A Nasty Case of Fiery Serpents

As I blew the dust off my long neglected blog this morning I found this piece I had written a couple of years ago and never published. It was during a time I was struggling and made an uncomfortable discovery about my attitude. With all that has been going on the last few weeks it was good for me to read again and remember...

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Do you have these Church-goer symptoms?

Irritated by people who cry in every testimony meeting?

Annoyed that every talk in Sacrament meeting is about missionary work?

Peeved that you have a calling you don't like?

Overwhelmed by the amount of "good works" everyone asks you to do?

Feeling snarky when someone comments that "they love everyone".

Perturbed that we are studying the same old stuff in every class?

Bothered by the non-stop disagreements among the members on social media?

If you answered yes to two or more of these symptoms you may be suffering from FSS, commonly known as Fiery Serpent Syndrome.

Over the last few months this intrepid blogger found herself in an ever increasing spiritual funk. 

There were multiple factors contributing to the situation. A release from a beloved teaching calling, the ever increasing debate about equality of women in the church and gay marriage, a  heavy load of family, church, work, and school responsibilities, and the herculean amount of energy required to get everything done had turned my usual cheery disposition to one of thunderclouds. 

My frustration began to focus not on the Gospel itself but on some of the mundane cultural attitudes and practices that go on in the Church.

While I love and am completely enthralled and excited about the Gospel and the truths contained therein, many aspects of the culture that exist around the outside of it were making my eyeballs want to fall out of my head. Blech. "Why does everything have to be so homogeneous?" I wondered. To the same way most everyone starts a talk to the utterly predictable way classes proceed and the comments made in them it was all the "same as it ever was". 

Church on Sunday was starting to feel like an exercise in patience. The same old lessons presented in the same way. The same sister boo-hooing about the same topics. Where was the excitement? Where was the spiritual lift? Why was everything so boring? Why couldn't we learn about the deep things of the Spirit instead of reconstituting the same worn subjects. 

And then there was social media. Ugh. Every time the leadership reiterated their stance on unpopular social issues the tirades and hand wringing began. The jump to conclusions without fully investigating the facts, the outright criticism of those who remained faithful. 

As weeks went on I could feel the soft corners of my heart begin to turn stony. The joy and love I used to feel on Sundays was replaced by critical thoughts and frustration. I went through the motions but I did not want to be there and it was everyone else's fault, or so I believed.

Stake conference rolled around and I found myself begrudgingly going to the Sunday morning session. "Don't tell me" I thought rolling my eyes, "missionary work again..."

Then, the Temple President got up to speak and his chosen scripture passage about the children of Israel as they wandered in the desert hit my whining soul with needed dose of reality.

Numbers 21:4-6 

"And they journeyed from mount Hor by the way of the Red sea, to compass the land of Edom: and the soul of the people was much discouraged because of the way. And the people spake against God, and against Moses, Wherefore have ye brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? for there is no bread, neither is there any water; and our soul loatheth this light bread. And the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people; and much people of Israel died."

I had taught this passage in several stints of Sunday lessons but apparently never understood. The people following Moses were having a hard time. It wasn't very fun wandering in the desert. They were hot and tired and frustrated. It was hard work and even though they were miraculously being fed manna every day they were tired of not having any variety. They were to the point that they "loathed" the divine gift they were being given.

Lightning struck. "Holy cats, they are me... I am them" was all that kept going through my head.

Just like the people in that verse I had fallen into the all too human trap of ingratitude. Once that set in I had been bitten by a the serpent of criticism and pride and the result was that my spirit was filling with venom. I could feel it taking over but what was the cure?

"Therefore the people came to Moses, and said, We have sinned, for we have spoken against the Lord, and against thee; pray unto the Lord, that he take away the serpents from us. And Moses prayed for the people.

And the Lord said unto Moses, Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole: and it shall come to pass, that every one that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live.

And Moses made a serpent of brass, and put it upon a pole, and it came to pass, that if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived."

Anyone who has been to Sunday school knows the brass serpent in those verses is a representation of Christ. But I already loved the Lord so where was I to look? The answer came in the same talk as a quote from a latter-day Moses.

"Consider the response of President Spencer W. Kimball when someone once asked him, 'What do you do if you find yourself caught in a boring sacrament meeting?' President Kimball thought a moment, then replied, 'I don’t know; I’ve never been in one.' With his long years of Church experience, President Kimball had undoubtedly been to many meetings where people had read their talks, spoken in a monotone, or given travelogues instead of teaching doctrine. But most likely, President Kimball was teaching that he did not go to sacrament meeting to be entertained; he went to worship the Lord, renew his covenants, and be taught from on high. If he attended with an open heart, a desire to be 'nourished by the good word of God' (Moroni 6:4), and a prayer—rather than judgment—for the speakers, the Spirit would teach him what he needed to do to be a more effective and faithful disciple."

With all my years of study I had somehow forgotten one of the most basic and important things in the universe. It is that truth and joy are gained by communing with the Spirit, end of story. Exciting sermons and dynamic teachers are fun. Folks being civil, fair, and objective on social media is nice. A life with no challenges sounds great. But the joy, fortitude, truth, perseverance, and other incredible blessings God gives us always come from exercising faith and communing with the Spirit. 

