Have you ever gotten home from the orthodontist with your daughter and the other daughters living at your house (coincidentally) have renamed it after a movie theater? How do I know? Well, the burnt popcorn smell is a good indicator. Some of the girls are laughing. Some repeatedly flipping over couches and some crying because they wanted to be “DJ” in their movie version of Full House. Their optimism of good ticket sales were evident from the reams of paper, used to make the tickets, strewn about the floor? Where maybe it is 3:00pm and the breakfast dishes are still in the sink, and about a bazillion other dishes were used to frost 6 brownies? Then, you turn, hoping to find some peace in all the chaos and see that your family room looks no better. Forts made of pillows, backpacks and coats have now overtaken the once vacumned carpet (yuk.), and tens of tens, to what seemed like hundreds, but was really only tens, of crayons…broken and (because that’s what 4 year old like to do) glittered on any open cleared surface. Anybody? Anyone? My mind…tired…felt just as dysfunctional as my house was. Immediately, I started listing all the things I still had to do that day. Re-cleaning the little love muffins messes (because sometimes its easier just to do it yourself…don’t judge) wasn’t something I was planning on. As I turned to walk down the hall to my bedroom, I passed the center of our home. My eyes gazed to my left where two large framed documents, The Family: A Proclamation to the World, and The Living Christ hang. At that moment, something was beginning to “work” in me. Looking to my right, I locked eyes with the peace and calm in my Savior’s eyes as I admired the portrait of Him hanging over our stairs. Then, straight ahead was a painting of OUR (because we were they only people ever married there) Salt Lake Temple that my Mr. Q gave me in the hospital after we had our last little girl. Just as quick as my glances were, I felt my heart and my home refocus on all that really matters. Suddenly all the chaos disappeared. Suddenly all my anxiousness ran away. Suddenly all those nice and nessicary things that I thought needed to be done moved way down the list. I did hang those things in the center of my home for a purpose. To stand as reminder to my girls what should be in the center of our lives, the center of our hearts, and the center of our home. But in all reality, it was me who needed all the reminding. I often wonder how Joseph felt trying to find a place for Mary and our unborn Savior to stay and to be delivered to the world. How would any place be good enough?! I am sure he wanted it to be the best Bethlehem had to offer in warmth, safety, and comfort. As he traveled through the city, asking the innkeeper after innkeeper if they had room, it was one “no” after another after another. Just as Joseph did everything he could to try provide a shelter for his small family, our Father in Heaven was right there. Delivering the miracle He had intended all along. A stable. A stable. Where animals lived, and typical comforts, I imagine, didn’t abound. A stable…not adorned with fine wood, soft linens, or beautiful adornments. A stable…free from the loud and vanities of the world found in the Inn’s.
A stable, the most humble of circumstance. Where there was quiet. Where there was focus on that one heavenly event taking place. A stable. A home…centered around Jesus the Christ. We are taught by our dear Prophet and Apostles to safe guard our homes. Build them up as defenders of truth and all that is good. We hang priceless reminders, quotes and portraits on our walls to do our part in teaching and protecting our families. But…I am the first to raise my hand when I say that sometimes I forget to look up…and admire…and learn…and remember. I fail to let these reminders serve their purpose in doing just that… to remind and to reflect. I don’t feel like I am doing “bad” things. I just think it is so easy for me to get caught up in the nice and necessary tasks in building and beautifying a home, that at times, I fall into the habits of the innkeeper. Sometimes getting caught up in “adorning”, and being overcome by the loud circus constantly traveling through, we don’t hear Josephs quiet and soft knock. I believe and know