Disability? Handicap? Or Superpower?

One of my daughters is gifted at sign language.  After a recent class presentation, she and I discussed Audism, which is concerned with prejudice about and by the deaf.

"Mom," she began, "would you consider deafness a disability?"

Strictly speaking, of course, I had to say Yes: if someone lacks a particular ability, such as the capacity to hear, in that sense he is disabled. Still, a person may be born with a disability, but that does not mean he must choose to be handicapped, or hampered in his capacity to accomplish things and be happy. Wise parents and teachers will ever try to enable each of their children to function as fully as is possible, that they may accomplish the personal missions of their lives.

This is not going to be a rant on injustice to deaf people; I use this illustration to make a point about disability, and deafness is an obvious case, though it differs from many other disability situations on multiple levels.  There is, for example, a thriving Deaf Community -- which is a community in most imaginable senses:  the deaf have their own language and (therefore) a unique culture; they communicate and work together to make improvements for themselves and others whose challenges are similar; they have schools, churches, and cultural events; they have personal contact with translators and technology and other structural ways to interface with those who hear.  The deaf are pretty vocal about their challenges and I am not implying life is perfect for people who lack the ability to hear, for I understand that it is usually isolating to be deaf; I am personally unable to communicate well in sign language and struggle in my efforts to reach out meaningfully to people who cannot hear.  There are many evident ways in which the deaf need not be handicapped.

But there are other, less obvious, disabilities with which I am more familiar.  Some people are hampered by debilitating digestive or blood sugar issues, while others are in the crippling grip of fear, anger, or negativity.  As just one example, I have sons and other relatives who struggle with Autism challenges.  These are otherwise bright people whose social skills are impaired, sometimes painfully so.  Their challenges are often misunderstood, and so are their families':  whereas, if a deaf child behaves oddly, a signed exchange silently excuses much of it; if an otherwise "smart" or "healthy" autistic child misbehaves, it's more likely to be viewed as a parenting issue.  Autism can be even more isolating than deafness, for the social challenge of communication (combined with misunderstanding and trust challenges that seem pretty much inevitable) make a meaningful "community" difficult even to envision.

It is a parent's challenge to enable her "disabled" child to function and thrive, whatever the issues.  Usually this happens when she loves her child and can see him as "gifted."  And yes, each person has unique and beautiful gifts.

Years ago, when Autism was a fairly uncommon diagnosis, we came to understand that we needed help to teach our very bright son.  His diagnosis made him feel "branded," "broken," and "strange."  We tried to use his evaluation to understand his needs and to focus on ways to help him, rather than broadcast it to everyone.  We talked about the good parts of his character and his functionality, including his ability to hyperfocus and retain information about the subjects which interested him.  We gave him opportunities to study his passions and tried to structurally shield him from the isolation of electronics and other pitfalls that regularly afflict autistic boys and which we felt could hamper his ability and desire to interact meaningfully with others.  It has been a blessing that our children have each other, for they cannot withdraw socially!  Interestingly enough, during the first few minutes of the movie, Inside Out, he whispered to me that the heroine needed siblings.  How true.

We also talked about successful people who had autistic challenges -- and there are many!  One prominent researcher even goes so far as to say that some degree of Autism is a required ingredient in doing something big to change the world!  We tried to help our son see the upsides of his situation as personal superpowers that made him uniquely capable; and we (my husband was the insightful one who really shone at this) taught him to use his other evaluative talents to analyze social situations, much the way someone who struggles with math needs lots of patient repetition to function and succeed in his math and science courses, and to equip him to logically function in the world.

One afternoon provided an epiphany.  My husband received a computer message from a co-worker, inviting him to a meeting.  His co-worker had a Mac computer and everyone else had PCs; they did not have a suitable interface software and the message was garbled and long.  My husband showed a copy of the message to our son, asking him what had happened.  Our son, who understood something of computers, immediately recognized the problem and was able to decode the message.

"Which is better," my husband asked him, "a Mac or a PC?"  Our son responded that both have advantages, and that some people prefer Macs because of their capabilities, even though PCs were more common.

"If a person with a Mac wants to communicate with a person on a PC," my husband suggested, "whose job is it to make sure the interface software works?"  Our son shrugged his shoulders with the easy conclusion that Macs, with about a 10% market share, must bear the responsibility for communication.

"You are the Mac," my husband informed him.  "You can do some things better, but you must build the bridge for your own communication.  And when you do, others will be able to cross, too.  If you can effectively communicate with everyone, you can make the world better -- for everyone."

Further, after the idea had some time to simmer, my husband asked our son to hypothetically consider whether, if he could choose, he would want to abandon his "superpowers" for a chance to be "normal," without his autistic tendencies.  Only a little thought led him to the conclusion that he would prefer himself as he is.  I was amazed.

How have things worked out?  We are still working -- and I have other rodeos.  But recent job interviews have had remarkable outcomes for this "socially-challenged" child.  His interest and ability to research leads him to often know more about a company's stated mission and focus than his interviewers.  His analytical ability helps him to perceive and outline hazards in social situations that many would miss.  And he has been remarkably successful in multiple tests of his ability to interact with and relate to strangers.

How does a mother change the world?  By daily acts.  Through reminders and patience -- even though she has said it a thousand times already.  We all have some sort of disability, but it doesn't have to become a handicap -- and if Mom can frame it properly, she is discovering and nurturing a Superpower.


Interpreter photo from San Diego Community.  
Other photos from sxc.hu.  Used courtesy of Griszka Niewiadomski, Leanne Rook, and Andy Duran.

