more of those three pages than I thought I could, and I felt...better. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted off my heart. As I'd been instructed I didn't read over what I'd written. Instead the papers were promptly crumpled up and I threw them away. Since my mind felt empty of all negativity I figured it might be a good idea to finish the assignment with a prayer, asking only for the empty spots to be filled with peace.<br />
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I cried through most of that purge. It was interesting to see which thoughts caused me the most pain to write. Those thoughts, those beliefs about myself, they were the most telling. It's taken many years of negative thinking for me to get this bad, therefore I know it will take quite some time to reverse the damage done. Right now my biggest hope is to feel as though I am worth fixing - feel this so intensely I actually believe it! So that when I wake up in the morning telling myself I can and will live life in abundance it won't feel like a lie.<br />
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Thoughts are powerful. They can make or break a person. Consider what you tell yourself every day. One of the happiest and loveliest women I know weighs over 300 pounds, but constantly tells herself how awesome she is - <b>AND SHE IS</b>!!! She truly believes it and after being told so many times over, we all believe it too.<br />
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The next time you feel as though you are drowning in negative thoughts, I encourage you to write them all down. Purge your mind of them. Then throw the papers away. Pray for peace to fill those empty spaces and begin trading those negative thoughts for positive. I'd love to hear how it changes your own lives!LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-39323252152582413972015-07-08T12:10:00.000-07:002015-07-08T12:10:15.318-07:00Rediscovering My VoiceMedically there was nothing wrong. My thyroid was normal. There was nothing swollen or out of place. No abnormal growth of cells to explain away the feeling there was something unusual in my neck. Everything was fine. Everything except this uncomfortable feeling that something...<i>something</i> wasn't fine.<br />
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I would lay down at night and find it difficult to breathe, as though a ball had been inserted into my neck. I could still breathe, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be writing to you today, but it wasn't with the ease I had previously experienced. I went in for testing. I was now the proud owner of a cpap machine to help me at night. The only problem - I still felt some sort of blockage.<br />
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I am a big supporter of what has been termed "Western" and "Holistic" medicine. It's no secret I love to use essential oils, as those are the medicines God originally placed on the earth to help us in the first place. I also believe God has inspired men and women to bring about the extraordinary methods to help treat illnesses in these modern times, and to dismiss them isn't respecting what God has put in place. I believe there is a beautiful middle where both can be used to the sufferer's benefit.<br />
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This last year I have been introduced to different types - modalities - of energy healing. I had no idea how many types there were. It came through my parents' introducing me to the "Emotion Code". From there I have attempted some research and even went to a conference about energy healing. In the last few weeks I came to realize the block in my neck is an emotional block. Specifically, the emotion of being silenced.<br />
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I don't care for the imagery and feelings that come with the term "chakras" as it's been mystified and corrupted over thousands of years. There is, unfortunately, no other ways to term the energy pathways of the body. It's certainly not a new concept, not for me. I'd dealt with similar things when I did allergy elimination. In different areas of the body there are different energy centers. Because my block appeared in my neck, I knew it was my voice that had been silenced.<br />
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I went to see a woman recently who works on chakras, as well as other things. She told me many things, much of which made a whole lot of sense about different things I'd been dealing with as she explained them, including the block in my neck. The biggest way to fix them? Take back my personal power.<br />
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Sounds cheesy, doesn't it? I had to take a long, prayerful look at the last few years to see where exactly I had lost my way. With the guidance of Heavenly Father I began to see little choices I had made to let others dictate what was good or bad for me, and about me. This even included the members of my own family, though none of it was intentional. I began to see with spiritual eyes that the person God needed me to become was being lost in what everyone else thought I ought to become. Deep within myself was the unaccountable knowledge that I did not have enough confidence in myself and the inspirations of the Lord in regards to His plans for me to do what I knew to be right. Instead I would cave in to what others felt was more important.<br />
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Over the last month I have worked hard to recognize these little choices. I have been asserting my own needs and desires. I have even spoken up instead of backing down when certain people have stated things I knew was not right. One funny thing occurred after my first session - my singing voice started to return. I haven't been able to sing with power in so long I thought my voice damaged. In a way it was.<br />
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It's been over a year since I last posted here. It's not for a lack of trying. No matter how much preparation I would do, what time of day I would sit down to write, nothing would come out. Ideas and thoughts would flow through my mind at hurricane speed, demanding an outlet. Not a word could be typed, because my voice was blocked.<br />
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This post right here, it's a huge step. My wishes and desires to voice my own opinions and beliefs feel like a reality now, rather than a dream. I am once more making an effort to keep my power where it belongs. With me.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-8176777093060216582014-04-08T21:26:00.000-07:002014-04-08T21:26:06.650-07:00Feeling Adequate at Best<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines adequate as "enough for some need or requirement: good enough: of a quality that is good or acceptable."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lately I feel less than adequate. Doesn't matter what part of my life we're discussing. Could be work. Could be home. Could be Mom. Could be Wife. Could be daughter of God. Could be grocery shopper. Could be nail trimmer. Doesn't matter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Certainly my role as blog-writer has suffered as I've tried to stretch myself to play a bazillion different roles. The only problem is a person can only be stretched so far. My brain feels like a giant ball of mush these days. Trying to put connecting sentences together to create a post longer than a status update via Facebook makes my head hurt. Literally. I go into a fog and the next thing I know I've deleted the blog post because I just can't do it. Which breaks my heart as being a writer has been a dream of mine since I was a little girl.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yet I continue to fight that word: adequate. Good enough. But nothing to cheer about. I read of how families are going to Disneyland (seemingly every one's favorite way to spend their tax return). How people are having their next book published. How they are able to do this and that and this and that and I...am adequate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay so I really do know I'm more than adequate. In many ways I'm so stinking awesome you could hardly stand to be around me. Except you wouldn't want to walk away from my awesomeness regardless of how stinking I might prove to be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's so easy to sit and compare ourselves to others. We've never been able to take our kids to Disneyland, but we've always had enough to keep ourselves going. We find ways of having fun times that don't include long lines and going into debt. Though we still would like to try and take the kids one day. I may not have published anything officially, but my writings have blessed the lives of the young women for whom I've put stories together for their girls camps. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The most extraordinary thing I have done with my life can be seen in the walls of my home. I have four beautiful children who, despite my best efforts, are turning out to be fairly normal and moderately happy. I have a husband whom I adore and, regardless of how crazy or adequate I am, seems to love me right back. Best of all there is a spirit of love in this home that cannot be denied by any who enter in. This home is a little slice of heaven on earth. Well, at times it's more earthy than heavenly, but there really is no place I'd rather be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had to remind myself that there are times my "best" is going to be awesome. I'm talking awesomely awesome. Like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Other days my "best" is going to be crawling over ant hills (minuscule ant hills) and then taking a nap because that took all my energy. Either way my "best" is the best I can give, and both are okay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've struggled this last month. More than I thought I would. My oldest son would have been 14 this year - it's a key age in my church. It hurt, <i>so</i> much. And then four - yes, FOUR - people I loved with all my heart died within a week. I shattered, and trying to glue myself back together has been impossible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, I know death is not the end. Yes, I know I will see them and hug them all again. Yes, I know the Atonement of Christ means He knows exactly how I'm feeling and will help me through it all. I know He is my glue. I know He is my carpenter, my Healer, my Brother. But the ache that's left behind when I can't hold them here and now remains.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I received a priesthood blessing tonight from my husband and my daddy. How grateful I am that they are always ready and willing to do so for me. And that my Heavenly Father loves me despite my inaccurate feelings of being less than adequate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My shoulders feel lighter. Nothing has changed, except my attitude. Which is the most important and most effective change. Especially when it comes as a blessing from up above. And while life may still find me feeling adequate while my Brother and I continue to put me back together, at least I know my best is my best and that's okay.</span>LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-66920522136280070792014-03-25T13:27:00.001-07:002014-03-25T13:31:15.317-07:00Stay Strong and Carry On: Maile Tua'one<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsh5vHywRH3A-Owha4pkeL-CNKnOl2yzQ_7_RaWmhlmvhqmoMi7bHnSYm7cA_CD1N9Z5oIirx61iM3LpwFys19x5PJBQI4Gy6hwd2gUEDRtuXSMyqUj6jOhV4orhgWGcbiy636x9h9Tp0/s1600/560976_143167822494811_2070589847_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsh5vHywRH3A-Owha4pkeL-CNKnOl2yzQ_7_RaWmhlmvhqmoMi7bHnSYm7cA_CD1N9Z5oIirx61iM3LpwFys19x5PJBQI4Gy6hwd2gUEDRtuXSMyqUj6jOhV4orhgWGcbiy636x9h9Tp0/s1600/560976_143167822494811_2070589847_n.jpg" height="252" width="320" /></a></div>