that just as our Father in Heaven was guiding and delivering Joseph and Mary to the perfect home, so is He with us. Our Father knows how hard we all try. He knows we are not perfect, nor will our homes be at every minute of every day. All He wants is for us to follow the pattern of Joseph…to try. Our Father knows when we are doing are best. He celebrates when hear the faint knocks of the Spirit as we open the door to our Savior… the door to our homes, the door to our families, and the door to our hearts...His Sons and daughters. *********************************************************************************** p.s. now, does anyone know where I can find some hay and extra sheep? I just thought of the perfect DIY for my front room. ;)
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I remember watching my littlest sister, who happens to be nearly 23 now…whatevs, riding the escalator down to the main floor of the airport. With that warm missionary glow and old and worn suitcases in her hands, she stepped off the last step and all her “little babies” (aka nieces and a nephew, who by the way, has muscle definition far beyond his years. Guinness Book of World Records, are you hearing this?!) Back to the airport…the kiddos flew into her arms! WELCOME HOME ANNE, they adoringly whispered in her ear. After being on loan to those sweet Japanese people for 19 months, it was a refresher for us all too finally have her back. After she told me, her favorite sister, that she missed me the most (j/k). The family all flooded her with the questions that you might ask returned missionaries…How was it? What was the mission like? Who was your favorite companion? Was it hard learning the language? Do you like sushi? Anne had us captivated in her answers and surprisingly, no, Anne still doesn’t like sushi ;) Apart from all those questions, there was an answer she gave to what I thought was a generic question that has been permanently impressed in my mind. “What was the most favorite part about serving a mission in Japan, Anne?!” With that light still beaming in her eyes days later…her voice softened and her spirit enveloped me in the warmest hug. Her answer, as I remember, went something like this… “The chance of introducing our Savior, Jesus Christ, into the lives of a people who have never heard His name, was something I will never forget.” Then…gravity set it. Think about it…Many of those people haven’t heard of the story set in Bethlehem, of that tiny babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. They have never heard the stories of all the miracles and teaching He performed while living here on the earth. They never knew of the suffering in the garden. Nor do they know that the once tiny baby…lives and is our Savior. I will never forget that truth as the spirit bore witness to me that day, standing by my parents dishwasher. As someone who has never served a mission, my hearts longs to witness that honor of proclaiming. As the prophet Abinadi stood in handcuffs and chains in a dark room, with only flickers from candles for light, he filled that room with a light stronger than any light man can shine. With the light of Christ, Abinadi proclaimed to the prideful King Noah and his priests, who our Savior, Jesus Christ is, and his saving Atonement. “Surely, he has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken…But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed……being filled with compassion towards the children of men; standing betwixt them and justice…” Then…a prophet of old testifies of the prophets to come: “And now I say unto you, who shall declare his generation? Behold I say unto you, that whosoever has heard the words of the prophets…I say unto you, that these are his seed…they who have published peace, who have brought good tidings of good, who have published salvation; and said unto Zion: Thy God reigneth.” Just as the shepherds were asked by the angel to go to the Christ child and proclaim the news of the Saviors birth to all the world, so was the same with Abinadi. And is the same with our latter day Prophet and Apostles. They are seeking after His sheep, both with the fold and those that wonder. They shine a light in a world of dark and barely lit places. Their love for us is real.