Professions For Women

(This was written recently in response to an assignment to address the issues raised by Virginia Woolf in her lecture by the same name. Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) is hailed as one of the premiere modernists; her literary work was well-received in her own time and continues to be recognized as significant. In her private life, Woolf suffered from mental illness. She was married, but she openly carried on affairs with both men and women. Ultimately, she committed suicide.
 In her talk to working women, Woolf congratulated them for fighting to win "a room of their own" in the office buildings previously controlled exclusively by men, but she also informed them that their rooms are bare and unfurnished. She recounted her own experience as a writer whose inheritance made her work "telling stories" to get "a motorcar" nonetheless a losing battle against the prejudices of men. She rejoiced at killing the spirit that urges women to be "pure" or be virtuous homemakers and said women could only define what it means to be a woman by seeking out every possible experience and using their collective experience to come up with relevant meaning.) 

Long ago, during the first spring of my mission in New Hampshire, Sister Smith and I were assigned to serve together in the township of Lyme. This picturesque community (along with its sister community, Lyme Center) is located directly above Hanover, the college town where Dartmouth stands. In those days, Lyme was a rural place for the natives.

           
There were two churches: the Congregational one in Lyme and a Baptist church in Lyme Center. The township was small and church attendance was geographical and traditional, depending on where one lived. Years before, the two community congregations had decided to pool their resources and hire one minister to care for both. Professional pastors were auditioned at both churches, giving the same sermons to each. According to our neighbor, an older female deacon in Lyme, the system worked great.

The town’s newest minister, single and in her thirties, was the first woman pastor Lyme had ever boasted. The people were proud of their broad-mindedness and delighted to be Ecumenical. The old Congregationalists called their pastor by her first name and chuckled at the irony that a Baptist was
leading them. “Marsha” (never Reverend Minister Anyone of Anything we heard) had graduated from a Seminary and had been ordained “by the laying on of hands”—something sententiously communicated (and repeated) with High Significance.

As young Sisters in skirts, we heard this last pronouncement from a wizened, mostly-blind spinster as an incantation against our callow conceit: she heard nothing of the conversation but her own inside jokes, so we made our responses afterward, to one another. For several hours Sister Smith tactfully ruminated on Marsha’s remarkable credentials; she finally pointed out to me that we had both been to Seminary and had also been set apart to minister in a priesthood responsibility “by the laying on of hands”—and those who had given us our calls and set us apart to preach and teach were actually authorized by God to do so. “We have more authority than she does,” a breathless Sister Smith concluded.

I have not been set apart in a priesthood stewardship over you, so I address you today on the subject of Professions for Women as a fellow-sister who has a testimony of Christ. I know by experience that the teaching of God’s truth comes through the Spirit and I hope to be a conduit for Him; if you hear truth, please accept it on His Authority. I have prayed that my experiences and insights will help you to see truths you can apply for yourself on your personal journey to Christ.

Words mean things. Employment, for example, means more than having a place to go to trade your time for money: at its core, to employ means “to use or be used” by something or someone, and it particularly pertains to how we use our time, talents, and energy. Business is only an “I” and a “why” away from busyness: let us hope that the business of our lives is more than an attempt to keep ourselves busy—as if being most occupied, most occupied indeed equates with significant effort or leads to worthy accomplishment! A professor became a university figure delivering lectures because originally higher education was religious education—and a professor is a person who is not ashamed to publicly proclaim his testimony of Christ and is willing to preach the truth of Scripture and join with Christ’s organized Church. A profession is this open declaration; it is a public avowal of commitment to follow Christ through obedience, chastity, and consecration; it is also a personal mission wherein one engages her heart, mind, and body, rather than a merely mechanical occupation where we “use and be used.” Emphatically, professions are for women!

I like reading and have always loved reading aloud to children. When I married and began having my own children, I pored over the holdings at our local library in search of the best and most beautiful children’s books; I also sought information to help me become excellent and confident in my homemaking duties. I particularly checked for titles relating to relationships, health, cooking, child rearing, money-management, and home organization. We moved when I had four young children and I came across a perspective-shifting book in the money-management section of our new library. The authors of this book decried the tendency people have to identify themselves with their job titles or their activities (“I am a student,” or “He is a gymnast,” for example), encouraging us to recognize that we are People who have reasons for spending our time (and our “life energy”) in particular ways.  They encouraged the reader to do some soul searching, looking for clues to determine his personal life mission—the thing for and into which he felt called to voluntarily invest his time and energy.

For the next few days I pondered the authors’ question: If I were not required to work to support myself, how would I spend my time? For the previous eight years I had been home full time with my children, so I considered my husband’s exhausting work frustrations and tried to imagine what unpleasant job I would wish to leave, and—if you can believe it—I was stumped. Suddenly, with startling clarity, it dawned on me: I was already living the Volunteer’s Dream! I had a loving and self-sacrificing husband who had been trading a Herculean amount of talented life energy—each day for many years—to provide me with the freedom to do what we both felt was the most important work of all: we were raising a family up unto God, and (because of his ongoing sacrifice) I had all the time in every day to do it! I recalled (with renewed significance) how, one day when we first married, I had asked my husband if I could spend some money on a trifle and he had responded, “We are One: now we just have four hands and four pockets.” Through the years, this generous response had impelled me to treat Our Money with the respect I would give him: I observed more fully on this day that, like the income which his labors provided, the time I shared in voluntary service to our children and our neighbors was also his gift. I was liberated from the bondage of a paradigm and was thereafter more free to act in my profession; because I knew I was giving for both of us, I actually became both more generous and more deliberately particular in the ways I chose to spend our family’s precious, consecrated time.