She's the girl on the very left. Do you see her? Of course you do. You can't help yourself. There's something in the way she smiles, a secret kept in the corner of her gorgeous eyes that makes you wish you knew what she knew.<br />
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"Go ahead and take my picture," she says, a half-laugh on her lips. "See me," she says, even though the photos are a mere echo of the beauty that sits before you. "Love me," she whispers, not a command, but rather an invitation, as though in those two words a world of unbelievable joy can be opened up before your own eyes. A world you would never have seen or felt without her. "Let me love you," she breathes, and in that one breath you know that being loved by Maile will be one of the greatest blessings of your life.<br />
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The last time I really got to see Maile Tua'one, see her, laugh with her, love her, was at our church Christmas party in early December. She and a cousin were playing the part of the most gorgeous Santa Helpers of all time and I had the chance to MC the night. For those who knew Maile it will come as no surprise that she made the night fun. She made it magical. She brought laughter and love to the evening.<br />
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Maile died this last Sunday, late in the night. She was with a friend when her car ended up with a flat tire. Her friend got out to change the tire and she stood by his side the entire time. Which was just like her. She was always by your side. Watching over you. Watching with you. Giving very unhelpful pointers but making you love every word of advice.<br />
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When Maile loved - and she loved everyone!...almost - it was with her whole heart. She was a little girl in a woman's body. Very little made her more happy than to dress up in her "real clothes", her Princess clothes.<br />
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And if she could find other little girls play princess with her, well, all the better. Because in those few moments shared Maile could explain to each and every little girl that they too were real-life princesses, pretending to be "regular people" in life so everyone else wouldn't have to be too jealous. In her eyes every girl deserved to be treated like royalty, and expected the men in her life to act accordingly. More often than not, they did.<br />
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Maile had the heart of an artist. One small doodle turned into a masterpiece. She lived life. She loved life. She was terrified of life. She saw it in vivid color, every swirl, every detail, down to the little things the rest of us take for granted. When we would try to go from point A to point B we knew we'd meet her there, but that she'd be five hours later. Why? Because our straight line was nothing like for her. The twists and turns and stops along the way made the way sweeter, made it worth every moment in her goal to reach B. Only B wasn't her ultimate goal - enjoying the ride, that's what mattered.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">"trapped like a bird in the chaos of her own mind. inspiration strikes randomly when contemplating certain people and ideas I can't seem to escape from. I may not know what I'm doing most of the time but I sure do make it look good" ~ Maile Tua'one</span></span></td></tr>
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Look at those eyes. Look at that half-smile. She knew what it meant to embrace everything good in this life. She's been taken from us here on earth, but her soul is flying now. Higher than she's ever gone before. She's still loving us, as we're still loving her, only she's gone on to love so many more, hand-in-hand with her daddy. Gonna miss you Miss Miles. There is no one else in this world like you. Stop by and visit every once in a while, but be the best missionary you can be on the other side.</div>
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Stay Strong and Carry On</div>
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Words she shared.</div>
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Words she lived.</div>
LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-92205884139316978122013-05-31T11:52:00.002-07:002013-05-31T11:52:45.240-07:00Patrick Stewart on Violence Against Women/Children<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-37807911747500730862013-05-24T09:11:00.000-07:002013-05-24T09:11:17.501-07:00Raising My Garden of Children<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another school year is coming to a close. Normally I'm excited too usher in the summer, as it means having my kids nearby so we can try playing in the warmer weather.<br />
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This year feels rather bittersweet, however, as I am realizing just how quickly my children have grown. Starting next year one will be in high school, one in middle school, and the other two still in elementary.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQUvOtnK7ER0yx-bZKW8epsOqoNx-auNt0Q224OsZ-upAFu92zAZc7TLMmdHvyzGG5cC8qM6FgBrjudc4ePSWo_s3O1ALPNJvk1Eq-3goGWDU5UMHEvMxUPKBgV9jRXimlRK_86IvDbw/s1600/101_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQUvOtnK7ER0yx-bZKW8epsOqoNx-auNt0Q224OsZ-upAFu92zAZc7TLMmdHvyzGG5cC8qM6FgBrjudc4ePSWo_s3O1ALPNJvk1Eq-3goGWDU5UMHEvMxUPKBgV9jRXimlRK_86IvDbw/s200/101_0254.JPG" width="200" /></a>I know it was bound to happen. After all, I'm no longer wearing diapers. Still, today my reality of raising a family boils down to this: it is so fleeting. I can still recall bringing home my daughter from the hospital, so shocked and amazed something that beautiful lived inside of me. Now she's talking of getting a summer job, what she wants to be when she grows up, what college she'd like to attend, if she'll go on a mission, and what sort of a mom she hopes to be. I think about how old she is and suddenly I want to stick her back on my lap and rock her to sleep. She could accomplish all of this in the next five years!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEa0mP3uBQ5Qotd2oBpcyzqmbLZlllKPDjimbafO_Z8aFKTGGlK-hC7VW1U7O4Au8i3DwowBq3fHr9_1lAPUzkzCVgJ3ewh0bSEgNT_C8U7vO7JdX2ddJYOB6MMXRLnPYlTs_Y7BXD-NI/s1600/100_0498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEa0mP3uBQ5Qotd2oBpcyzqmbLZlllKPDjimbafO_Z8aFKTGGlK-hC7VW1U7O4Au8i3DwowBq3fHr9_1lAPUzkzCVgJ3ewh0bSEgNT_C8U7vO7JdX2ddJYOB6MMXRLnPYlTs_Y7BXD-NI/s200/100_0498.JPG" width="200" /></a>I had to drop J off at school early this morning as he needed finish up a report. He gave me a quick hug before heading off along the school lawn and all I could do was watch. Watch and sit in awe at the amazing young man he's become. I recalled how often his dad and I despaired thinking he'd struggle with school his whole life because he couldn't sit still long enough in class to get anything done. Yet there he was, taking responsibility for his work by getting to school early so he might attain a good grade. He has become so dependable and dedicated, which at times boggles my mind. J, above any of the kids, is our reader. He will gobble up a book in no time flat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjEK_cy9QDjz3109GQXYPX9VnKDlPY_5O22CHUnYxG1mXsd28laVkIWEjfePH8l1hH6perdJf6iaZpojo7vXb14RGNN8FoGspgiaJZdkfKYV5j1iToffBGzMoPi8fkrJkY4pt7Vyy0Ks/s1600/101_0209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjEK_cy9QDjz3109GQXYPX9VnKDlPY_5O22CHUnYxG1mXsd28laVkIWEjfePH8l1hH6perdJf6iaZpojo7vXb14RGNN8FoGspgiaJZdkfKYV5j1iToffBGzMoPi8fkrJkY4pt7Vyy0Ks/s200/101_0209.JPG" width="200" /></a>It never occurred to me that Mr. B wouldn't do well in school. What has surprised me is to know he's not still in preschool, my baby-faced partner in crime who never wanted to leave home and would only leave my side because I gave him a key chain with a picture of the two of us in it. Now he's riding his bike all over the place, more excited to be with friends than at home. He's excelling in many things and loves to torture his siblings. He'd definitely still rather be at home than at school, but only if he has a brother or sister to keep him entertained (I'm not quite enough any more).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdGY-wuMktAKydb37HpP6Za4WZG5mu7J5VTUDZOfDHkiVLGE1SCb8u9TwXqG_sU-c17IHOXO80CW2biMAANhlfVas17OtoHipuIXHwPnwXKhALlE49ETgP2U4H5_10b7udZuE-e-ELiQ/s1600/101_0274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdGY-wuMktAKydb37HpP6Za4WZG5mu7J5VTUDZOfDHkiVLGE1SCb8u9TwXqG_sU-c17IHOXO80CW2biMAANhlfVas17OtoHipuIXHwPnwXKhALlE49ETgP2U4H5_10b7udZuE-e-ELiQ/s200/101_0274.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
And then there's this blue-eyed beauty. She absolutely takes my breath away - partly because she never stops talking. I remember not being sure if I was ready to have one more child. Our other kids were growing up, we were able to do an awful lot now that diaper bags and infant car seats were no longer a part of the mix. Yet how could life have been worth it without this little bundle of rowdy, chattering joy? Her birthday comes late in the school year, and I worried she might not be able to handle the social aspect of being in school (she's not quite queen bee there as she tries to be at home). Not only has she been an amazing influence on the other children around her, but she has excelled intellectually as well. Her mind knows no bounds and she almost reads better than many kids several years older. There is no doubt in my mind she needed to come when she did, and that she was prepared for life as the youngest with a feisty will and an attitude that knows no bounds.<br />
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These are my flowers in the garden of our home. At times I feel as though the world is passing me by, especially when I see the grand accomplishments of others around me. When I begin to wonder "what could have been" I am promptly reminded by the Holy Spirit that I am doing precisely what the Lord needs me to do in the here and now: raise these little (and not so little) ones to not only shine and blossom and allow others to enjoy their beauty, but to make certain they are strong enough to withstand the storms and droughts of life. At times they may wither, and for a winter's season they may hide away, but there is always a spring just around the corner and the promise of newer, more beautiful ways to bloom.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-46409153199708806562013-01-25T20:19:00.000-08:002014-03-08T21:50:03.056-08:00What Mormon's Really Believe: Pre-Earth Life from a Non-Mormon PerspectiveI always hesitate when an article begins circulating among my friends on Facebook in regards to my chosen faith (the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, nicknamed the Mormons). They always seem to fall into one of two categories: writers who are biased for this church - typically members, or those biased against this church - typically non-members. Regardless of where they are coming from, something always slips between those pesky lines that shows on which side of the fence they reside.<br />