Are my eyes open so to see the light? Can I hear with my ears and my heart their calls of joy and peace? While King Noah rejected Abinadi because of pride and “spiritual blindness”, one priest named Alma heard the prophet Abinadi’s words. Alma saw the light of Christ dispel the darkness around him. With courage and a believing heart, Alma followed. Is it ever too late to return to the fold? Absolutely not. Alma shows me that. My hope is that I can better lead myself and my little sheep to our shepherds that proclaim as the heavenly angels did, a Savior is born…a Savior lives! I remember as a little girl walking down the long hall of my Grams house. No lights were on except for a tiny glow coming from around a door at the end of the hallway. I gave a little knock and my Gram opened the door. With bright eyes and the sweetest smile, she greeted me with a warm hug. I never wondered how much she loved me. Gram welcomed me in to her “den.” I sat down on a light pink sheet she had placed on her daybed so that her bed quilt wouldn’t get dirty. Gram was finishing up some things on her computer and invited me to look at a book for a few minutes until she was done. As I flipped through the pages, my eyes started to wonder around the room. There was something about her den that was so magical to a little girl. Maybe it was her beautiful jewelry that she had laid out for that week’s outfits. Maybe it was the precious porcelain figurines displayed on the bookcases, each one with their own story. Or perhaps the old photographs of times past. No wait…I know what it was…it was her closet! Ahhh…Gram’s closet. Her closet was pristine. It wasn’t the beautifully pressed clothes and perfectly paired shoes lined up on the floor that caught my eye, but the little treasures on the shelves surrounding them. Boxes of old slides and photos from Inkleys, handbags that she carried with her in her travels with my Grandpa Burke, and special keepsakes. One keepsake in particular had caught my attention. On the top shelf of the closet, tucked away in a corner was a doll. But, not just any doll. It was a wooden Russian nesting doll. It was beautifully painted with such detail in bright and vibrant colors. My eyes locked. I thought that if I stared at it long enough and wiggled my nose it would just magically appear on my lap! At least that’s what I learned on “Bewitched!” After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was just a few minutes, Gram turned around from her chair and saw me gazing into her closet at that doll. Without a word, Gram pulled out her step stool and reached for it. My little heart starting pounding in excitement! Gram came over to the bed where I was sitting and sat down next to me…on the sheet of course :) She handed me the doll and asked if I wanted to open it. Open it? It opens?! I opened the first doll and inside was another doll just like it. Bright and vibrant and painted with such detail. I then opened that doll. And inside that, one was another doll just like the ones before. It was like opening a new gift each and every time! Then another and another and another until finally I opened the last doll. As I peered inside…it opened up to the smallest little doll I had ever seen. But, this one was different. This one was unique from the others. This one didn’t have all the vibrant and bright colors as the others did. This one wasn’t covered in unique detail as the others. It was simple. The doll was a little yellow figure with a simple painted face. As I held this precious little doll in my hands, I realized why I had to open so many dolls to get to it. This tiny doll was the one that needed the most protecting above all the other dolls. As Mary was chosen by God to be the mother and deliver our Savior into this world, she was not tasked to do this alone. Have you ever thought of what Joseph’s role was in the coming of Savior’s birth? To me, Joseph was called to be the protector. Protection from people who did not know or understand. Protection by heeding the Spirit even when it meant leaving their home to go to Bethlehem. Protection as Joseph supported and encouraged Mary as she delivered the baby Jesus. Protection as Mary held the tiny baby Jesus as wise men and shepherds came to see their Savior. He was their protector. Joseph held that responsibility and duty because he trusted our Father in Heaven. Joseph had faith in our Savior and what His purpose on earth was. And...Joseph simply loved Mary. I think that all of us have been asked to be a protector in our own way of our Savior and his gospel. I ask myself…a lot… Do I have the faith that Joseph did? Do I defend that faith and my Savior? Do I hold the greatest gift, our Savior, Jesus Christ, most precious above all… even above the brightest and most vibrant things of this world? Just as quickly as I can be overwhelmed with those questions, I try to remember this scripture: “…but behold, I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass…and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of souls.” Our cause to protect that faith and defend our Savior, as Joseph did, is a daily one. I hope I never soon forget what it felt like sitting next to my Gram, opening one doll after another after another, and finally see the gift that is to be held most precious and to most protect.