Regardless how things are framed, never forget that freedom -- for the captives or the races or the sexes -- is the cause of Christ and of His people, and it comes through righteousness and morality. We live in a feminized world, where Christian attempts at elevating the stations of all women and men through personal dignity and mutual respect have been supplanted by an atheistic, antagonistic “Social Justice” environment that pits women against men. Unless you are at least my mother’s age, you probably haven’t seen the difference or the harm; yet even a shallow shovelful of the history of “Women’s Issues” reveals that attacking the confidence of women in their motherly roles in order to undermine the family is a very old Cause. In an environment where abusive women are hailed as strong and justified, it is easy to get caught up in seeking for answers and approval from the wrong sources, or to forget that there exists a True Source. When a person or society rejects Christ, sooner or later barbarous cruelty—particularly to women and children—inevitably follows. Our Modern world demonstrates that it is only in cultures retaining vestiges of Christianity that women have been accorded social license for beastly behavior: in non-Christian lands, unspeakable atrocities against women are both lawful and commonplace; with our current paradigm of Who/Whom abuses, it probably won’t be long before the emasculated “Frat Boys” (whose existences offer little motivation for graduation into Manhood) will tire of feminist put-downs and will slide from the Whom into the Who role godless women have carved out for them. Each woman’s choice to be pure in today’s atmosphere of deceit and degradation is pivotal, as we still maintain freedom to set society’s stage and direct its action—for now.

I know a man who owns a corporate building. He works with his associates on the upper floor and rents out the offices on ground level to other companies. One day there was an electrical problem in his office, so he trudged downstairs to check the power boxes in the closet of a back room on the lower level. The unfurnished offices below were for rent, but he has a key. When he let himself in, he heard scuffling sounds in the vacated rooms and went to investigate: in separate spaces, he discovered a man and a woman, hastily zipping their trousers. The unexpectedness and abrupt indignity of the situation startled him and it took a few moments for him to fully recognize what he had interrupted. He promptly addressed his business and returned to the upper landing to observe what would happen next.

The man emerged first: hunching from the rooms, he tried to casually make an apprehensive dash for the front doors. He looked searchingly to left and right, then retreated to the passenger seat of a convenient car and partially concealed his down-turned face with a gesture. Soon the woman materialized, locking the door behind her. After a glance to either side, she strutted from the building and made her languorous entrance into the driver’s seat of her vehicle. The businessman, aware who had possession of each of the three keys to his building, watched from above as the car pulled away. Neither party looked up.

This story is no comedy; it is, unfortunately, a tragedy being recast and broadcast everywhere—as if the female real estate agent, the most unprofessional Professional imaginable (define it how you may) is somehow our Modern heroine! She takes mankind for rides in her motor car, employing herself in the money-grubbing business of selling, renting, and extending liberties in rooms of all descriptions: because she is driving—because she sets the terms—this is Freedom. The feminized world professes—it sings, whispers, shouts, and acts out in a million derivative episodes—that such perversion in Woman is good, right, and Holy. Sisters, this is a lie.

Have you had time to wonder what happened to idealistic Minister Marsha? Sadly, I don’t know where she is now. People loved her sermons and Sister Smith and I saw her service in action, especially as she tried to motivate the young people of Lyme. Marsha seemed nice and friendly to us, but when we baptized an inactive member of her congregation she became (in proper New Hampshire lingo) “wicked ugly.” A few months after we left, Sister Smith received a letter from the lady deacon and learned that Marsha was no longer with them: she had “moved in” with a fellow from Thetford, across the river. “We wish her well,” the neighbor remarked with characteristic briskness. I do, too—but I also know that many precious things were lost when Marsha abandoned her Profession.

Korihor, the talented Anti-Christ of Alma 30, led away “many women, and also men, to commit whoredoms—telling them that when a man was dead, that was the end thereof” (verse 18). Korihor liberally applied such mocking epithets as “foolish,”  “derangement,” and “frenzied,” to cast doubt on the doctrine of Christ, Christian lifestyles and traditions, the idea that any can know the future, and the concept of sin: this continues to be the treatment modern professors of Christ persistently receive from the world. Do we allow peer pressure to make us ashamed to believe and act in virtue, according to our professions? The building's owner observed that both the woman and the man were worried who would see them, but they did not look Up. Do we? We who profess to know or to want to know Christ; do we look to Him? Are we willing to heed the gentle whisperings from the Spirit or from the Divinity within us that leads us in the path of holiness and love? Killing that Spirit is not only madness, it is suicide: our eternal life is at stake, as is our precious time in mortality.

God truly perceives and discerns us—and others do, too, whether we notice or not. Your professions, made through covenants, are open invitations to others to mark and follow—and they do. Like it or not, what is in your heart will be known of your fruits, just as you will be known by them: are the good words you say hollow professions, or will the people in your life (particularly your children) be influenced for good by your righteous integrity? The work to become as Christ and to bring souls to Him for salvation is, after all, the business of Motherhood and the true profession of Woman.

The doctrine of modern Korihors is not really very hopeful: his groupies accept that there is nothing Ultimate and nobody knows anything in advance: life is a lonely concert with you gasping out an interminable jazz solo, made up as you go along—all for the remote chance of a little applause. That dogma, though popular, is false; it is decidedly good news that we can see ahead and don’t have to make our own way by trial and error. Though a woman often staggers to piece together the incomplete puzzle of her life without its box top, there is a template to follow: Christ is the prototype: God has given us His pattern and, piece by piece, He helps us discover, create, and put things together the Right Way, so the beauty of our lives can emerge Complete and Whole.

Make no mistake, Sisters: we are in a war, waged on many fronts. Happily, the professors of Truth have been promised victory in the ultimate battle against wickedness and error in our day. If we have any secret weapon that will not fail, I envision it as charity, the pure love of Christ: “And above all things,” we are told in scripture, “clothe yourselves with the bond of charity, as with a mantle, which is the bond of perfectness and peace”(Doctrine and Covenants 88:125). A mantle is a cloak or robe, worn by paupers, prophets, priests, and queens; it is used for warmth and for decoration and for a token of authority; a clean mantle protects and magnifies the light in a lamp; it is also a military shield or device used to invisibly cloak and defend something precious. Charity—Christ’s pure and perfect and peaceable love—is our mantle.