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Then there are the comments posed afterward. No matter who wrote the article and what it said, comments get nasty, I get upset, and regret for days after reading the article.<br />
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For the most part I refused to read the most recent post everyone passed around. I didn't want to get sucked in once again by individuals claiming this was such a good read and so positive. Hearing it was from someone who was not a member of my church also left me in doubt, not because it's impossible for someone who's faith is not my own to write a positive article about it, but because most of the time what appears to be kindness holds a pinch of subtle mocking.<br />
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Today I broke and read the article. I have to admit it was succinct, accurate, and as far as I could tell held no bias one way or the other. I refused to look at the comments, and have been able to keep this article as a thing of kindness in my mind. Therefore I would like to share it with you now. Please click on the link below and hear a brief summary of what Mormons believe about pre-earth life, and how it relates to our passion for freedom and liberty now. I would also take a brief moment to thank the writer, Mike Jensen, for being so kind.<br />
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<a href="http://canadafreepress.com/index.php/article/52591#.UQKtqhHjyMZ.twitter" target="_blank">Smart Mormons</a>LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-87279299741162907472012-12-23T11:48:00.000-08:002012-12-23T11:59:48.040-08:00A Mormon Mother's Christmas Message 2012<br />
Several years ago I put together a lesson on Mary and Joseph as they were to become the parents of the Messiah. A few weeks ago my husband asked me to speak for our Sunday Christmas program, to relate a portion of that lesson, and continue on. At first I had no idea how I was possibly going to do this, but I should never have doubted. Here is my talk. I hope it gives you pause to remember our Savior during this beautiful Christmas time.<br />
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In the small village of Nazareth there lived two very special young people, though to look at them you may not find anything that would make them stand out. One was a handsome young man in his early twenties, a carpenter named Joseph, who was betrothed to his cousin’s beautiful daughter, Mary.<br />
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One particular night Mary had been peacefully sleeping when a most remarkable thing happened - an angel appeared and spoke unto her, saying:<br />
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“Hail, thou that art highly favored. The Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. Fear not, Mary, for thou hast found favor with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest, and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end” (Luke 1:28-33).<br />
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Mary, though only in her late teens, readily accepted the words of the angel, and had only this to ask: “How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” (Luke 1:34)<br />
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“And the angel answered and said unto her, ‘The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee; therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God’” (Luke 1:35).<br />
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Before Mary could take all this in the angel also spoke of her cousin Elizabeth, who had been barren and was well past child bearing years, but was now blessed with a baby. “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:36). Mary answered this, saying, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy Word” (Luke 1:38).<br />
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The angel Gabriel departed, leaving Mary alone to ponder the incredible news. Can you imagine her thoughts in this moment? All her life she’d been told of the coming of the Messiah and knew of the circumstances by which He would come. She knew herself to be of the proper lineage. Perhaps she had dreamed, not once but many times, that it could be a blessing bestowed up her, all the while never truly believing it would actually happen.<br />
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Yet it was happening, and she had a heavy responsibility laid on her tiny shoulders. How long did she live with the secret before taking leave of Joseph and her family, departing for another city where her cousin Elizabeth lived? What hopes lay in her heart that this woman, who she may not have known very well, would understand, could comprehend what had happened? The angel had told Mary that Elizabeth was also pregnant. Could they find comfort with one another, a comfort only womanhood could bestow?<br />
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While in her sixth month Elizabeth received a surprise. Her young cousin, Mary, came to visit. At Mary’s salutation something remarkable happened - Elizabeth felt the quickening of the spirit of the baby growing inside her belly as it moved in response to the voice of the Messiah’s mother. Did Elizabeth shout out her knowledge right away, unable to repress the joy and wonder? Or did she invite her weary cousin inside, giving her refreshment, before saying:<br />
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“Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. And whence is this to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Luke 1:42-43).<br />
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The relief Mary must have felt at those words. She had traveled all this way at the angel’s bidding, not knowing what would wait for her there. These words must have poured out of her mouth:<br />
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“My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior. For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name. And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation” (Luke 1: 46-55).<br />
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Mary stayed with Elizabeth and Zacharias for three months before heading back home. The journey must have been intolerable for such a young woman who was very aware of what she must now face. Did her parents know she was pregnant? If not, what would they do? What would they say? And what could she possibly tell Joseph, knowing how hurt he’d be - would he even give her a chance to explain? A betrothal was every bit as binding as a marriage.<br />
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Mary would have been about six months along by now, her condition obvious. Can you picture Joseph, excited beyond words that Mary had returned after being gone for so many months. He must have missed her terribly. What do you think happened when he walked in to greet her? Did he welcome her immediately, too happy to notice her swollen belly? Or as she stood to greet him was he suddenly stunned, incapable of speaking? Did they quarrel - Mary frantic to make him understand and Joseph so hurt he couldn’t hear what she was saying? Did immediately turn away, unable to face what he thought to be unspeakable betrayal?<br />
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I would suppose neither of them slept well that night, both unsure of what to do next. One can only hope Mary knew that as the mother of the Christ-child nothing could be done to hurt her. No, the truest wound was in knowing that at any time Joseph, the man she’d been counting on to provide both love and protection, would most likely put her aside.<br />
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Jewish law provided for the annulment of a betrothal in one of two ways - by a public trial and judgment, or by private agreement. Joseph was a good, kind man and truly loved Mary. He did not want her to face public humiliation and embarrassment. He had decided to annul the betrothal in as much privacy as possible, though the thought of doing so rested heavily on his heart.<br />
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It was then an angel came to him in a dream, and said, “Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost. And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from their sins. Now all this was done that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet saying: ‘Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us’” (Matthew 1:20-23).<br />
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The elation Joseph must have felt upon waking! The woman he loved was carrying the Messiah. Was he ashamed of his first reaction? Did he rush right over to her house, hoping she could forgive him? Did he sit there in awe of the woman in front of him, and wonder at the child and mother placed under his protection? Was he scared of not living up to his Lord’s expectations as the guardian of this most heavenly son?<br />
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As the angel had directed, Joseph quickly set about making the marriage happen as swiftly as possible in order to give Mary the protection of his name, for it was obvious to all she was not far off from delivering her child. At this time a decree went out from Rome ordering a taxing of all the people. It was a way to take a census upon which the basis of taxation would be determined among the different peoples. Had the census been taken by the usual Roman method each person would have been counted at the town in which they currently lived. The Jewish custom, for which the Roman law had respect, required registration at the cities or towns claimed as their families respective ancestral homes.<br />
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For this reason Joseph left for Bethlehem, with Mary choosing to accompany him. Certainly the journey was long and hard, but no harder than the people of their day were used to. The inns were full, something they may have expected, but one innkeeper told them of a kahn, or enclosure, nearby, one large enough for them to keep their animals sheltered and watered. On that night, in early springtime, Mary gave birth to her son, Jesus, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger.<br />
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Angelic visitations to shepherds, magi traveling from distant lands to offer gifts, a new star in the sky. Many miracles occurred during the brand new Messiah’s life. His life was saved due to the obedience of his parents, who took him away to Egypt when warned that Herod, whom Rome had appointed king over Judea, feared the prophecies of one who might overthrow him. Only at his death was Joseph told it was safe to bring his family back to Israel.<br />
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Very little is said regarding the life of our Savior once the family went to Nazareth, where Jesus was raised. The scriptures remain silent on his growing up years. But we are allowed a little bit of insight in the life of the young Jesus by studying a little about what Jewish boys were doing in that time. At the age of five he would have begun school. Over the next five years he would have memorized the Torah, or the first five books of the Old Testament. Six days of the week would have been spent in memorization while the seventh would be for review. At the same time he would have begun to learn the trade of his father, a carpenter.<br />