Looking at our tickets, J 113 and 115, Mr. Q and I make our way down the isle to take our seats (which actually weren’t too shabby!). As we chatted for a few minutes with the in laws sitting next to us, the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the orchestra began its prelude to the Nutcracker. The concert hall was filled with proud parents, excited family, and supportive friends to watch their dancers perform in this timeless ballet. As the curtain raised, the ballerinas performed their dances that they had worked so tirelessly on for months. You could hear the chattering of Moms and Dads pointing out their dancer and eyes locked on every move they made. I don’t know what was sweeter, the little ballerinas in mice costumes or their parents squeeling with excitement! Intermission came. As I was thumbing through my program, the man sitting next to me asked if I had a dancer in the production. I told him I did and my daughter’s part. I then proceeded to ask him the same question, “Do you have a daughter performing?” He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “yes I do.” With just those three tiny words, the weight of humble pride and love he had for his daughter was tangable. He proceeded to share with me that his daughter was a senior this year and this would be her last year in the Nutcracker Ballet. I asked him what her practice schedule had been like to get to where she is now. He said that aside from her normal ballet class 3 times a week and school work, her Saturdays were entirely devoted to perfecting her given role in the Nutcracker. She would start off every Saturday at 1pm and would not be home until 10pm that night. This young woman would come home absolutely exhausted. Her body sore with blisters and bruises. Including perhaps thoughts of inadequacy to fulfill her part. Yet...this young woman never gave up. She was happy. She knew she could do it. She wanted to do it. She knew her teachers, and most importantly, she knew her mother and father believed in her. It seemed with every detail he shared about his daughters journey, he beemed, knowing she has done her very best. As act two began and the ballerinas took to the stage again. This proud Dad leaned over and pointed out his daughter as she performed. She was beautiful. She danced with humble confidence that she could do what she had set out to do. The ballet ended and everyone was on their feet cheering for their dancer and praising them for their performance…including this father. His eyes welling up with tears. She did it. She did her very best and he was pleased. In a time, long before ours, another multitude gathered together around the temple in the land of Bountiful. They were “marveling and wondering one to another.” They were talking to one another about “this Jesus Christ, of whom a sign had been given concerning his death.” And as they talked with each other they heard a voice. The people didn’t understand the voice and yet it wasn’t harsh or loud but a small voice that… “did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yet, it did pierce them to the very soul and did cause their hearts to burn.” The voice came a second time and they still did not understand, and again a third time. Finally, at the third time: “...they did hear the voice, and did open their ears to hear it; and their eyes were towards the sound thereof; and they did look steadfastly towards heaven, from whence the sound came…and it said unto them: The people gazed into the heavens and saw a man, this Beloved Son, descending out of heaven. “Behold I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world. I am the light and the life of the world; and I have drunk out of the bitter cup which the Father hath given me, and have glorified the Father in taking upon me the sins of the world…” As the ultimate and perfect example to all of us, Jesus Christ, came into this world, focused, to do one thing…fulfill His divine and saving mission here on earth. And He did. In expressing His deep and loving gratitude for His Son, our Father proclaims: “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased…” As each of us has been sent down by our Father, to fulfill our own divine mission on earth, sometimes I feel like that ballerina. After giving each day all I have, I am tired, exhausted and perhaps a little mentally battered and bruised. But somehow I make it to that next practice. I think that comes from the simple truth that I know deep in my heart…I have a Father in Heaven who is watching me. Cheering for me and loving me regardless of my bumps and bruises. As I try my hardest to do my best in this earthly performance…I can’t help but feel like everything is going to be alright.