How can women use charity to uniquely and gloriously stand firm in these final battles? What is our God-ordained profession in this war? Though you may perceive the vision differently, I will try to share a glimpse of what I see: our front is an impenetrable line of obedient women, courageously calling to our charges like so many steadfast hens; united and cloaked in a power and love that our enemy cannot conceive or comprehend, we peaceably encourage and support one another. In hostility’s darkness, all is dim: the swaddled robes that shield in light and warmth and safety are indistinct amidst the whirlwind confusion of the End. Betimes emerge warriors, visionary and valiant; their armor of faith has been carefully forged and fitted for the fray in the Place where the enemy’s spies of rebellion have been banished. And when dawns the awaited Morning, the glories of our many-splendored robes are revealed in all their hand-worked variety and majesty, welcoming into light and warmth and peace the warriors of other fronts. By extension, your mantle of charity is Home: these spaces of influence about us are the rooms we create to nourish and preserve life: they protect that for which the wounded and weary warriors willingly bleed out their days: this is where and how we nurture humanity’s hope in Hope.

I close with one plea of God’s latter-day prophets:

I beg of you, you who could and should be bearing and rearing a family: Wives, come home from the typewriter, the laundry, the nursing, come home from the factory, the cafe. No career approaches in importance that of wife, homemaker, mother--cooking meals, washing dishes, making beds for one's precious husband and children. Come home, wives, to your husbands. Make home a heaven for them. Come home, wives, to your children, born and unborn. Wrap the motherly cloak about you and, unembarrassed, help in a major role to create the bodies for the immortal souls who anxiously await.

When you have fully complemented your husband in home life and borne the children, growing up full of faith, integrity, responsibility, and goodness, then you have achieved your accomplishment supreme, without peer, and you will be the envy [of all] through time and eternity (Spencer W. Kimball, San Antonio Fireside, Dec. 3, 1977; quoted by Ezra Taft Benson, Fireside for Parents, 22 February 1987).


May you find lasting joy in your professions for God and in God’s Professions for Women.

Photos from sxc.hu and from LDS online photos and from the movie, The Errand Of Angels.  Sxc photos used courtesy of Janet Burgess, Nick Benjaminsz, pear83, Griszka Niewiadomski, bvasquez, Victor Zuydweg, Lori Jesseman, Kristy McCaskill, Egalo Palo.  The missionary photo included is not of Sister Smith and me, and the pictured church is not the actual building in Lyme or in Lyme Center.

Getaway, Exploded

My husband and I usually have a Getaway each autumn, often the first week of October.  We don't go far, but we must get far enough away that he can relax, which means we need to leave the valley.  We have found a resort only about 45 minutes away, and I have noticed a dramatic change in his tension levels, as soon as we emerge from the canyon and approach the town where the resort is located.  We have dinner, play a round of golf, watch a ballgame, go scuba diving, or whatever.  My goal is to help him to relax and refocus his mind:  I take books, walking shoes, and some knitting so I can read to him or entertain myself while he sleeps.  It is a refreshing and sweet experience for us both.

In anticipation of this, I put a gift certificate for a stay at this resort in his stocking last Christmas.  October approached and I made a reservation for one of the cottage suites.  We had plans to leave early on Friday and spend the day together before our resort stay in the evening.  But nothing worked according to plan.

Our youngest son gets out of school at one on Fridays, but nobody else would arrive until after three.  My husband picked up our son and brought him home, where they had lunch and watched some interesting shows on television.  With all the preparations and waiting, we weren't able to leave until after four.

We stopped at one of our favorite restaurants on the way, but they were not yet open for dinner.  Walking around for a half hour gave us time to visit and enjoy the mountainside, the fall colors, and the groups of people who were likewise taking advantage of the weather and scenery.  A cup of cocoa cut the chill of the air.  We were seated next to a fireplace and enjoyed some of our favorite autumn specials, but by the time we left it was too late for golf and it was beginning to rain.  We headed up the canyon to check into our room.

The parking lots at our hotel were full of unusual cars, many of which were restorations from the thirties and forties.  As we drove around in search of our room, we admired them and picked out our favorite colors and styles.  It was like going to a car show!

When we finally found the building where our room was to have been (at the back edge of the hotel complex) a party was in full swing and we could not locate our room.  It turned out that the party was being held on our front porch!  Dozens of people from the auto club were gathered there for their last night together.  Drinking probably made them a little deaf, for they had little volume control on their voices.  Our room was beautiful, the view of the sunset over the nearby golf course was stunning, but the experience was anything but private or relaxing.

We decided to make the best of things:  we drew all the drapes and began to pull the couch from the middle of the room over to the fireplace, so we could huddle together and hear one another read.  Somehow, the couch didn't want to move. My husband took one end and I lifted on the other, so we could pick it up and take it over; but his side was stuck. 

On the third try, he gave a firm lifting tug -- and the sparks flew!  The lights went out.  Without a word, we looked at each other and replaced the couch, then we telephoned the front desk to report our mishap.

Electrical outlets had been installed once in the floor, so lamps could fit on either side of a smaller couch and one of them was now shattered.  Live wires extending for several inches from under the couch made it unsafe for us to stay in our room.  There were no other rooms available.  We shook our heads, gathered our things, and accepted a rain check, intending to return home for the night.