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I have wondered, during my studies, if the young Jesus recognized the words and teachings spoken in the Old Testament. Did they seem so familiar to his ears, to his heart? For they were his own words. Did he begin to receive an inkling of his own divine nature, or was he simply a boy doing his best to be a good son, a good brother, and a good student?<br />
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From the ages of 10-14 Jesus would memorize the rest of the Old Testament. Added to his memorization would be the art of rhetorical debating. The Rabbi would ask a question which the student would then have to ponder before answering by asking another question. It was this ability to answer a question with a question that set the best students apart, which we see in his debates with other spiritual leaders during his ministry. Only those who were exceptional students were allowed to continue their schooling at 15.<br />
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We are granted one short story in the life of the young Messiah. Every year at the time many families, including Jesus’, traveled together to Jerusalem to attend the Passover, finding safety in numbers. Their journey, especially in keeping up with such a large group, could take anywhere from three to four days. When Jesus was twelve, he and his family were in Jerusalem for the Passover. On the return trip Mary and Joseph realized their son was not with them. After what would have been, or so I assume, a rather frantic search, He was found at the temple, debating with the rabbis, who marveled at the knowledge such a young man held.<br />
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When Mary and Joseph found him at the temple he simply stated that he was “about His Father’s business.” Did he, at the age of twelve, realize that his true Father really was his Father in Heaven? Or was he speaking of the Father in the same way any of us who are attempting to be about our Heavenly Father’s business might do? Jesus had learned of the gospel line upon line and precept upon precept, just as every one of us must learn. He did not come into this world with a head full of precisely who he was and what was in store for him. He had to be taught, to be led, in order to become who he was meant to be and do what he was meant to do.<br />
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Jesus moved forward in his religious training, first continuing on at fifteen to train under a specific rabbi, until the time came when it would be determined if he would have to go ‘ply his trade,’ by ending his education and practicing his father’s business, or if he would begin a closer relationship with his rabbi until he entered his public ministry at the age of 30. Of course we know this is what happened with Jesus, as we are told he began to minister at 30. He was referred to many times by the title of “Rabbi”, or “Master.” In an article which depicts the life of Christ as a Jew it is stated: “Every word that came out of Jesus’ mouth indicated that He had spent a lifetime being educated as a teacher or rabbi. His words and actions, as well as teaching methods, displayed that of a master Jewish rabbi who had spent a lifetime in study. In actuality, His knowledge and wisdom far exceeded that of any master rabbi.”<br />
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When studying for this talk my mind was repeatedly drawn to another given by Elder Holland at the most recent General Conference. I kept pushing the thought to read it aside, as it had nothing to do with Christmas. Still the notion persisted, and I was led to a particular part I know I am supposed to share with you now.<br />
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Quote: “After a joyful reunion with the resurrected Jesus, Peter had an exchange with the Savior that I consider the crucial turning point of the apostolic ministry generally and certainly for Peter personally, moving this great rock of a man to a majestic life of devoted service and leadership. Looking at their battered little boats, their frayed nets, and a stunning pile of 153 fish, Jesus said to His senior Apostle, ‘Peter, do you love me more than you love all this?’ Peter said, ‘Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.’<br />
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“The Savior responds to that reply but continues to look into the eyes of His disciple and says again, ‘Peter, do you love me?’ Undoubtedly confused a bit by the repetition of the question, the great fisherman answers a second time, ‘Yea Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.’<br />
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“The Savior again gives a brief response, but with relentless scrutiny He asks for the third time, ‘Peter, do you love me?’ By now surely Peter is feeling truly uncomfortable. Perhaps there is in his heart the memory of only a few days earlier when he had been asked another question three times and he had answered equally emphatically - but in the negative. Or perhaps he began to wonder if he misunderstood the Master Teacher’s question. Or perhaps he was searching his heart, seeking honest confirmation of the answer he had given so readily, almost automatically. Whatever his feelings, Peter said for the third time, ‘Lord,…thou knowest that I love thee.’<br />
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“To which Jesus responded (and here again I acknowledge my non scriptural elaboration), perhaps saying something like: ‘Then Peter, why are you here? Why are we back on this same shore, by these same nets, having this same conversation? Wasn’t it obvious then and isn’t it obvious now that if I want fish, I can get fish? What I need, Peter, are disciples - and I need them forever. I need someone to feed my sheep and save my lambs. I need someone who loves me, truly, truly loves me, and loves what our Father in Heaven has commissioned me to do. Ours is not a feeble message. It is not a fleeting task. It is not hapless; it is not hopeless; it is not to be consigned to the ash heap of history. It is the work of Almighty God, and it is to change the world. So, Peter, for the second and presumably last time, I am asking you to leave all this and to go teach and testify, labor and serve loyally until the day in which they will do to you exactly what they did to me.’<br />
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“Then turning to all the Apostles, He might have said something like: ‘Were you as foolhardy as the scribes and Pharisees? As Herod and Pilate? Did you, like they, think that this work could be killed simply by killing me? Did you, like they, think the cross and the nails and the tomb were the end of it all and each could blissfully go back to being whatever you were before? Children, did not my life and my love touch your hearts more deeply than this?’<br />
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Elder Holland continues: “I am not certain just what our experience will be on Judgement Day, but I will be very surprised if at some point in that conversation, God does not ask us exactly what Christ asked Peter: ‘Did you love me?’ And if at such a moment we can stammer out, ‘Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee,’ then He may remind us that the crowning characteristic of love is always loyalty.<br />
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“ ‘If ye love me, keep my commandments,’ Jesus said. So we have neighbors to bless, children to protect, the poor to lift up, and the truth to defend. We have wrongs to make right, truths to share, and good to do. In short, we have a life of devoted discipleship to give in demonstrating our love of the Lord. We can’t quit and we can’t go back. After an encounter with the living Son of the living God, nothing is ever again to be as it was before. The Crucifixion, Atonement, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ mark the beginning of a Christian life, not the end of it. It was this truth, this reality, that allowed a handful of Galilean fishermen-turned-again-Apostles without ‘a single synagogue or sword’ to leave those nets a second time and go on to shape the history of the world in which we now live.” Unquote.<br />
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Just as the gospel did not end with the death of our Savior, neither did it begin with His birth. I testify to you now that each person sitting in this room, regardless of how old you may be, how much of the gospel you understand, nor how long you’ve been a member of this church, lived with God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, before we all were born. I testify that the spirits in this room are some of the strongest and most valiant, who fought by the side of our Savior, and chose with passion and excitement to come to this earth in the hopes of making decisions that would enable us to return triumphant to that Home we left.<br />
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This is a life of choices. Every one of us is given the opportunity to rise above the evils of this world and make a choice to do good, even as the young Jesus learned to do as he grew. Each of us must learn this beautiful gospel by studying the scriptures and attending meetings that will help us gain understanding in those things we find ourselves confused about, just as the Savior did. And each of us must take up our calling and do our best in what the Lord asks us to do, just as the Messiah did for His Father. Not because it’s expected of us. Not because it’ll make us look good in the eyes of others. Not even because our bishop or stake president or prophet told us to. We will do it because we are loyal to the Lord. Because we are still standing with passion and excitement in furthering His work here on Earth. We do all of this because we love Him.<br />
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In a world where evil overwhelms us to the point where we may despair, remember this: the smallest acts of kindness can cause mighty changes in the hearts of others.<br />
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This Tuesday we celebrate the birth of our Savior. Remember this: He may have been the Messiah, but just like every person here, He started out as a baby. He needed to be taken care of. He needed to learn right from wrong. He needed to be taught His own gospel. Just as we all must do. Learn from this beloved Son of God. And love Him.<br />
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For those of you who would like to read more on what Jesus would have done as a Jewish boy go to <a href="http://theonlinebibleschool.net/mod/page/view.php?id=188" target="_blank">Bible School: Jesus as a Rabbi</a><br />
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For those who would like to read Elder Holland's talk go to <a href="http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/10/the-first-great-commandment?lang=eng" target="_blank">The First Great Commandment </a><br />
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LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-46427736357882866892012-11-29T22:55:00.000-08:002014-03-08T21:07:46.482-08:00When it Comes to Forgiveness, Seek First to UnderstandI'm not certain why it caught my attention, nor do I recall where I saw the words, but it has remained with me for several days now:<br />