This is what I am grateful for this Thanksgiving season. I pray that when that final curtain closes, I can know in my heart I have given it my all. And perhaps hear those words from my Father in Heaven, “Behold, my daughter, in whom I am well pleased…” What is it about Les Miserable that I just LOVE so much? Is it the setting? Found in the culturally rich and breathtakingly beautiful city of Paris? The crepes? Yes...the crepes. Or is it Liam Neeson’s voice (Sean Connery, you have competition. And, what I will also mention is that Sean Connery is also the man my mother would totally leave my Dad for. There. I said it...anyhoo) in the dramatic version of the mighty Jean Valjean? Or could it be the music…ahhh, the music. My favorite of course being…(sing it with me people!) Do you hear the people sing? No wait, it’s a Heart Full of Love…no Castle on a Cloud…I Dreamed a Dream...no wait, THIS is my favorite… I think what I love most about this timeless Parisian story is, the story. The story of a people who were not afraid to stand for what they knew what was right. They stood tall and they stood together, just as they do right now. While we might not be able to actually be in Paris, to stand with our brothers and sisters in support, we can do something even greater with even more impact...we can pray. In a neighboring nation, Marie Madeline Cardon, who, with her family, received the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ from the first missionaries called to serve in Italy in 1850. She was a young woman of 17 or 18 years of age when they were baptized. One Sunday, while the family was holding a worship service in their home high in the Alps of northern Italy, an angry mob of men, including some of the local ministers, gathered around the house and began shouting, yelling, and calling for the missionaries to be brought outside. I don’t think they were anxious to be taught the gospel—they intended bodily harm. It was young Marie who marched out of the house to confront the mob. They continued their vicious yells and demands for the missionaries to be brought out. Marie raised her Bible up in her hand and commanded them to depart. She told them that the elders were under her protection and that they could not harm one hair of their heads. Listen to her own words: “All stood aghast. … God was with me. He placed those words in my mouth, or I could not have spoken them. That strong ferocious body of men stood helpless before a weak, trembling, yet fearless girl. The ministers asked the mob to leave, which they did quietly in shame, fear, and remorse. The small flock completed their meeting in peace. My great great grandmother at the age of 17, rendered the strength and grace of God into her heart to stand before an angry mob. I imagine at this same time, Marie Madeline’s family rendered to God in their home as they prayed for their courageous daughter. The Parisian people today, and that timeless story foretold, turned their hearts to prayer as they look to Him to render peace in their hearts. God hears our prayers of thankfulness and answers our pleas. From my favorite song in Les Miserable, Bring Him Home, Jean Valjean sings: God on high, He is there. The power of prayer unites sons and daughters with God. Prayer unites God and families, and prayers unite people…even to people found oceans apart. In a revelation given to Joseph Smith, it teaches us that even more beautiful than the music of Les Miserable, is the song of the heart: “For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, I have gratitude for the song of the heart...prayer. The song of the righteous to Him, and the answers that are given by faith that bless all of His beloved children. Let's have Him hear the people sing!
With tents pitched and doors open, families of every shape and size gathered in anticipation to hear the final message of their beloved King. In fact, so many families gathered, that a tower was built so that as many as possible could see the King and hear the words of God. Desiring all to hear, the King stood and took his place on the tower. He quickly learned that his message was still not getting to everyone. So the words he spoke were written and sent forth among the people. Each member of his kingdom was sought after. His people were a righteous people. They kept the commandments. The believed in and followed their King. The people understood that King was the Lords mouth piece to them. They rejoiced and were also filled with love towards all men. As a result, there was peace in the land and in their homes. This King loved his people. He spent all of his days in the service to them. He did not seek after riches nor recognition. He was just and fair. This King was deeply humble, “a man like as yourselves”, and knew all his strength and sound mind did not come from man and his ways, but came from his God. Our God. The King's desire was simple…to serve his God and proclaim truth. He spoke “plainly”. Exhorting them to have faith and to listen to Holy Spirit speaking to their hearts. This Spirit brings true clarity and a "happy and blessed" state of mind. The King did warn them to not give heed to the “evil spirit” that wishes to divide, confuse, and arise contention. “I say unto you, if ye have come a knowledge of the goodness of God, and his matchless power, and his wisdom, and his patience and his long-suffering towards the children of men; and also, the atonement which has been prepared from