That communion will happen any time and in any place if we are in tune and have our ears open. Even my seven year old knows this but somehow as my complaining, impatience, and self pity piled up I had forgotten. I was having too much fun being miserable to remember.

And how to commune? It's simple:

1. Be obedient. Be where you are supposed to be, doing what you are supposed to be doing.  
2. Ask for it. Pray to have that connection. Ask for the light of Heaven to shine through whomever is teaching and that it enters your heart.
3. Get over yourself. This is most important. Thy will, not mine be done.
4. Be grateful. Give thanks for all the incredible blessings and knowledge God gives you. It is the antidote for a stony heart.  

I'm happy to report that after my Stake Conference wake up call I followed those steps and have recovered from my bought of FFS. Now instead of grouchily criticizing everyone and everything (and unfairly at that) I can feel the Spirit speaking to me again on Sundays and every other day of the week. The messages are getting through and even though it takes concerted effort to continue to keep the lines open my attitude in general has vastly improved. 

All it took was a prescription of "look and live" and in the process I learned something I hope to never forget. The lesson was how easy it is to start that slide towards inactivity even when you have a firm testimony, and most importantly that if you do start down that road there is always One who reaches out in mercy to bring you back if you will just humble yourself enough to take His hand. 

Boy am I grateful for that.  

Cheers,

Brenda

My Loaf

If you are Mormon you've doubtless heard numerous accounts of Sisters feeling the influence of the Spirit to bring a loaf of bread to someone out of the blue. It always shows up just at the right time to prove that God loves and is aware of the recipient. These stories always bugged me because I have never had a prompting to deliver bread and have never had bread brought to me in a moment of need. Obviously I was doing something wrong.

Then there was this.

My workday had been rough. Too much to accomplish in a time frame that was nigh on ridiculous. It was usually a relief to walk through the doors of my home but that evening as I was assaulted with the mess that four kids make in their regular comings and goings I felt my tired start to ache.

Dirty bowls sat on the kitchen table with the remnants of hours old chicken Ramen in them. A tennis shoe that had been abandoned in the middle of failed bedazzling attempt was surrounded by a halo of pink glitter on the floor and nearby some lightly drooled on dog biscuits (which were doubtlessly involved in a vain attempt at teaching the skill of rolling over) littered the landscape.  On top of that I was informed by the natives that in addition to the already malfunctioning dishwasher that now the decades old refrigerator had decided to go on to greener pastures.

My hubby was off doing something for someone while fulfilling his church calling and I was feeling overwhelmed in the midst of the usually happy chaos. I began to mutter in frustration under my breath. I needed to get all that food out of the frig before it ruined. 

As I unloaded the perishables into a camping cooler my teenage son brought me my cell phone with a serious look on his face. “Mom, you've got a text you need to look at.”

I stopped arranging ice cubes around a large blue jar of mayonnaise and uprighted myself from my bent over position with a groan. I took the phone and saw that the text was from the number of a seriously ill friend. She had been in hospital for quite a while and had not been able to speak. I felt a brick drop into the bottom of my stomach. I swiped my finger across the text icon and slowly read the message  “Nancy went home to her Father today. We will see her in eternity.”

I stood in the middle of the kitchen too numb to do anything. My friend was gone. Her long battle with cancer was over. I could feel the air moving in and out of my lungs but nothing else seemed to move or make a sound. Time stopped.

After a moment I closed the lid on the cooler and told my concerned son that I just needed a minute. I walked back to my bedroom and closed the door where the sorrow and frustration of the day descended on me with a physical weight, I hunched over as I felt it try to press me into the ground.

Silent prayer flowed out of me in an almost involuntary way. "I'm glad she isn't suffering any more Father...I'm so sad... Bless her family..."

A talk I had recently listened to in my car on the way to work came to mind. It was by President Monson and was about a woman who had received a prompting by the Spirit to take bread to someone she barely knew. That random delivery had touched a young mother who was struggling with deep depression. It was a love note from God sent in an unmistakable way to disciple in need. 

I began to wonder why that hadn't ever happened to me? I had experienced moments of profound need and no one had ever showed up on my doorstep with fresh baked bread. Not to say that I had never received help, I had and in abundance, but never in this much talked about way. It seemed that every Relief Society lesson I had ever heard in the last decade had a similar story-line.

It seems selfish now but sitting on the edge of my bed with my husband unavailable, a houseful of problems to be solved, and the loss of my sweet friend coursing through me I needed a sign of God’s love and attention. I needed Him to notice me.

“Could you please send someone to me?” I prayed, but somehow knew nothing would happen. I knew that He could do something but it seemed in my experience the Lord wanted me to learn self-sufficiency. Crisis moments needed me to just buck up and be strong.

I waited a few minutes and no good sister rang the doorbell with baked goods in hand. "Deal with it Brenda." I said to myself.