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<i>Seek first to understand, then to be understood.</i><br />
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The meaning behind such simple words has been indelibly marked into my soul over most of my life, at first like an etching made with a pocketknife into a piece of wood, only growing deeper with the passing years. The desire to be understood by others is a hallmark of humanity, of our individuality. To know someone cares enough about who we are and why we think the way we do can be marvelously affirming. It gives substance to the inner thoughts and ideas we constantly carry around in our heads. Indeed these ideas, beliefs, or whatever else may be roaming around in the confines of our minds, when validated or dismissed by someone other than our self, will form so much of who we become as more years go by.<br />
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One little act by another person, to put aside one's own ego long enough to discover what makes another person tick, can change lives. While we appreciate the effort someone takes in understanding us, we must strive to do the same for them. Do not ask someone to do for you, what you are not willing to do for them.<br />
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It seems like such a simple task, doesn't it? The recent election for president of the United States would certainly not lend toward such thinking. Instead it shows what too many of us are apt to do - assert our own beliefs, citing our reasons for insisting our way is the best way, but not taking the time to listen to the beliefs of others when those beliefs contradict our own. Nor do we want to hear why they think the way they do.<br />
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It's not only in politics that we see this happen. It can occur within any relationship we experience. Sometimes we are at fault, not taking the time to understand where others are coming from. Other times we are the ones who suffer because someone else refuses to understand.<br />
<br />
This was me just a few days ago. What I am about to share with you is not done in the hopes of wanting to hurt another person - I won't share any specific details, nor is it to find validation for my own side in this, but rather my hope it to share why the above quote seemed to have been given to me as a reminder of why I should, and can, forgive this woman. Because I understand where she is coming from.<br />
<br />
My friendship with this woman has never been an easy one. It is, for the most part, one sided. I have had to put up barriers once before, but as she appeared to have many good things happening and had a much happier countenance I thought we could give being friends another try. For a while it went well. We attended the temple a couple of times together. We chatted at church as well as online. From my point of view life for her appeared to be a happy one.<br />
<br />
I got sick over this last weekend. It's just a cold, but one that refuses to go away. While I'd been a bit better on Monday, Tuesday I was miserably exhausted. Around 11:30 in the morning I fell back to sleep and didn't wake up until around three in the afternoon. I received a message from this woman saying she showed up around 2, knocked and knocked and knocked but I never answered, tried calling but I didn't answer, and she was clearly upset with me.<br />
<br />
The thing is, I had no idea we were supposed to get together. I looked back over our messages and saw that she had, indeed, asked to drop by at 2, but her words indicated she was just going to drop something off. I wrote back, apologizing, explaining that I was sick, and asked why she didn't leave the item inside the screen door.<br />
<br />
Her answer the next morning floored me. She accused me of several things, all of which were simply not true. I was hurt in ways that are impossible to describe, especially when she had never indicated anything was wrong. I spent the rest of the day crying, contemplating, and praying. By the end of the day a few things had come to my mind.<br />
<br />
First, the Lord helped me to understand why she said everything she said. In every accusation, in every word of reproach, I saw where she was coming from. In her mind the things she said were just and true.<br />
<br />
Second, though we may see some of what is going on in the lives of others, we do not know everything. This woman has fantasized what my life must be like, and has somehow made herself believe I can make her life better. She does not know my joys and heartaches, my daily triumphs and struggles, nor my priorities. She cannot comprehend why I place certain people at the forefront, while others must take a back seat.<br />
<br />
At the same time I do not know all of what she struggles with. I am not in her head, nor her heart. I cannot begin to comprehend what hardships caused her to feel as though taking it out on me was okay. And that's something I simply need to understand, even if I don't always like it.<br />
<br />
Third, forgiving someone their trespasses against you comes from seeking first to understand where they are coming from. When we can do that, we release their tight grip on our conscience, and allow the Lord to step in and replace the hurt.<br />
<br />
And fourth, forgiving someone does not have to mean lying back down to be a door mat for them again. I don't know what it'll be like to see this woman on Sunday. I haven't decided if I'll talk to her on the off chance she approaches me. Though I understand enough to forgive her, I know for my own sake I need to keep her at more of a distance, at least until my heart has healed enough to know where to go from here.<br />
<br />
Seek first to understand, then to be understood. Eight words given to me this week by my Lord to help me through a difficult situation. I am grateful for His loving hand in my life.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-47076694121554821442012-11-18T14:23:00.000-08:002012-11-18T14:23:28.531-08:00What Mormon's Really Believe: Did a 15 Year-Old Boy Really See God?In 1820 a young man of 15 years old found himself confused. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"There was in the place where we lived an unusual excitement on the subject of religion. It commenced with the Methodists, but soon became general among all the sects in that region of country. Indeed, the whole district of country seemed affected by it, and great multitudes united themselves to the different religious parties, which created no small stir and division amongst the people, some crying, 'Lo, here!" and "Lo, there!" Some were contending for the Methodist faith, some fr the Presbyterian, and some for the Baptist.</div>
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<div>
"For, notwithstanding the great love which the converts to these different faith expressed at the time of their conversion, and the great zeal manifested by the respective clergy, who were active in getting up and promoting this extraordinary scene of religious feeling, in order to have everybody converted, as they were pleased to call it, let them join what sect they pleased; yet when the converts began to file off, some to one party and some to another, it was seen that the seemingly good feelings of both the priests and the converts were more pretended than real; for a scene of great confusion and bad feeling ensued - priest contending against priest - and convert against convert; so that all their good feelings one for another, if they ever had any, were entirely lost in a strife of words and a contest about opinions."</div>
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Though four members of his family opted to join the Presbyterian faith, this young man was more inclined associate with the Methodist sect, but even this did not bring him much peace. </div>
<div>
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<div>
"My mind at times was greatly excited, the cry and tumult were so great and incessant. The Presbyterians were most decided against the Baptists and Methodists, and used all the powers of both reason and sophistry to prove their errors, or, at least, to make the people think they were in error. On the other hand, the Baptists and Methodists in their turn were equally zealous in endeavoring to establish their own tenets and disprove all others.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"In the midst of this war of words and tumult of opinions, I often said to myself: What is to be done? Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together? If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?"</div>
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<div>
This young man had been raised on the words of the Bible, and turned to them repeatedly for answers. One day he read in James, chapter one, verse five: <i>If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
"Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did; for how to act I did not know, and unless I could get more wisdom than I then had, I would never know; for the teachers of religion of the different sects understood the same passages of scripture so differently as to destroy all confidence in settling the question by an appeal to the Bible."</div>
<div>
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<div>
After much studying, pondering, and prayer, the young man at last decided it was time to ask of God, as was encouraged in the scripture that so touched his heart. Little did he know what was to follow.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I retired to the woods to make the attempt. It was on the morning of a beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty. It was the first time in my life that I had made such an attempt, for amidst all my anxieties I had never as yet made the attempt to pray vocally.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction - not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being - just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which held me bound. When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other - <i>This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!'</i>"</div>
<div>
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<div>
Many stories have been told of Joseph Smith, Jr, the man who brought forth the restoration of the Lord's Church in this day and time. Some of those stories are true, others are not. For one to understand the truth of what we, as Mormons, believe it is important to read the words of the man who we believe was a prophet of God. He was a young man, confused by the words and beliefs of mankind and their interpretation of scripture, of the seeming hatred between each church, and the claims of each of them being God's one true church. He prayed, as each one of us are encouraged to do, in order to discover the truth as promised us by the words James taught.</div>
<div>
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<div>