the foundation of the world…salvation might come to him that should put his trust in the Lord, and should be diligent in keeping his commandments and continue in faith… If the people followed this council, the King made them this promise: “…ye shall grow in the knowledge of the glory of him, or in the knowledge of that which is just and true.” Following and acting upon these teachings, the people were promised that they would live in peace together. Not just as a whole, but as individual families. The families of Zarahemla heard and took heart the words of their great and humble King, King Benjamin. They had faith in what they already knew and what they had yet to understand. “Yea, we believe all the words which thou has spoken unto us; and also, know of their surety and truth, because of the Spirit of the Lord Omnipotent, which has wrought a mighty change in us or in our hearts…it is the faith which we have had on the things which our king has spoken unto us that has brought us to this great knowledge, whereby we do rejoice with such exceedingly great joy…" This grand event that happened dispensations ago is happening again today. Are our tents pitched and doors open ready to hear and heed the words of Prophets and Apostles like in times of old? Are we extending our debt of gratitude to our Savior by following the Prophet as the families of Zarahemla did? While what happens as a family in our little pink (of course) tent isn’t always ideal or ever perfect....my faith and conviction in our Prophet and Apostles is. Our family tent is pitched. It is up to Mr. Q and I to teach our children where that open door is. Through our daily efforts, I pray we can consistantly show our gratitude to God by following our Prophet as the people of Zarahemla did and become as King Benjamin admonished: “…steadfast and immovable…that Christ, the Lord God Omnipotent, may seal you his, that you may be brought into heaven and eternal life through wisdom, power, and justice and mercy of him who created all things.” People…I love my food. Its not a fling…it’s a full on relationship. So, you can only guess what holiday is hands down my shameless (thank you Garth) favorite…yep…St. Patricks. Just kidding! Thanksgiving, ya’ll! I. love. it! One of my friends asked me what my favorite part of Thanksgiving meal was. I had no hesitation. Gram's Cornbread Stuffing with gravy and cranberry sauce. That's all I need. Can I get an Amen??! For most, Thanksgiving dinner just doesn’t show up on our table ready to go unless you hit Chuck-o-Rama Buffet or call Harmons ahead of time :) For our family, there is some serious coordinating, work, preparation and action taking place. The grocery shopping, the chopping and cutting, smelling the yeast rise, prepping the chunks of butter for pie crust, and yes...even pulling out the giblets in the Turkey. Weird...I know. All of this build up for the grand event…the feasting! BTW… thank heavens for “stretchy” pants...phheww! But, even more than my love for the feast on Thanksgiving day, is my crush for its purpose on what matters most. It’s simple. It’s focused. Giving gratitude and thanks for our blessings works the same way as preparing for “the feast”. It takes action. This week I literally had a “wake-up” call to this comparison. Wednesday morning I was scheduled to have the best. nap. of. my. life. while undergoing a routine exam. As I felt myself slowly coming back to reality and fighting it because my nap was that good…my eyes began to open and I saw my handsome Mr. Q standing by my side and my sweet nurse on the other, trying to bring me back to the present. As I worked to join them (not really), I turned to my right and looked out the window. It was a beautiful sight of the valley below just starting its brand new day. My totally awesome doctor came into the room to update Mr. Q and I on the results from the exam. I don’t remember any of the details she uttered except for three gorgeous words…“Everything looks wonderful!” I saw Mr. Q’s eyes fill with joy and my heart immediately went from the built up anxiousness to the release of gratitude and peace for this tender blessing. Just ask quickly as those precious thoughts and thankful prayer entered my mind, so did this heavenly whisper: "I love you. Now... go to work." King Benjamin reminds us: “…ye are eternally indebted to your heavenly Father, to render to him all that you have and are…” I love that word render! Meaning... to give, provide, supply, flourish, and contribute. The greatest thank-you gift and expression of gratitude I felt that I could give my Father in Heaven for the beautiful blessing that I not only received Wednesday morning, but the countless other tender mercies in my life, is to work every day to flourish in my faith and contribute my life to building and sustaining my family and His Kingdom here on earth. Nothing, I believe, will bring more joy and a tiny whisper of a beginning of a “thank you” to our Father than this. I cannot think of anything that brings more peace and more reassurance of my faith than striving to humbly… selflessly… serve my God. My God whom I love and I know loves me. I am…we all are… eternally indebted to Him. And what a blessing that is. Render on! ************************* As the month of November continues, so will this theme of gratitude in the coming posts. There are so many beautiful experiences shared by those in the scriptures and others who have rendered their lives in this way.