At just that moment my 10 year old daughter quietly opened the door and came into the room. She stood in front of me and said “Mama, I know you are sad about Nancy and I wanted to give you a hug.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck.

I couldn't stop the tears that flowed from my eyes. I should be strong and be taking care of her but as I wept on her shoulder I felt the unmistakable love of the Savior flow over me. He knew, He cared, and he had sent me my loaf not through an acquaintance but through a precious child. 

No random sister was needed for me to feel that tender mercy, what came instead was so much better than any physical nourishment. A little girl who loved me best had delivered a message of peace and comfort from the Savior strait to my heart.

So if during the stress that always seems to come with Christmas you find yourself overwhelmed and wondering if God notices know this, loaves come in many different ways. They may be in a sunset or a song or the arms of a child but they do come and the love they convey is filling to the soul. God knows you, hang in there, it will be alright in the end.

Cheers,

Brenda

Always Remember

Researchers increasingly believe that will power is a limited resource and that resisting repeated temptations takes a mental toll on us. Will power seems to be like a muscle that can increase in strength with proper use but with overuse can become fatigued. This theory makes sense as I well know that when a plate of fresh, soft, cinnamon crusted snicker doodles is placed in front of me it will take only a matter of minutes before I am overcome and inhale said plate of yumminess. The time it takes to indulge is even shorter if I have been eating vegetables all day.

With Mormonism and Christianity in general, there is a long laundry list of behaviors and items that require the use of will power. The Lord asks us to overcome our “natural man”. Our natural man seems to be the guy who lives in us who wants to party, carouse, and abuse everything in sight. He is like an out of control frat boy who is swinging from the chandelier, swigging a bottle of Absolute, and saying “how you doing?” to every cute thing that walks by. He thinks only of the here-and-now and how much fun he can have in this moment with no thought of the future. If it feels good let’s go, right now. Living a Christ-like life necessitates the ability to smack Bucky down and set our sites on the long term, the really eternal long term.

This fight against our natural man is tough and the casualties of the battle are all around us. Pornography addiction, drug and alcohol addiction, affairs, child abuse, overeating, gossip, unkindness, the list goes on and on. Pretty much everyone on planet earth is involved in the conflict and having different amounts of success. 

Since we know that God isn’t the type of Father who just shoves His children out the door with no protection, what has he given us to aid in this epic fight?

The last couple of years some interesting research has been done by evolutionary psychologists trying to understand why “mankind created religion?” Obviously, I disagree with their premise that man created religion but their findings are really amazing. 

Researchers ran a series of experiments that were similar to this: Test subjects were invited to unscramble a short sentence. Half of the people were given a neutral phrase such as “the train goes fast” and the other half we given a sentence with a subtle religious reminder. Words such as bible, divine, and spirit were used with that group. The subjects were then moved to another room where they were asked to drink as many paper cups full of an orange juice and vinegar mixture as they could. This mixture generally causes a gag reflex and is patently gross. 


What the researchers found was that across the board the group who had received the reminders of religion and God were able to drink at least twice as many cups of this disgusting stuff. It didn’t matter if the test subject was an atheist, agnostic, or deeply religious. Those who were reminded of God had more will power to complete an unpleasant task than those who didn’t. This test was completed on hundreds of people.

The conclusion drawn from this group of psychologists was that religion must have been developed so that man could promote self-control which is necessary for us to survive as a species. With all due respect that seems like a pretty complicated way to achieve that goal.

What I submit is that one of the many powerful gifts that a loving creator gave to his children is a deeply rooted psychological tool that helps us to do what he has asked. We all seem to have it even if we are unaware and so the call in the scriptures to “remember” becomes all that more poignant. It isn’t just an exercise in obedience, God is giving us the key to self-mastery if we will but do! 

This week during Sacrament Meeting my six year old was being unusually reverent. This anomaly allowed me to reflect a little on the words of the prayers that were being offered by my two older sons, who served as the Priests blessing the bread and water. (By the way that was a sweet and proud moment.) Both prayers use the language “always remember Him” that His spirit may be with us. Why is this so important that it is repeated in ritual every week and exhorted over and over again in the scriptures? It may be that there is an eternal law at work and that remembrance activates the process in our psyche that allows us to overcome the temptations in our life.

Elder Terence M. Vinson gave this short story in the last conference.

A young boy was trying to smooth out the dirt area behind his house so he could play there with his cars. There was a large rock obstructing his work. The boy pushed and pulled with all his might, but no matter how hard he tried, the rock wouldn’t budge. His father watched for a while, then came to his son and said, “You need to use all your strength to move a rock this large.” The boy responded, “I have used all my strength!” His father corrected him: “No you haven’t. You haven’t had my help yet!” They then bent down together and moved the rock easily.

Remembrance seems to be a way to activate this God-given gift and enlist His strength. Science is beginning to catch up to what prophets have known since the beginning.   

Helaman 5:12 And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.