We can learn much through his example: read the Bible. Study the words out in our minds. Ponder over what is being taught. Decide on a question to be answered. And pray with a sincere desire to know the truth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because of one prayer some precious truths were taught. First, that Satan is a real being. Joseph Smith, at 15 years old, was about to start on a journey that would be fraught with hardship and happiness, a journey that would shake some of the foundations of Christianity. The second truth we were taught - that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ stood side-by-side, that they are two distinct individuals, and that Heavenly Father is pleased with what His Son had accomplished.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
One more thing we learned in these brief moments: God the Father knew Joseph's name. Just as He knows all our names. Just as He knows each and every one of us, and has a plan in store for our lives. Though Satan may howl and bring us low, he has no more power than that - God's power, the Lord's power, that is strong than anything Satan can throw our way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I testify of this experience, one we refer to as 'The First Vision', as having happened. Like unto Joseph, I have read the Bible as well as other scripture that has been brought forth. I have pondered on the words, I have decided on particular questions to ask, and with a humble heart and a sincere desire to know, I have prayed about each point related to you today. And <i>I have received a witness of it's truth</i>, just as you can receive that same witness. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, if you desire no more than to simply understand what we believe Joseph Smith experienced in the hopes of knowing why we believe in him as a prophet, and another reason as to why we believe Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are two separate beings, then I hope I have done at least a little of this today.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you would like to read more about the beginnings of this Church in Joseph Smith's own words, you can go to <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/js-h/1?lang=eng" target="_blank">Joseph Smith-History</a> and read more.</div>
LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-23427296743890378222012-10-12T10:35:00.000-07:002012-10-12T10:35:04.093-07:00What Mormons Really Believe: The Godhead<br />
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
In order to understand more fully why the members of
the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (more commonly referred to as
the Mormons) believe as they do and act as they do, I feel it is important to
have knowledge of what our core beliefs are. It is not my intention to make
believers out of everyone who reads this. I have no doubt many will shake their
heads in wonderment that such fanciful things could be believed. My hope is to
simply inform those who are looking for enlightenment in why we believe what we
do.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
I should also state that while I am a member of this
church, I do not speak for them in any official way. This is simply me taking
what has been taught and trying to help you understand.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.25in;">To start I would like to make this
important statement: we worship Jesus Christ. It is in the name of our church.
We believe the Bible to be the word of God so far as it is translated
correctly. I point this out because many comments have been made that we
worship Joseph Smith, a man who we believe restored the gospel of Jesus Christ
in these days.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
The second portion of that
sentence is true. The lack of truth lies in one word: worship. We do not
worship Joseph Smith. We revere him as a prophet, just as we revere prophets of
old: Adam, Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Peter, and many others from
the Old and New Testaments. But there is only one person we worship, and that
is Jesus Christ.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
One of the largest reasons we, as
Mormons, are not considered Christian by other Christian faiths is our belief
system in the Godhead. It is here I would like to focus this first post.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<b><u>God the Father</u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
One of the core beliefs of our
faith states: “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus
Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.” Where our views tend to depart from that of
other faiths is in the belief that these are three distinct, separate
individuals. Jesus Christ is literally the spirit child of the Father, but he
is also the only ‘begotten’ of the Father – meaning Christ is the only mortal
child as well. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Christ talks often of Heavenly
Father during His time on earth.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“My Father is greater than I” John
14:28.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And again:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“Father, the hour is come; glorify
thy Son, that thy Son also may glorify thee:…And this is life eternal, that
they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent”
John 17:1,3.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
For me, the moment of Christ being
baptized is one of the greatest proofs of these three beings as separate, as is
shone in Matthew 3:16-17.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“And Jesus, when he was baptized,
went up straightway out of the water: and, lo, the heavens were opened unto
him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon
him:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“And lo a voice from Heaven,
saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
For us as Mormons the idea that
God the Father and Jesus Christ are two separate beings was solidified when
both came to Joseph Smith as an answer to a simple prayer. Joseph saw each
individual, similar in appearance but definitely not the same person.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“When the light rested upon me I
saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing
above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said,
pointing to the other – This is My Beloved Son, hear Him!” Joseph Smith –
History 1:17.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Again there is the proclamation of
God the Father declaring Jesus Christ to be His Son, only this time there was a
witness who acknowledged them as two separate Beings.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We were created in God the
Father’s image.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“And God said, Let us make man in
our image, after our likeness…</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“God created man in his own image,
in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them” Genesis
1:26-27.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
We are His children.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“I have said, Ye are gods; and all
of you are children of the most High” Psalm 82:6.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
As Mormons we also believe that we
might also become like God.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“The Spirit itself beareth witness
with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs;
heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if it so be that we suffer with him,
that we may be also glorified together” Romans 8:16-17.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“Behold, what manner of love the
Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God:
therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“Beloved, now are we the sons of
God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he
shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is” 1 John
3:1-2.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
I will, as I begin to study a lot
more about this particular subject, write a separate post on this belief. For
now, I simply hope it helps you to understand just a little of our belief in
the Father.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<b><u>Jesus Christ</u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“In giving revelations our Savior
speaks at times for himself; at other times for the Father, and in the Father’s
name, as though he were the Father, and yet it is Jesus Christ, our Redeemer
who gives the message” (Smith, Joseph Fielding, <i>Selections from Doctrines of Salvation</i>, p. 19).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
I referred earlier to the
visitation of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, to Joseph Smith. If we continue reading in the next few verses we can see Jesus speaking in behalf of the Father.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“…When the light rested upon me I
saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy description, standing above
me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing
to the other – This is My Beloved Son. <i>Hear Him</i>!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“My object in going to inquire of
the Lord was to know which of all the sects was right, that I might know which
to join. No sooner, therefore, did I get possession of myself, so as to be able
to speak, than I asked the Personages who stood above me in the light, which of
all the sects was right (for at this time it had never entered into my heart
that all were wrong) – and which I should join.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“I was answered that I must join
none of them” (Joseph Smith – History 1:17-19, italics added).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Though God the Father could have
directed Joseph in what to do, He left it up to His Son, who did so as though
He were the Father.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Think for a moment of a Mother and
Father who are in harmony, that work together to raise their children. At times
we are able to answer for the other, even when the other is not present to
affirm a decision. The simple word, “I” is often used in place of “we” because
it’s simply not necessary to differentiate between the two. The child knows if
one parent says so, the other parent will agree.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
So it is with the Father and the
Son. Often Jesus Christ speaks in the first person, “I” or “my”, but is actually
speaking in behalf of the Father. He is the mediator between the Father and
mankind.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
When Adam transgressed one of the
commandments he could no longer stay in the presence of the Father. Christ
stepped in as our advocate. In the scriptures we often witness Him praying to
the Father in our behalf.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Christ was the Firstborn in spirit
and the Only Begotten in flesh. “…The firstborn of every creature” (Colossians
1:15).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Though Christ was the literal Son
of God, he still grew up in a mortal world and needed to live and learn as we
all do. He “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man”
(Luke 2:52). “Though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things
which he suffered” (Hebrews 5:8). Though He never sinned in this life, He was
still required to learn as the rest of us: line upon line, precept upon
precept.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Jesus Christ did what we all must
do: He lived, He died, He was resurrected, and then He ascended to the Father.