My mother, who for me, is counted among these women, shared this beautiful pattern: “Every book of scripture opens with the portrait of noble and courageous women. In the Old Testament and Pearl of Great Price we are introduced to Eve. The life of Christ begins with Mary, and the Book of Mormon begins with Sariah. Likewise in the Doctrine and Covenants we see many noble women of the restoration; some of the noblest included Lucy Mack Smith, mother to the Prophet Joseph. And, Emma…Joseph’s beloved wife.” Each of these women experienced pivotal moments, like us, in their lives where fear of the unknown or unfamiliar could have taken over and paralyzed their faith. Instead, these noble and courageous women chose their faith and the love that they had in our Savior to conquer over all…and they did. Each of us, totally including myself, have fears. Fears of the unknown or the known. Fears of the past or what is to come in the future. Fear that we may not be good enough or worthy of forgiveness and perfect love. In my experience of fear, fear is heavy. It is dark. It spirals, and depletes confidence to move forward. Fear masks knowledge of the eternal perspective. It masks the faith and hope in our Savior kept deep in our hearts. One night after tossing back and forth in my mind of my own fears and praying fervently for peace, I came across an Instagram post from a dear friend whom I greatly admire. She had heeded the challenge given to us in our last General Conference to “ponderize” (to ponder and memorize scriptures). Or, what we like to call at our house…memoponder! (THATS another story for another time and its a funny one.) Her scripture that week was found in 2 Timothy: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but the power and of love and of a sound mind.” As I read this simple post of scripture over and over, I felt a tiny whisper invite me to study more. I found that this passage of scripture is a letter written by the Apostle Paul to his beloved and trusted assistant, Timothy, whom he loved as his own son. Paul went on to say: “When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother...and thy mother...I am persuaded that in thee also. Wherefore I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of hands.” This chapter of scripture left me with a resounding hope in victory over my fear. I realized that as I recognize from whom the spirit of fear comes from (the adversary), and look to the source (Jesus Christ) of power…love…and of a sound mind, the call to remembrance of my faith, which I did learn not only from my grandmothers and my mother, but also these women spoken of in the scriptures, I will remember my own “unfeigned faith.” “Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord…but be thou partaker…of the gospel according to the power of God; who hath saved us...” Courage vs Fear…is their even a contest?
Perspective is powerful. Since April of this last year, I had a tiny candle light moment that has only been growing into a more saturating LED bulb of perspective since. During the General Women’s Meeting, they showed this sweet video about families. It depicted all different types of families. Families sitting and singing the words to a beautiful primary song, “The Family is of God.” I had heard it many times from the primary love muffins (everything goes back to food with me), but it was one line in that song that hit me in a different way: “God gave us families to help us become what He wants us to be.” This single sentence really has given me pause to ponder the power of family. Not only the power of the family right in our very own homes, not only the extended families we eat green jello and casseroles with, but our ward families, our friend families, or have you ever thought about the power and love of our ancient family? One thing that has become so real to me is how real the people, our family, who are written about and testified of in the scriptures are. I picture in my mind these people…OUR brothers and sisters… sat with us…side by side in the grand counsel in Heaven to hear and shout hurray for the Great Plan of Happiness that was presented to us by our loving Father. I believe that as one eternal family, we expressed our excitement and encouragement for one another as we waited for our turn to have this extraordinary experience on this earth. The thought that you…me…we… may of talked and conversed with the great prophets and faithful examples and leaders like Nephi or Mary or Moroni or Peter or Hannah or Ester or Joseph… as family… is profound to me. As I have tried to deepen my perspective on who these ancient people are, why their experience is so applicable today, in my life, for me, the answer came in the simple sentence of a song: “God gave us families to help us become what he wants us to be.” I know that these people and what they teach in the scriptures are real and true. The scriptures is