So when your natural man is beating you about the head with your favorite temptation you can remember by reading your scriptures, saying a prayer, singing a hymn, repeating a favorite psalm, attending the temple, keeping your covenants or whatever it is that helps you to think about Him. The Lord has given us all the tools we need to do what He asks, all we have to do is have faith and use them. And in those times when our natural man wins a round we can get up and try again. With the Lord's help that muscle of will power will get stronger and stronger until that bright day when we overcome all things.

Cheerio,

Brenda

The Roadrunner

I hit a roadrunner today...

...and that sucks because I love roadrunners, they remind me of my grandma. She loved to watch them at her home in Arizona as they zipped through the field that was adjacent to her little white home. With the smell of orange blossoms on the morning breeze she would sit on her porch and make note of their comings and goings, of the lizards they caught for breakfast, and of which couples were raising chicks that year. 

She was a lot like a roadrunner herself. Fast and sharp and yet somehow fragile, and so every time I see one I feel her nearby which is amazing, because I miss her with an ache that never really goes away.

Today as my little commuter raced down the winding country road towards work I was not thinking about grandma or roadrunners at all. I was deep in thought about something which I thought was of paramount import. The music was up and I was zooming (yes zooming, think the Jetson's car noise) and completely engrossed in my own ponderings. The outside world was merely something to be minimally observed just so that I could maneuver my way safely to my goal.

It was somewhere in the middle of this self-absorption that the lovely little roadrunner darted in front of my car. I was going too fast to even brake and watched in horror as it disappeared under my bumper. When I glanced out the rear view mirror all I saw was a cloud of brown and black feathers suspended in the air. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” I voiced to the universe, but it did no good. I had killed that beautiful creature simply by barreling along, I had a goal to reach and little roadrunner had simply gotten in the way.

The situation brought two ideas to my consciousness. The first was that no matter how sorry I felt about hitting the roadrunner there was absolutely nothing I could do to bring it back. I had not set out to injure him but nonetheless he was now fertilizing the landscape because of me. The second idea was just as upsetting, I wondered in the past how many other creatures I had run over on my way without realizing. 

The fact of the matter is that even with our best intentions we are going to harm others as we make our way through life. Sometimes this comes because of selfishness and other times because we are unaware of the impact we are having on people and the natural world around us. Unfortunately, that does not negate the fact that we are indeed doing harm.

This of course is why we need the atonement through which a loving and magnificent Savior paid the entire price for all of our selfishness and the unintentional harm we create. He didn't just pay part of it, He paid all of it and Him asking us to do things like repent, be kind, and improve ourselves has no effect whatsoever on that payment. We don't have the ability to make payment for the dumb things we do. So why then does He ask us to do anything at all?

Consider the following analogy given by Brad Wilcox in a speech at BYU in 2011.

"Christ’s arrangement with us is similar to a mom providing music lessons for her child. Mom pays the piano teacher...Because Mom pays the debt in full, she can turn to her child and ask for something. What is it? Practice! Does the child’s practice pay the piano teacher? No. Does the child’s practice repay Mom for paying the piano teacher? No. Practicing is how the child shows appreciation for Mom’s incredible gift. It is how he takes advantage of the amazing opportunity Mom is giving him to live his life at a higher level. Mom’s joy is found not in getting repaid but in seeing her gift used—seeing her child improve. And so she continues to call for practice, practice, practice.

 If the child sees Mom’s requirement of practice as being too overbearing (“Gosh, Mom, why do I need to practice? None of the other kids have to practice! I’m just going to be a professional baseball player anyway!”), perhaps it is because he doesn't yet see with mom’s eyes. He doesn't see how much better his life could be if he would choose to live on a higher plane."

This understanding leads to two scriptures that initially seem to be in opposition of one another.

Matthew 11:28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 

Ether 12:27 And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them. 

I always used to wonder how can the rest promised in Matthew equate with the Lord showing me my weaknesses? Being shown my weaknesses is one of my least favorite things on earth. Just another item to beat myself over the head with. Reason number 2042 on my list of why I'm not good enough; doesn't sound like rest to me.

Once we see that the Savior pointing out our weaknesses is not done to show how short we are falling on paying our debt but an act of love which will lead us to a better life the shame goes out of it. I can know that I am a worthwhile person with flaws who God loves and that He sees the endless potential I have. He does not want me to beat myself up, instead He wants me to humble myself and become a little more like Him with each realization of weakness and the course correction that results. That is part of the rest that is promised.

Just living with our sins and weaknesses is draining but being made aware and them and with His help improving on those weaknesses gives us peace. Even when it takes a really long time to overcome those things that hang us up, and even when we mess the same things up over and over again, we can know that we are doing what He has asked and there is rest for our souls in that knowledge. We will also find that as we try we build spiritual muscles and become more loving and humble. We find through experience that we can trust that at some point He really will make all our weaknesses into strengths.

With the roadrunner this morning I was shown a weakness, a weakness in which I rush though life without paying enough attention to those around me be they birds or people. My goals are worthwhile but not more important than the impact I am having as I move toward them. I was shown that I can be more aware, slow down, and try to tread more carefully on my path. I can save the next roadrunner, I can pay attention to my teenage son when he tells me about the latest video game, I can be more patient with my co-workers, I can stop and be a listening ear to a friend in need. And while there is a great possibility that I have not seen the last roadrunner or armadillo or skunk disappear beneath my bumper I can do better at avoiding that possibility and eventually, with the Lord's help become perfect in that, and that gives me rest.