This we must do also, in our own way, though it will take longer to accomplish.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<b><u>Holy Ghost</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
I once read a woman’s article on
how Mormon’s bear their testimony. In it she made the comment that “you <i>have</i> to
say Holy Ghost. That’s what they call it.” I found it to be such an odd comment
as he is often referred to in the Bible as the Holy Ghost. We are not the only
ones who refer to him as such. He goes by many different names: The Holy
Spirit, the Spirit of God, the Spirit of the Lord, the Spirit of Truth, and the
Comforter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
The mission of the Holy Ghost is
simple: to teach truth. Not the truth of Man, but God’s truth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“But the Comforter, which is the
Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all
things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto
you" (John 14:26). </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Christ was speaking of the time
when He would no longer be among his disciples, though they fought hard not to
believe that time would fast approach. In His place would be the Holy Ghost to
guide and comfort and direct them in proclaiming the Gospel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
The Holy Ghost reveals things to
us. “For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of
God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost” (2 Peter 1:21). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Not only were the prophets
directed by the Spirit of God, but as individuals we are given the right to
personal revelation as well. He will reveal truth to those who are humble,
obedient, and worthy to receive truth and light. These are the basis behind
one’s testimony (or personal witness). No other being has that same convincing
power. Some hearts are too proud and minds are too closed to receive revelation and become more easily influenced and tricked into believing falsehoods.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
In our Church we believe that all
have access to that beautiful influence of the Holy Spirit, that ability to
have revelation of truth and light. We also believe there is a difference
between having the influence of the Holy Ghost, and having the gift of the Holy
Ghost. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
The influence of the Holy Ghost is
not constant. It is here and there as truth and light are humbly searched after
and prayed for. The gift of the Holy Ghost comes after one is baptized by
immersion by those who have the proper priesthood authority, and are then
confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked
to receive this gift. For us, we believe that so long as we are worthy, we
might have access to the Holy Spirit to guide, guard, and direct us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
That is a basic overview of what
we, as Mormons, believe regarding the Godhead. It is not a perfect summary, but
it is what I felt guided to share with you at this time. Perhaps there are
those out there who might be able to add to this information, especially when
it comes to scriptural evidences, or who can clarify things far more than I was
able to accomplish.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">As I continue to put up posts like this I will attempt
to link them together. My next post will center around what Mormons believe
when it comes to life before mortality.</span>LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-78678141468685581502012-09-27T21:03:00.000-07:002012-09-27T21:03:59.015-07:00An Unusual Way to Gain a BlessingWithout a doubt this has been an unusual week. Not bad, just unusual. Tonight, though, takes the cake. Not only for weird things happening, but for the blessing it provided us.<br />
<br />
Last weekend my husband noticed our older son's bike had been stolen. Again. This marked the second time this year it had been taken from our backyard. <br />
<br />
Earlier tonight my husband and I were called out to a friend's house who was greatly struggling. Upon arriving home we were met with the sight of a young man (maybe 12 or so) entering our back yard. When he realized we were there to stay he tried to look as though he was heading toward our neighbor's yard. My husband got out to confront him, and was told the kid's friend was making him try to take a bike from our yard. <br />
<br />
It was then I remembered the three boys kind of hanging around on bikes just a few houses down. I jumped back in the car and started chase. Two of them weren't fast enough and I managed to catch up to one. He was scared, that's for certain, and he led me back to an apartment where one of his "friend's" just happened to have 'found' a bike at the local park. <br />
<br />
Guess what? Turns out this bike just happened to have belonged to my son! Another kid rode the bike back to my house where the police was just arriving so we could get a handle on what was going on with the first boy. <br />
<br />
So here's what I figured out from the few things the boy said to the police: he and three other kids were looking for another bike to steal for him. The older brother of the guy I caught up to pointed out our house as a good place to look, but we arrived just as he was heading into the back yard. When the other three realized what was happening they took off, leaving the boy at our house alone.<br />
<br />
The policeman told the boy to walk over to his house and he'd follow in the car. I could not just let him leave without saying something - he was so scared. As he walked off I kept asking him not to follow along with what someone says to do when he knows it's wrong, especially if it's just to impress some other kid. I wish now I had at least asked his name.<br />
<br />
I'm not certain what happened after they left. My husband and I had another appointment we needed to get to and the policeman stopped by while we were out, basically saying he'd be keeping an eye on the boys.<br />
<br />
I'm very happy J got his bike back, but oh I hate the way it all had to happen, in particular for the young man who was left behind by his so-called friends.LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1141978252633845735.post-55482408479738588342012-08-29T12:59:00.000-07:002012-08-29T13:00:26.293-07:00I am a Member of the Mormon Church, and I am Not Afraid<br />
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
I have spent a good majority of my life afraid. It
has nothing to do with physical danger or of any threat to me, or anyone I
love. In my youth I was afraid of looking dumb, of being made fun of (and trust
me, I was a chubby redhead with freckles, glasses, AND braces – there was
plenty to make fun of), or not having any friends. As I grew the fear became
not having any guy like me, of disappointing my parents, of not being good
enough. Upon becoming a wife and a mother I began to fear for my family. Was I
a helpmate to my husband? Was I a good mother? I also feared hurting others. Having been made fun of
and chastened while growing up, I knew the damage an unkind word or correction
done incorrectly could do. Looking back there are so many things I wish I could undo, but that would also take away all the lessons I learned from my mistakes. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">For the most part I’ve gotten over
many of those fears, in particular through the last few years. I have grown to
know myself better, and appreciate my foibles as well as those things that make
me awesome. I can see myself more and more through the eyes of my Heavenly
Father, and know He has a plan for me. One big part of that plan is to preach
the Lord’s gospel, as is my duty as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints, or the Mormon Church.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Therein lie my greatest fears of
today. Several months ago during a Fast and Testimony meeting I stood to bear
my own testimony (or express the witnesses I had received from the Holy Ghost
as to the truthfulness of the Lord’s gospel). The Holy Spirit had been working
on me so hard during that entire meeting and I finally could not ignore it any
longer. Before bearing my testimony I spoke of what I felt the Lord was asking
me to say. You see, a trend had begun of telling many a story or experience
before bearing the testimony, and often the story was longer than the
testimony. One person was so focused on relating his experience by the time he began to speak
to us of the testimony he'd gained he actually said the words, “Blah, blah, blah” to help
relate what was supposed to be the entire point of standing up in front of the
congregation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">On that Sabbath morning I stood and
tried, in my imperfect way, to express the Lord’s desire: that the hour
appointed to bearing one’s testimony return to it’s purpose. Stories and
experiences are beautiful things, as they are what help to bring that special
witness to us. But there is a time and a place for the stories, and we had
forgotten this. Though the feeling in the chapel was warm, and sweet, and
loving, the Spirit had to wait through the stories before it could do what it
was meant to do: bear witness to the truths told by those who felt inspired to
relate them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">How important is that special
witness to our church? I would imagine just as important as it is in any
church. Vital, even. In fact, once a month our main meeting is set aside from
having regular speakers to allow those in the congregation to bear their
testimonies as they feel inspired to do. Once a month! When done suitably the
Holy Spirit is allowed to witness to all who are willing to listen, which not
only strengthens the one standing at the microphone, but all others in the room
as well. It is a beautiful, marvelous experience. One our Heavenly Father knows
we need.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Let us go back to the day I stood,
as prompted by the Spirit, to remind everyone of this. I know my words, my
actions, did not sit well with many, and as the bishop’s wife both he and I are
under major scrutiny. I also knew my husband might not be so happy with me. I
even knew I might hurt those who had been at the microphone before I got up.