Up the road was a bed and breakfast.  When we walked in, they tried to seat us for dinner.  It smelled heavenly, but we had already eaten.  Did they have a room?  No, said the host, but then the answer was amended -- they just had one, but someone had checked into it a few minutes before and then had decided against it, since it was on the ground level.  We took it -- and enjoyed reading Kipling and Frost by yet another fireplace.

We spent the morning watching General Conference and having a delicious breakfast, then we headed home.  On a downhill stretch of one-lane highway, we were pushed by a speeding car -- and both vehicles were ticketed!  It was an expensive trip.

We talked about the fun people we had met along the way and just laughed!  Though nothing worked as intended, everything worked fine and we came back relaxed and happy.  Our getaway exploded, but it was okay -- and we got another getaway as part of the deal:  like fireworks, it had exploded into something bigger and better.

They say life is what happens while you are making other plans.  One way or another, life is beautiful if you enjoy the journey together.

Alecsandro Andrade de Melo

Photos from sxc.hu.  Images by Alexcandro Andrade de Melo, Vanessa Dean, Krztsztof Kozerski, and Rajmund Barnas.

Alecsandro Andrade de Melo

As For Me, In My House...

PBS has produced several reality shows featuring modern families and individuals who are placed in specific back-in-time situations.  These shows cost millions of dollars to produce and the filming usually happens over the course of several months.  It is fascinating to see the challenges faced by people of the past and it is very instructive to observe the attitudes and strategies of the people of the present.  These shows have provided fodder for many a dining table conversation!

We watched 1900 House, set in Victorian England, when it aired fifteen years ago.  At the time there was a call for applicants for their upcoming Frontier House, set in the American West.  I had my fifth child that summer.  Though we did not apply, we seriously considered it and we felt connected to the show.  Years later, when we found the Frontier House set at the library, we watched with interest and dismay as the community fell apart.  Shortly after the show ended, two of the three families were split by divorce, an outcome which surprised none of us.  Sadly, we had watched the children suffer while the adults squabbled.

Our local library has acquired several of these shows and we have checked out most of them.  Admittedly, we have not opted to finish them all:  sometimes the content becomes inappropriate and sometimes the selfishness and contention become unbearable.  In most of them we have picked out a hero or two.  As with many other reality shows, it seems that participants were pulled from the thousands (and tens of thousands) of applicants on the basis of their drama (read contention) potential.  It is always easy to spot those with weak character -- and the villains.

1940's House, set in wartime London, was our favorite
because it ended happily and the participants' lives were bettered by the experience.  This multi-generational family experienced a great deal of stress as they dealt with bombings and rationing, but they knew how the war would end.  They had visits from generous people who had lived through the war and the mother and grandmother learned how to budget, cook and give of themselves.  The two little boys, who attended a regular English school during their adventure, enthusiastically stepped up to their wartime responsibilities and learned to make their own fun.  Sleeping outside in a bomb shelter was like an exciting campout for them!  The grandma was most changed, choosing to live a quieter, more connected and thrifty life upon her return to the twenty-first century.

We have recently watched a few episodes of Colonial House, set in Maine in the 1600's.  Like Ranch House, an 1800's cattle drive scenario, the main points of contention have to do with feminism, atheism, and intemperance.  We have watched as the colonists forced their leader to make moral stands that bring his strong personal religious beliefs up against his commitment to uphold order and fulfill his duties.  Also like Ranch House and Frontier House, the main problems stem from the determined folly of one or two very selfish and misguided women.

In case you're wondering, I am not recommending these shows; but they provided instructive examples for me as I was led to ponder on Clarke House and the power my life has in our reality experience.  We don't have millions of viewers deciding I am the villein, but my life has influence around here, anyway.  Through the examples of these women, good and bad, I have seen myself.  The most divisive characters -- by far -- are women, who often lead their generous or weak husbands and children into embarrassment and disaster.  The strongest characters we have seen are also women:  young women, quietly loving and serving -- and sometimes even standing up and publicly declaring their personal faith in Christ when nobody else would.  That is moral strength.



Women have remarkable power, particularly as they support and strengthen and lead with love.  That is the kind of woman I want to be -- and the kind I am trying to raise at my house.

Will You Take It With You?

My dad passed away last year.  I have thought a lot about the things we leave behind and the things we take with us.  Yes, whatever we may share and leave, we do take things with us!

In a conversation a few years ago, a friend shared his thoughts about ARK: the Attitudes, Relationships, and Knowledge that accompany us from this life.  Since then, I have also thought about the imperative need to also leave these things behind to bless the lives of others.

This is not about stuff.  Like it or not, someone else will have my stuff.  Housefuls, even storage units full of stuff are often what we think of people leaving behind, as trash or treasure, to be cared for by others.  Stuff?  People can steal stuff.  Strangers can (and probably will) buy my stuff at the Goodwill after I am gone.  Still other strangers may inherit my stuff as it becomes the stuff of Humanitarian Projects that extend throughout the world.  Some of my stuff probably deserves a direct trip to the landfill, and I should do everyone the favor of sending it there myself, before others have to sort through it and get sick of the me that used to be and resent the one I still am, somewhere out of reach.  Hopefully, my children will have better sense than to argue over any of my stupid old Stuff.

On the other hand; I know that, beyond the grave, my immortal soul will continue -- and with it will continue my attitudes.  Alma 34:34 reminds us that "that same spirit which doth possess your bodies at the time that ye go out of this life...will have power to possess your body in that eternal world."  This life is the time for us to prepare to meet God, which means (at least in part) that this is the time for us to choose to obey and to choose the way we feel about obedience.  Are we happy?  If not, why not?  And why not now?