Cheers,

Brenda  

A Very Special Day

Today is a very special day.



And while the 2% of the population who actually enjoy Valentine's Day with it's gag a maggot PDA's (public displays of affection), stale chocolates, and stuffed animals made in work camps in China, today I offer the recognition of something other than commercialism and people stroking their own vanity.

I offer an example of true love.

February the 14th just so happens to be the birthday of a woman. This is a woman I have been friends with for nearly 30 years. It makes my brain cramp trying to count back that far. We were friends through jelly shoes and Esprit bags, through Jr. High squabbles and bangs that made the great wall of China look petite. We were friends through bad dates and high school milestones, through broken hearts and broke wallets, through marriage and mission, over thousands of miles and kids galore. And now even as we approach the dreaded 4-0 her wisdom, wit, and love are one of the best things of my day.

This woman is the funniest person I know, she is smart, she is beautiful and she is  real. What you see is what you get. Her honesty is as hilarious as it is profound and there is never any pretending to be perfect. She gets overwhelmed at times with motherhood and wifehood and all the other hoods that good women are expected to bear but she keeps at it. She has a drive to raise good kids, and love her husband, be a good neighbor, and follow the footsteps of the Savior. She does this because her heart is gold and she genuinely loves her fellow man.

"True love blooms when we care more about another person that we care about ourselves." - Jeffrey R. Holland

So as you eat your pink cupcakes and read your love notes, or for those who subscribe to the Love Stinks! school of  thought and angrily boycott all the festivities I ask you to take a moment today and think about the people in your life who personify real love. The folks that make your life better for their service and goodness. Once you have figured out who they are then tell them what they mean to you. That way this day of luuuve can have a touch of something true and real. Something that we can look to for inspiration and happiness. The things that really make life worth living.


But for those sappy chums that can't stand leaving romance out; here is a picture of Mr. Darcy.

You're welcome.




Happy Birthday Wendy and thanks for being you.

Cheers,

Brenda

Mind Reader

Being married nearly 20 years does something to a relationship. It becomes like a favorite pair of worn tennis shoes. After thousands of miles run, rain storms, sweaty feet, and the occasional dog doo they are broken in and each shoe knows a lot about the other and how it deals with life. 

The same goes for Buns and I. We've been up, down, and to hell in a hand basket and so there is an intuitive knowledge about the other and their status, it just manifests itself in different ways. Buns has the divine capability to notice when my eye twitch is reaching critical mass from stress and clears the air space around me. Granted this may be a self defense mechanism but nonetheless it works to bring balance back to the system. For me it works a bit differently.

For instance, when I have ruthlessly declared a ban on junk food in an attempt to get our family to be more healthy something amazing happens. Buns will be in a grocery store 30 miles from my office. He will drop a box of Twinkies into his basket. The molecules from that box crash into the molecules of the cart and a ripple is sent out into the universe. Sitting at my desk all those miles away my inner voice, who oddly sounds like Ewan McGregor will say "I feel a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of green beans suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened."

This ability translates to other things and as a result most of the time I believe I know what is going on without even being told. I can, in my own reality, read his mind a great deal of the time and because of this wrongly expect the same thing from him. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work so well.

A couple of months ago Buns had been doing some service work with the missionaries for a Sister in our branch. This service had required that he load a large quantity of his beloved power tools into the back of our SUV. Power tools are to Buns what cheese is to a quesadilla. They are a part of him, he cannot exist without them, they are his other children, and provide him answers to the great questions of the cosmos. 

Anyway, in his usual manly fashion of doing good and then not putting anything away the tools were still in the back of our conveyance on Sunday morning. The usual chaos of finding shoes, fixing hair, washing grubby faces and bemoaning the state of my teen sons white shirts was in full swing when Buns, looking quite dapper in his suit and tie walked out the door to go to early meetings. He of course took the other car.

One frantic hour later I herded my brood out the door and we raced off to church only 10 minutes late, a record I believe. On the way I could be heard grumbling under my breath about the load of tools clanging around the back every time we careened around a corner. 

Church was attended and as usual Buns had more business to see to after the meetings and so I once again headed the troops out the door for home by myself. In the foyer it was decided that we would give another member a ride home since she was on our way. This pleasant lady had a walker but no problem, our huge vehicle could certainly handle that.

Out in the parking lot as my children fought over the candy they had received in Primary and the sweet sister was maneuvered into the front seat, my oldest son and I tried vainly to wrestle the walker into the back of our transport. We moved power tools to one side and then another but no dice, the back hatch would not close. The twitch in my eye was nearing nuclear fission when I noticed the car my hubby had brought just a few parking stalls away. A light bulb went off in my head.

Oldest son and I unlocked the back of that car and unceremoniously dumped all the tools into the trunk. The walker was then neatly arranged in the back of our humble chariot and we were off without another thought. 