what ties us to them. This experience of our brothers and sisters helps us, guides us, shapes us, into how we should go forward in our own unique experience. Their perspective can and will enlighten our own perspective. I am so grateful and deeply humbled by the knowledge of belonging to something so much bigger and so much greater. My prayer is that I will tie myself with our eternal family. I hope to listen more, love more deeply, and ponder and apply the principles and help testified of, no matter the dispensation of time we were sent to live in. Last time we got together, you caught me packing up a few tools! So far the “open heart” is tucked away nicely (and accessible ;) and room for another essential tool has its place close by. Tool #2: A Fathers Love Our Saturday morning started early. Mr. Q got up before the roosters to get in a little morning fishing after dropping off our oldest for some ballet rehearsals and class. At home we started the normal routine of breakfast, a few episodes of Peppa Pig for #4, took girl #2 to ballet, picked up #1 from ballet, and #3 (being the middle) is just content and perfect ;) Job lists were made, scored a jogger stroller at a neighbors garage sale, ran a few more ballet errands, and at the last minute, #1 invited herself to hang out with her Grammy for the rest of the day, which meant a trip to Grammys house was next on the to do list. As we drove to Grammys, my mind was all over. My stomach unsettled from the anxiousness of life that loves to show its face all too often. A silent prayer was said as I passed by my kids’ school, where they were having a cancer fundraiser for a woman…a mother…whom I have never met but feel a sisterhood too. The more I was staying in my head the harder and harder it was for me to see the beauty and brilliance of Fall performing right before my eyes. It was a long 15 minutes. I turned the corner to pull into my parents drive way and there was my Dad. I love my Dad. He was working in the yard in “his yard working uniform” which consists of a nicely starched shirt and jeans. He’s a classy one ;) He smiled at me and I got butterflies. My Dad came over for a quick visit as we evaluated his project. He asked how I was. I told him by simply observing my purple polka dot pajamas I was still wearing at 11am…it’s been just peachy. He told me he loved me. He told me how proud he was of me. Then squeezed my hand and continued his work. After the drop off of girl #1 concluded, I backed out of the driveway and started to turn the corner to go back home. Just before I did, I rolled down my window one more time to say goodbye to my Dad. He stopped what he was doing, again, walked over to my car, looked at me straight in my day old mascara smudged eyes and said those words...again... “I love you. I’m proud of you.” And just like that, my eyes filled with happy tears and my heart burst with ease. Knowing how much my Dad loved me gave me the strength and the courage to ride out my Saturday with a fresh coat of mascara. We have all in some way, by someone, felt the power of love in our life. Love is a power that transforms and transcends not only our experience here on earth, but it transcends into the heavens where our Father in Heaven dwells. Our Heavenly Father loved us first. He loves us always. His love knows no limits. His love knows no bounds. His love is simple, personal, powerful and pure. Our Father loves us so much that he sacrificed His Only Begotten Son, so that we may live with him again…forever! We just need to do our part to receive this gift. Our Father’s love doesn’t get any more glorious than that. While I cannot truly comprehend how our Father knows and loves e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e of his children so personally, He isn’t asking me to understand all His mysteries. What he does ask, is that I have faith and "cleave unto Him" in this sacred relationship. “…for he remembereth the house of Israel, both roots and branches; and he stretches forth his hands unto them all the day long…Wherefore, my beloved bretheren, I beseech of you in the words of soberness that ye would repent, and come with full purpose of heart, and cleave unto God as he cleaveth unto you. And while his arm of mercy is extended towards you in the light of day, harden not your hearts.” Don’t you just love the word “cleave?!” I have found for myself that as I imperfectly work to cleave to the words and teachings of this gospel, His love and my understanding of the gospel becomes more apparent, and my journey back to Him is empowered a hundred fold. So…Thanks Dad. Thanks for reminding me of the comfort of a fathers love. I realized yesterday, yet again, our Heavenly Father wants to remind us this over and over again, I just need to roll down my window more often. *********************************************************
Read an awesome essay about our Heavenly parents. Happy Sunday! |