Attitudes seem very personal and private, but we share them all the time.  Like it or not, I am sharing my attitudes with every breath, every typed or written word, every smile or frown or gesture or song.  I share my attitudes in the colors I choose to wear, the manner in which I clean my house (or not), the way I serve meals, and everything else!  Would we be more deliberate in choosing our attitudes if we could see the profound ways in which we impact the wider world, including (but not limited to) the hearts of those around us?  Philosophers the world over have spoken about this and even now physical evidence is beginning to verify their ideas (Masaru Emoto's work with water is fascinating and visually stunning), but the point is:  Attitude Matters.

Relationships also continue beyond the grave.  Our hearts do not forget the loves (or the hates) that we create on earth.  We have been warned that even unresolved addictions will torment us, since in a pre-resurrected state we do not have bodies with which to overcome them.  Doctrine and Covenants 130:2 has long been a comfort and a warning, for if "that same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, and if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come....coupled with eternal glory," we need to be personally prepared to enjoy eternal glory -- and work now to create relationships worth exalting.  Are we building meaningful relationships?  Are we building people as we relate with them?  Do we relate better with stuff than with people?  What kind of future reunion are we preparing for now -- with each and every person we meet and know?

When I think of the eternal nature of relationships, I am reminded of my gratitude to Christ for the chance to change and truly improve.  I know I have not been perfect in my relationships, but He can improve them and make them worthy of exaltation.


Knowledge includes our skills, talents, memories, learning, experiences, and testimony.  As anyone who has had a near-death experience will relate, after death we remember everything from our lives -- the good and the bad.  Doctrine & Covenants 130:18-19 tells us that we take our knowledge with us into the resurrection and that "if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come."  The good news is that our knowledge goes with us; but the horrible news is that, if we have not shared it, our knowledge goes with us.  That means that a main part of our lives should be making preparations to share the knowledge we have gained with the people around us -- and those who will come after.



In practical terms, what does this mean?  This is a message of action.  Read a book or take a class, of course -- but also teach a skill!  Write your experiences and memories.  Have you worked hard to learn something?  Share it.  If you have learned eternal Truths, spread your understanding. These are your true riches, with which you can bless the world.

What's in your ARK?  And what does it have to do with Motherhood?


Everything.




Photos from sxc.hu.  Artwork of Norriuke, Crissy Pauley, Benjamin Earwicker, Mathieu Boyer, and Odan Jaeger.

Defining -- Without Being Defined By -- Successes and Failures

A couple of decades ago I was sitting in a class where The Family: A Proclamation to the World was being discussed.  Our lesson was on a particular sentence: Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities. 

As the lesson was announced, one neighbor raised her hand and took issue with the first word in this hopeful sentence.  "I disagree with the use of the word successful," she said, "because the idea of success implies that some families are not successful, that they are failures."

Frankly, I had never thought of it that way.  As I considered her comment, I realized that my neighbor had a different situation than I did, and she was speaking from her own experiences and fears.  What I, a mother with preschoolers and babies, had taken as an encouraging pattern for my young family was a source of pain for her, with her four challenging teenagers!

What follows is a collection of some of the thoughts I have had as I have pondered on the use of the word success through the years, particularly as it applies to families and motherhood.  As my children have grown and I have come face to face with my own inadequacies and with the painful choices of others, this comment has served as a reminder that the difficulties of life don't define me or my family as failures -- and that apparent ease or accomplishments don't define us as successes.

God defines success.  The Proclamation comes to us from God, through His authorized servants; He has the right to use the word as He will and we are bound by His definition.  Through His Spirit, He also defines success for us individually, without regard to our neighbors' successes or failures.  I would consider my grandmother, who grew up as the daughter of a bootlegger during the Prohibition, a success -- even if all she did was clear out drug and alcohol use from our family.  Grandma was a hard worker who set an example of temple service and keeping her marriage covenants.  She developed a variety of talents and helped her children cultivate them, too.  Grandma expected her children to refine themselves and to make the world a better and more beautiful place.  She taught them to worship God and made sure they attended church and served their neighbors.  In a single generation, Grandma changed our family tree.  Personally, I have a heritage to live up to -- and I know God expects me to work at least as hard as she did, though my challenges are different than hers.  I honor those who do for their families what Grandma did for mine, and I am confident that their posterity will consider them successful the way I consider her a success for building a foundation of Christian living.  Grandma turned to God and He helped her succeed.  Surely He will do the same for us!

Keep trying.  Successful people learn by continuing to practice, even when they initially fail -- and especially if they initially succeed.  In Mindset, Carol Dweck highlights many of the pitfalls of the common "fixed mindset," which entrenches the idea that "smart" or "talented" people are successful without effort and that hard work is for the lame Rest-Of-Us who Just Don't Have It.  This mindset causes people to label and limit themselves after only a short period of time, refusing to continue to try to grow if they don't succeed or to decline the risk of making mistakes once they have achieved some measure of accomplishment.  People with the "growth mindset," on the other hand, realize that they are growing stronger as they try; any  struggles or situational failures show what doesn't work and pave the way for future successes. 

Since reading this book, I have changed the way I praise and encourage my children:  I want them to value their own efforts and recognize their progress, rather than expect themselves never to make mistakes.  I certainly want them to know that my acceptance is not based on whether or not they succeed at something and that failing doesn't make a person a failure, any more than succeeding means they have never or will never fail.  Success comes as we become better, not as we never make any mistakes.

Apologize.  We can succeed at being humble and taking responsibility for our own weaknesses.  My children (and husband) are remarkably forgiving as I confess my faults and ask their forgiveness for offenses, even if they were unintended.  I have learned not to make excuses:  following an apology with "but..." negates the whole thing.  Accept and apologize for what's yours and leave the rest alone. If correction is needed, offer it separately.  A loving example of humility is more likely to promote understanding than almost anything else, because it will bring God's Spirit, one big measure of success.