The following evening I stood in the kitchen bedecked in a Boise State apron cooking dinner when Buns walked through the door, he was pale and trembling. "Honey, what's the matter?" I asked. Just so you know Buns is not one for dramatics. I've seen him deal with death and severe pain rather nonchalantly so I knew something catastrophic had happened. He replied slowly, "Brenda my power tools have been stolen. I left them in the back of the Suburban and they are gone." 

I stood silent for a minute as the realization of what was going on dawned in my brain. Then I began to laugh uproariously. Buns looked at me in horrified disbelief and then relief as I breathlessly explained what I had done the day before. "Well then" said he "I had better go out and tell the officer what has happened." "I'm so sorry Buns! I just assumed you could read my mind like I read yours." I said wiping the tears from my eyes.  He looked at me with one raised eyebrow and stalked off towards the driveway to deliver the news.

Was there a lesson to be learned from all of this? I'm not sure. Maybe it is that husbands should put away their junk and it will save them a lot of heartache, calls to the police, and their wives a nervous tic. And wives, let's stop assuming our hubbies can read our minds, they can't. Communication is important and we should value what our husband values. If it is important to them we should respect that. And anyways you wouldn't want them in your head, they might find out Ewan McGregor is living in there.

Cheers,

Brenda

The Power of Potluck

Just about 10 years ago in the parking lot of a small LDS church building sat a man waiting for his convert wife to come out of Sunday meetings. He was a rough looking character with a past to match. Tattoos crept up his arms, skulls adorned his shirt, and an unmistakable aura of cigarette smoke hung about his person. He was markedly out of place among the carefully manicured flower beds and fragrant blooming myrtle that lined the lot.

Inside, a humble group of Saints were eagerly anticipating the monthly potluck meal that was to follow the closing prayer. The smell of funeral potatoes , meatballs, green jello salad and homemade rolls with butter was wafting out of the kitchen. The aroma revealed the unmistakable hallmark of food crafted with loving care.

At meeting’s end the convert Sister was implored to stay and eat. She explained that her husband waited outside for her. She must go.

What happened next was not surprising. A ninety pound powerhouse of a woman, a widow, somewhere over the age of seventy, white hair tightly curled, marched out to the parking lot and strait up to the man in the car. She didn’t bat an eye at his appearance or the look on his face that clearly called for distance between the two of them. She greeted him warmly, told of her affection for his wife, and invited him in for dinner. He declined, but she kindly would not take no for an answer.

Disarmed, he climbed out of the car and walked arm in arm with her into the building.

Just about 10 years ago a young mother with rambunctious children and an inactive husband walked through the doors of the large established Ward she had recently moved into. She was nervous as the people there were obviously wealthier than she and seemed a close knit group that had been together for a long period of time. She had been born in the Church, had a strong testimony of the Gospel, but felt uneasy with the prospect of making new friends.

She received a few passing nods of hello and sat by herself through Sunday School and Relief Society. She observed the warm relations between the members but was not invited into any of the conversations. After the Sacrament she herded her little ones out the door. No one said good-bye.

The weeks rolled on and all stayed the same. She entered, received  nods of greeting, and once in a while would be asked where her husband was. “Not here.”  She would reply a little shamefully. “Hmm.” was the answer as they walked away. She would sit alone in her classes, would smile when while someone spoke to her, but was mostly ignored.

She began to find reasons not to attend. The baby had a stomach ache, she was too tired, no one would miss her anyway. She slipped into inactivity.

When Home Teachers were dispatched several months later to see what had happened they found the family reading scriptures together nightly and having family prayer. They could not understand why this Sister did not want to come to church in a Ward that had such good and talented people.

Back at the little branch, the man with the tattoos was welcomed and wrapped in the loving embrace of the members. No one stared at his appearance, no one asked about his checkered past. They simply and genuinely enfolded him into their family.

He came back next month only “because the food was so good” and then the month after that. One Sunday he asked his wife if he had anything he could wear to church. He only felt it right to attend if he was going to eat with them too.

Years passed, missionaries were contacted, truth was learned, old transgressions were wiped clean and the man became “a new creature”. His heart healed and softened and he found forgiveness through the atonement of Jesus Christ. He was baptized and ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, took temple prep classes and prepared to receive the higher Priesthood. All the while he was loved and supported cheered for by the members of the little branch.

The same years passed and the less active Sister moved out of the old established Ward and found herself and her family walking through the doors of the same little Branch on a potluck Sunday. They were greeted, hugged, loved and included. They stayed for dinner and enjoyed the funeral potatoes, meatballs, green jello salad, and rolls with butter. They weren’t stared at because their clothes were different or the fact that they had a strange accent. They weren’t asked about their checkered past.

When they missed the next week there were phone calls wondering what could be done to help, was everyone alright? Did they need soup for sick kids?

Wrapped in the warmth of the Saints there, the Sister and her husband came every week and soon were in callings that stretched and taught them. Their testimonies grew and the impact on their family was vast. All the while they were loved and supported cheered for by the members of the little branch.