Which is why it took me until almost the end of the meeting to finally obey,
for it came down to this: whom was I more prepared to disappoint – my husband
and people I love, or my Heavenly Father and my Savior?</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I was terrified of the moment my
husband got home, not because he’d yell or anything, but because I knew he’d feel let down by my actions. We chatted for a few minutes until I couldn’t take it
any more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Did I do bad?” I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“I don’t know, honey. I just don’t
know.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My heart broke. I began to doubt
that I’d really been listening to the Spirit. Was it just me? Had I made a
horrible mistake? We talked a little more and I agreed to at least apologize to
those who had born their testimonies that day. Unfortunately in doing so I made
one of them feel worse than if I’d just left it alone, which preyed on my more,
and placed me on a cycle of self-recrimination I could not work my way out of.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I was a horrible person. I couldn’t
differentiate between my own feelings and that of the Lord’s. I hurt people I
purported to love. I disappointed my husband and placed him in an awkward
situation that could get him in trouble with his own leaders. These thoughts
and more circled through my head for days and days.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I began to try to make up for being
such a wicked person. I kept telling myself, “If I just do this then it means
I’m not bad.” “If I get this done then maybe I’m not so horrible.” “If I give
up this and that it means I might be a good wife and mother.” By the end of the
week I had myself so worked up I even had thoughts of harming myself. Because
who was I to tell anyone else what they should or shouldn’t do? I. Was. No one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Satan worked me over thoroughly
that week. It didn’t help that my doctor had toyed a little with my depression
meds to see if it would help with my constant exhaustion, but they were not the true cause of my turmoil. Things came to a head
Friday evening. I’d gotten some pizza for the kids for dinner and stood in the
kitchen washing dishes. My husband, who’d just woken from a nap, came in and
told me I didn’t have to do those. He’d do them later. In my mind came the thought, "But if you have to do them it means I'm not doing my job. I'll have failed you again."</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I couldn’t stop. My headed shook no
and I refused to look him in the eye. All week long I’d been able to hide the
torrential storms of emotion I’d dealt with, but no longer. When asked why I
wouldn’t come eat dinner I finally admitted, “If I can just get these dishes
done, maybe it’ll mean I’m a good person.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It took some doing but he finally
got me into our room and we began to talk. I still couldn’t look him in the eye
and I know I frightened him with my ramblings. At one point he asked, “Does
this have something to do with what I said on Sunday?” He sounded horrified,
which only confirmed in my mind that which I already knew: now I’ve hurt my
husband. I really was horrible!</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Because we hadn’t discussed my
actions since Sunday I didn’t realize he’d been thinking about it too. Granted,
it was not to the extent my guilty mind had done, but he said something that offered a tiny sliver of hope in my overtaxed mind: Did you ever think the Lord
asked you to do it because I didn’t have the courage to do it myself?</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It was the first mention that
maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t goofed up as royally as I’d convinced myself. My
husband, the sweet, remarkable, amazing man, then picked up the phone and
called my parents to come down. My mother held me in her arms as we discussed
what I’d been through that week, and gave voice to the words that maybe, just
maybe, I was simply a soft-hearted woman who didn’t want to hurt those I love.
When I’d calmed down more my father placed his hands on my head, along with my
husband, and gave me a priesthood blessing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Therein was my grace, the balm to
my aching soul. I was told, in words that could not be mixed up, twisted, or
doubted, that I had done exactly as He had wanted me to do.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I honestly don’t recall anything
else from that blessing, but it’s okay. That was all I needed. Turns out I
wasn’t a horrible person. Turns out I wasn’t imposing my own thoughts on Him
and attempting to pass them off as His. Turns out I had done what was right.
What I’d done wrong was fearing man more than I feared God, once my task had
been done.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Since that time I’ve been learning
more about what it means to do that which the Lord asks of me without fearing
the outcome. I still struggle with what is me being a passionate person, and
what is of the Lord or the Father. Perhaps I always will.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This morning I had the opportunity
to attend one of the sacred temples here in Utah. From the moment I awoke there
was an intense feeling of happiness at the thought of going. In the car on my
way there I couldn’t stop tears from forming, my happiness was truly so
complete. A part of me knew there was Someone who loved me deeply by my side,
though I could not say whom that Someone might have been. Nothing grand occurred during my time at the temple, no angelic visitations or life-changing revelations as I might suppose would occur
with such remarkable feelings. It’s more what I walked away with today that has
reaffirmed what I need to do with some of my time spent here at home now that the
kids are all in school.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It is time to teach. I was blessed
with a desire to learn, a desire at times so intense I can hardly gobble up
books fast enough to quench the thirst for knowledge. I was also blessed with a
gift for teaching, something I love to do and am able to accomplish in my
Primary class every Sunday. But more than this I was given a gift to express
myself through writing, and it is this gift especially I have been told to
concentrate on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There has been a mighty focus on
the Mormon Church with Mitt Romney running for the office of President of the
United States. Media, much as it may try to keep from doing so, is biased and
more often than not it is biased in the negative when it comes to this church.
So be it. Many out there will choose to believe what they are told by the
media, or what they hear by word of mouth, much of which is not, and has not,
been kind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There will also be those who will
want to know more, and it is for them I am to begin teaching in earnest about
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This is what was confirmed to
me today while at the temple. It is time to stop being afraid. No more fearing
I might offend or hurt someone by what I have to say, so long as those words I
put down are inspired of the Lord. No more fearing I might disappoint anyone
but my Father and my Brother, and if I am doing what I do in faith then there
is no need to worry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There are three particular subjects
I’ve avoided as much as possible, due to fear, that I will attempt to address in my
limited ability over the course of the next few…well, however long it takes me.
Those are polygamy, blacks and the priesthood, and homosexuality. My sincere
hope is that in knowing where we come from, light might be shed as to why we
believe as we do, and why and when things have happened as they have.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I love my Heavenly Father. I love my Savior. I am not afraid to show this, no matter what the consequences may be. If I am to
disappoint anyone, let it not be Them.</span>LaurieWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08391181997032823330noreply@blogger.com0