Am I a successful mother?  Ultimately, time will tell, but maybe not in my lifetime.  In the meantime, I can try to have "happiness in family life...founded upon the teachings of the Lord, Jesus Christ" and work to establish and maintain our family "on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities."



Photos from sxc.hu.  Used courtesy of Alex Woodhouse, Adriana Herbut and sunshizzle.

Do It Yourself?

One of the challenges of parenting a toddler is the frustration that comes as the child decides to take charge of his own life.  It is a natural thing -- and a good one -- for a person to move towards autonomy:  this drive leads to walking, toilet training, speaking, self-dressing and a host of other desirable skills.  It would be debilitating for a parent to squelch the child's interest, though it takes longer for him to "do it Ah-self!"

Naturally, a toddler cannot be expected to fully care for himself.  Cooking, laundry and providing for his needs make it possible for him to learn needed skills and grow in capacity in a safe environment.  But parents should bear in mind that their role is one of planned obsolescence.  We are training our children to become the most capable orphans ever, for eventually they will probably have to do without us.

My third child recently graduated from high school and began a job.  His older sister was married this summer.  Their older brother has been on his own and is making many important life decisions for himself and their younger sister is a high school senior, also making choices that will color her future.  For each of them, I need to become somewhat obsolete -- or they will be crippled.

I have listened with amazement (and some amusement) when these grown children have returned home with announcements of "new things" they have learned for themselves -- and I have shaken my head as I have recognized those familiar refrains that I have sung to them hundreds of times in our home!  At first, this gave me consternation, since the "discoveries" should obviously be (to me or to them) nothing new; additional consideration led me to understand that I could count such learning a success for each of us:  while each child certainly does not learn these life lessons by himself, he has to learn it for himself.

Motherhood is like teaching children to sing by heart:  the teacher's job is to find creative ways to repeat and repeat so the children will be attentive and learn the song without becoming bored with it, so we sing together, hum loud and soft, clap the rhythm and move to the music.  A good teacher realizes that people learn in a variety of ways; that an active listener is also digesting things; and that to really know the song, children also need to understand what the words mean and be able to sing on their own, even when a teacher is not present to motivate them.  When a person finally knows the song for himself, the song is his -- regardless who wrote it or taught it to him.  This ownership does not negate or belittle the efforts of the creator or the instructor; rather, it gives meaning and purpose to all their work. 

As a parent, I have felt like I have repeated certain refrains a thousand times -- but that is my job and I know I cannot afford to get frustrated or give up:  I have additional younger children who need to hear these things for themselves so they can also learn them for themselves.  I will be gone someday, but if I have done my work, the fresh music of a joyful life will continue to ring out in the lives of my children in new and wonderful ways.
 

Photos from sxc.hu.  Courtesy of Anissa Thompson and Ned Horton.

A Few Choice Words

One day, when I was a child, a couple of the younger siblings got into an argument and began calling names.  We had pretty strict laws in our home about Naughty Words and the rest of us were properly horrified. 

Mom got serious, but instead of coming down on anyone, Mom did something I have never forgotten:  she had the two sit, crosslegged, knees touching, and she instructed them that their punishment was to take turns calling one another all the names they could think of.

Naturally, the rest of us became silently attentive.  Believe me, I have never tried this one at home!  We wondered what she could be thinking.

The first rounds included "Dumb-dumb," "Stink-stonk," and "Poo-poo," from which one can see the rhythmic bent of our family dynamic.  After these forbidden expletives, it became more difficult.  By the fourth round, they were really struggling, racking their brains with determination, working to escalate the contest with the most awful insult.

As the first child slung his attempt at a zinger, the second fizzed and frantically sputtered out, "You...you...A&W Root Beer!"

The startled snickers in the room quickly erupted into laughter, and the contest was over.

This humorous situation has served as a vivid example of the folly of name-calling:  it really doesn't matter what the words are, insulting is ugly.  I think it is beautiful that we could be more sheltered in our youth than my children have been able to be, but any word can be made vile by the intent of its use.

I have admired my mom many times for her unexpected creativity in Motherhood.  When asked about this situation, many years later, she laughed and said that one of the benefits was that she was able to plumb the depths of our vocabularies! 

I think that one of the secrets to her success as a parent was her use of situational humor to lighten the mood and help us to see the truth.  She only needed a few choice words.


Photos from sxc.hu.

Making Holidays Holy Days

A few years into our marriage, I sat down with a calendar and a pen and asked my husband about his ideas for family traditions on holidays.  I had realized (it took me awhile) that my expectations for quiet days at home did not match his dreams of shared family times doing activities.  I had never really considered how many Fourth of July parades a person might need in his life.

This exercise was a good starting point for discussion and negotiation:  I offered input and made efforts to provide opportunities for his holiday visions to happen, and we were free to evaluate them and revise our plans to accommodate our family's needs.  One year our parade experience was soured by the rude folks who crowded in front of us and left litter all over their parksite; another year, he took the children to the huge downtown parade and one got lost in the crush on the way back to the car -- which put a damper on his enthusiasm for future parade outings.

For St. Patrick's day, Roger's initial idea was to have an all-green meal.  I prepared a pistachio pudding dessert, along with a lettuce salad and green-toned sweet-and-sour chicken over light green rice.  The lemonade was even tinted a yellow-green.  Roger really got into the spirit of the day, helping paint dinner with food coloring drops.  The food tasted just like normal, but when we actually sat down to eat, he was overwhelmed by the visual experience.  Our water pitcher was made of green-tinted plastic and when he poured himself a cleansing glass of water and found the water was faintly colored, he lost interest altogether in the meal!  We have never tried that tradition again, though we talk about it at least once a year.