Two stories with the same result and potluck is the common thread. No, it wasn’t the funeral potatoes, meatballs, green jello salad, and rolls with butter. It was the members who prepared the meal each month and understood the promise of the Lord to encircle His children in the arms of His love. They knew that as members of His church they had been called to be those arms. They had been called to truly and completely love their neighbors regardless of what they looked like, how much money they had, and where they came from. They were able to see through spiritual eyes the divine potential of all of God’s children.

These stories can be (and are) replicated in all sorts of congregations; large or small, wealthy or poor, talented and educated or not. And as much as we like to think that “if folks know the church is true they should just show up even if the members are less than loving” it is not the Lord’s way. Zion equals unity and unity is only achieved through love, kindness, concern, patience, and effort.

As missionary work increases worldwide and Ward and Branch Councils pray over the people in their areas my hope is that we all take a page from the lesson of the potluck. That we find the lady sitting alone in Sunday School, the teen who is a little different at school, the father in our neighborhood who is struggling, and we enfold them in the arms of love the Savior has promised them. It will make a difference in their lives and in ours. This is the work we are asked to do, so let’s do it.

“I believe we members do not have the option to extend the hand of fellowship only to relatives, close friends, certain Church members, and those selected nonmembers who express an interest in the Church. Limiting or withholding our fellowship seems to me to be contrary to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Savior offered the effects of his atoning sacrifice to all mankind. He said, ‘Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.’ (D&C 18:10.) Can we justify doing less?” -Russell M. Nelson

Cheers,

Brenda

TMI: Testimony Meeting

"There is a great responsibility in bearing pure testimony. Sometimes I think too little of it is done in the Church." – Elder Boyd K Packer

There are perks to living just west of nowhere. Wide open spaces where the deer and the armadillos play, sunsets that would make Monet fall over his paintbrushes, traffic jams that consist of a tractor and  three horse trailers all showing up at the stoplight at the same time. 

With all this country wholesomeness and fresh air comes the blessing of going to church in a little Branch of the Church. Best of all is fast and testimony meetings in that Branch.

  

Once a month Mormons observe what we call “fast Sunday”. Generally on the first Sunday of the month the members forego food and drink for two meals and donate the equivalent cost, or more, to the Church to assist the poor and needy. The congregational meeting on each fast Sunday, called fast and testimony meeting, is devoted to the voluntary expression of testimony by members.

This means anybody can get up and share their testimony with the congregation and in my Branch it is a faith filled incredible meeting every single week. I think that may be because we are so small and everyone feels like family. These are humble, loving, and awesome people who go to church not because it is expected, not because it is the social center of life or that it is easy, but because they know the Church is true. They bear simple, sweet, short testimonies and tell what they know. That’s it. I’ve learned what “pure testimony” is by associating with them.

When we lived in other areas of the country this was not always so. Testimony meetings were uplifting, sometimes entertaining, and other times made me want to crawl under my chair and hide from embarrassment. 

I remember well one sister who would get up each month and give the congregation a rundown on all the marital problems she was having with her hubby who was sitting there three rows back. How he told her she was going to get fat if she kept eating chocolate and what went on in her therapy sessions. There was also the brother that would get up and give a sermon every week on some historical fact for 15 minutes at a time. He had to be escorted from the mic several times by the Bishop.

Then there were the well-meaning parents who exactly 30 seconds after hearing a letter read from the First Presidency asking that two-year-olds not give testimony in the main meeting, escorted those same kids right up to the pulpit and did exactly what they had just been asked not to do. This was followed up by folks giving travel logs of their trip to Branson and detailed information on the mole they had removed that week with the added bonus of taking off the band-aid so we could all see.  

Mixed in generously with all that were the hoards of thank-a-mony givers. I was a part of that group. I got up, thanked my family, thanked God for the Gospel, thanked my friends, thanked a guy named Earl who happened to drive by the church that morning, and then sat down. And while being grateful is imperative to being a disciple it is not a testimony.

Said Elder Dallin H Oaks:

“A testimony of the gospel is not a travelogue, a health log, or an expression of love for family members. It is not a sermon. President Kimball taught that the moment we begin preaching to others, our testimony is ended.”

Hartman Rector, Jr. -Member of the First Quorum of the Seventy:

“Bearing testimony has to do with bearing witness to that which we know to be true. Much of what we call testimony bearing is not really testimony at all—it is a statement or expression of public thanks. It is good to be thankful, but public thanks is not testimony.

Testimony comes from the Holy Ghost. The Spirit of Christ, which John testifies is ‘the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world’ (Jn 1:9), will lead a man to Christ and help him get a testimony, and if followed will lead to baptism in Jesus Christ’s church.”

What I love about my Branch is that they instinctively follow the example of Joseph Smith in this area. Joseph bore powerful pure testimony over and over again throughout his life on the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the miracle of the Restoration of the Gospel, but most significantly he declared: 

“And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him, this is the testimony, last of all, which we give of him: That he lives!

“For we saw him, even on the right hand of God; and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father—

“That by him, and through him, and of him, the worlds are and were created, and the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God” (D&C 76:22–24).

He testified simply what he knew, that Jesus Christ lives. We can do the same by testifying about what we know. That the Gospel has been restored, that we are led by a prophet today, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God, that Jesus Christ lives and loves us. I testify that if we do this in our meetings and cut the other junk they will be filled with the Spirit and fast Sunday can be a joyous spiritual feast for everyone. Besides, nobody wants to hear about your mole.

Cheers,

Brenda

“…Personal testimony is the foundation of our faith. It is the binding power that makes The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints unique in the lives of its members, as compared with all other religious denominations of the world. The doctrine of the Restoration is glorious in and of itself, but the thing that makes it powerful and imbues it with great meaning is the personal testimonies of Church members worldwide who accept the Restoration of the gospel and strive to live its teachings every day of their lives.” -Elder M. Russell Ballard

Proper Etiquette for Young Ladies

Oi vey people. This whole Miley Cyrus circus of repulsiveness lately has led to thought on my part. Dangerous I know.

In this post I will not lament on how as a culture we are sexualizing children or have located ourselves squarely on the deck of the Titanic as a civilization because of our collective nastiness. That has been done much more effectively and eloquently than I can manage. Instead I find myself wondering what happened to good old social convention, you know manners and such. It used to be important, so much so that way back people even wrote books about it, and other people read that and adhered to some of it. Were any of those old rules based in something deeper?

I found myself wondering what such a literary work would look like today, so I humbly submit the following with current social standards in place.

Here are just a few of the things a lady must keep in mind:

• Proper young ladies should indulge in cosmetics, hair-dyes or other forms of insincerity in their personal appearance. Make-up should be applied so that the wearer is indistinguishable from a 45 year old truck stop waitress. Tattoos should be acquired as soon as possible without regard to the fact that as they get older that beautiful flower on the lower back will start looking like a dead bloated dog carcass.

• Ladies should wear bling at all times possible and loudly broadcast how much the said bling was purchased for.

• Under no circumstances should an unmarried young woman be accompanied by a chaperon when she goes out. There is no need to ensure that she is innocent or to compel others to respect her innocence. Girls as young as grade school should be dressed like adults and encouraged by parents, media, and other sources to date and become intimately active as soon as possible.

• The primary mode of communication should be text message. Most especially when standing directly next to another person this technique should be employed. When cell service is unavailable a good conversationalist should be possessed of much information on the latest Boy Bands and Perez Hilton gossip. Acquired keen observation, attentive listening, a good memory, and logical habits of thought are unnecessary and unattractive.

• Characteristics of a well-educated lady include demeaning men and using all possible strategy to emotionally destroy any other young ladies deemed competition. She uses vulgarisms, flippancy, coarseness, triviality and provocation in her speech.

• A lady is unsympathetic, selfish and has no patience listening to others unless they are speaking about her. To show any interest in the immediate concerns of other people is very uncomplimentary. She must maintain herself as the only acceptable topic with one exception. Embellished and salacious stories about celebrities and classmates is required in all polite conversation.

• A lady publicizes all exhibitions of temper before others. Whether grief or joy, emotions should be recorded and posted on Youtube, Facebook, and Twitter. The performance must be as dramatic as possible to get an acceptable number of views.

• At a dance, a lady may refuse to dance with any gentleman who invites her by shamelessly snubbing him and then making comments about him to her friends. However, should a lady take interest in a young gentleman she should approach him first and then proceed to gyrate like a pole dancer once the music begins. An unattached lady must pair off immediately and spend the rest of the dance in a dark corner with her beau.

• A lady is never seen in a ball-room with sleeves. Attire must be covered in sequins and short enough to leave nothing to the imagination. A spray on tan and heavy make-up must also be acquired to fulfill social protocol.

I could go on but you get the point. And yes I am a middle-aged fuddy duddy but for Pete's sake just because an idea has been around for a while doesn't make it any less worthy. This is not a call to return to corsets and girls who can't vote or speak for themselves. Obviously, there were problems back then too but there was something else buried under all the bowing and curtsying. There was a respect for oneself and others.

What I ask is for women everywhere to realize who they are, daughters of God who make an indelible mark on the world around them. Being kind, polite, modest, and virtuous both inside and out elevates yourself and everyone around you. Fight the filth in the world, cultivate the good that is inherently a part of your being, avoid the garbage- you know exactly what it is. Anything that makes you feel like less than a fabulous, incredible, good person who could stand in the presence of God without fear or guilt is it.

Reject the plastic revolting lies that media and evil people out to make a quick buck sell to you. You do not have to take your clothes off for guys to like you. The real men worth having won't have anything to do with the Miley's and Rhianna's of the world. They respect and love women too much to put up with girls who demean themselves.

Truly beautiful is the girl or woman who walks in the knowledge of her eternal worth, who keeps herself clean, and who shows who she is in every action. Manners rooted in respect are just one way of demonstrating that. Respect is where happiness is found so let's get off the Titanic, we know where it goes.

 Brenda