Over the course of the past couple of decades, Easter has become my husband's favorite holiday.  He likes the fact that it always falls on the Sabbath and that we have the built-in chance to worship.  We have tried to minimize the bunny aspects of the day, focusing as much as we can on the resurrection and atonement of Christ.  We have tried a Mediterranean meal and have had a Passover supper.  Some years we have colored eggs or done activities with extended family; most years we have made or purchased new warm-weather Sunday clothes.  We feel free to modify our plans according to our needs and resources.

Our family egg hunt has usually consisted of jelly beans and small chocolate candies which I have hidden around the family room after church for the children to gather into bowls and deposit into a communal dish on the middle of the floor.  The children have had so much fun with that, the older ones have often made two or three subsequent hunts for their siblings with the leftover candy.  Sometimes it got a little rambunctious and folks got a bit sugar-silly, but it was pleasant to see that nobody wanted the fun to end.

Yesterday, like last Easter, we had the dilemma of what to do, now that everyone is a big kid.  Our two college students are again living at home and the youngest is almost too old for an egg hunt.  As a solution, my husband composed a list of scriptures that highlight the mission of Christ, particularly as it relates to the resurrection; and we prepared an individualized, grass-filled cellophane bag of treats for each person and hid them around the yard.  Some of our family members have difficulties with gluten and some have problems with sugary treats.  We tried to select special items each person could enjoy.
 
Thirteen-year-old Emma helped choose and hide the treats.  Roger kept the others inside, occupied with a game around the table.  We used the same scripture list from last year, and instructed each person that it was a guide, not a requirement, for their study.

Each person was invited to quietly find his bag and then to choose a place to sit and silently read.  Some perched in trees, while others sat on the grass or on the stairs near the house.  The weather cooperated so well last year, people stayed out for more than an hour before returning to the house; this year was a bit cooler, but outdoor study was still pleasant.  We followed with a short meeting, a song and family prayer.

This tradition has truly helped us emphasize the mission of Christ and our gratitude for Him.  It was a nice break from the rest of the day, spent together sharing the words of apostles and prophets at General Conference. 

I had hoped that this would be enough Easter festivities that nobody would feel a need to dye eggs -- especially since we used most of the dye pellets on Friday to color yarn!  Sometime this week, however, the younger boys will still want to use up some of those on-sale eggs as a craft base....

Additional photos from sxc.hu.

No Dead Ends

While recently driving solo in an unfamiliar state, I made some mistakes.  The terrain was comprised of prominent hilly mounds and the roads went around these in confusing patterns, making it difficult for me to navigate from memory and a map.  Adding to my mix of emotions was the heavy traffic and occasional roadblocks due to construction.  I needed to know where I was going, but I had never been there before.  Thankfully, I had an address and a GPS.

I use the GPS with the volume turned off.  A glance shows what to expect at the next turn and what should lead up to it.  When I misunderstand the directions, there is no berating or blame:  a new route is simply recalculated and I am soon on track again.  This instrument reminds me that, no matter how far off I get, there are no Dead Ends; until I arrive at my destination, I am en route and am still working on it.  Instead of a Dead End, every place in between me and my goal is a Living Middle.

At one point, during rush hour, I happily made an easy right turn at a place where three lanes of left-turning traffic were crowding to merge into one lane during a short light.  A few seconds down the road, I realized why I was the sole driver on my side of the train tracks:  the previous intersection was the only nearby crossing and I had missed it!

Instead of its normal, no-big-deal, recalculation response, the GPS flashed the instruction to "TURN AROUND."  It only took a few moments to decide how to obey.  I was soon on the right track, with a better idea of how and why the roads were organized the way they are.  This was understanding that I could use when traveling that way later.

Did the experience hurt me?  Not at all:  I made it to my destination safely, with plenty of time to spare.  Frankly, I saw a lot of scenery on the trip, but I remember the picture of that particular part of the road very clearly; those surroundings gained a greater significance than most of the places I was merely passing through, on the way to Someplace Else.  Turning around actually helped me to take stock of the situation better and to recognize more fully my reliance on and gratitude for the directions. 

As I have pondered on this experience, I have considered how I travel through life, along with the ways I may tend to view wrong turns, detours or instructions to turn around.

I had business to take care of, but I was focused on enjoying the trip.  This was easier to keep in mind because I was there to serve my husband.  I expected to be traversing unfamiliar territory, so I allowed extra time to accommodate unexpected issues -- which is something that I often neglect when I am dashing about at home. The fact is that today's home territory may actually be new and unfamiliar; tootling along may help a person arrive quickly, but focusing on passing through the next intersection may cause a traveler to miss important understanding of the journey.

What happens when we misunderstand the directions for our lives and make wrong turns?  Do we feel judged and humiliated, or do we patiently accept the recalculated route?  If we have to turn around, does that mean we are failures, or do we see this as an opportunity to understand the journey -- and ourselves -- even better?  Do we feel upset at or thankful for the directions?

I have noticed that sometimes the slight delay or the recalculated route puts me in the perfect spot to enjoy a beautiful vista or to avoid disaster.  Naturally, I do not see every averted problem, but sometimes I have received a reminder that proximate annoyances may be blessings in disguise.  I recall one day when a companion and I were running late.  About halfway to our destination, we reached an intersection where we were the second car waiting to turn left onto a country highway.  As the car in front of us made its move, another vehicle crashed into it from the other direction, promptly sobering us with the thought that our morning's irritations (dropped toothpaste lids and delays at stop signs) might have spared us from having the accident ourselves. 

Until we reach our destination, we are in the middle.  And as long as we keep moving, it's a living journey to enjoy.

There really are no Dead Ends.  Just Living Middles.

Photos from sxc.hu.