I believe in recycled wisdom. So my profound thought of the week is a blatant act of theft. Thank you, Aunt Karen, for providing the mental and spiritual stimuli.
You wrote a letter this week that reflects how I have changed, and how I yet hope to change. It is beautiful enough to demand an audience larger than my solitary eyes. Although a mission is the life circumstance of discussion, I find this letter reflective of any woman's walk with Christ:
Dear Sister Stewart,
You asked in your last letter how a mission prepares you for motherhood. I don't think any other experience could be better preparation for motherhood or life in general.
On a mission (again, insert your own life circumstance), you learn to do some very difficult things--AND keep going; you learn to put others first; you learn that the most basic things (here I think of 20-minute naps, healthy snacks, and long walks) make a huge difference; you learn the great value of one person and every person; you learn to work with great strength and diligence; and you learn that you can only rely on the Lord.
The next part of the letter is my favorite. I put in poetic verse because it strikes me as unusually profound:
When a child cries, I know I can take care of them.
When a sick baby needs to be held for days, I know it won't last forever.
When someone asks a question about faith, I know what to answer and I know my answer is true.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Monday, September 9, 2013
Doves, Ducks, and Misheard Prayers
"A good sense of humor helps revelation."
--Elder Richard G. Scott
My comp gave me a supreme compliment during companionship inventory (a sort of weekly "I-love-you;-Please-Be-Better" correction session). She said that I am great at laughing at myself! Haha, this is one of the great gifts of the mission. The days are too long and discouraging without laughter, so I have developed an uncanny knack for making a fool of myself.
In fact, I should provide a small anecdote of my foolery. It may benefit you this day.
Sometimes I forget people's names when we pray with them. This is understandably awkward. Last week I approached a gentleman and misheard both his task and his name. He said he was duck hunting. I prayed that he would do well "dove hunting." (In my head, I wondered why on earth they were wasting bullets on doves. It wasn't until Sister Howard fell into peals of laughter that I realized that he hadn't said "dove" hunting at all.) On top of that, I forgot his name. "Father in Heaven. Please bless Brother...Turner. NO! Brother...Porter?..." That's what I said. Bless my companion, she didn't even help me out. His name was Brother Bradford or something entirely unrelated. At the end of the brief interchange, the unruffled (and uninterested) gentleman said, "Well, bet that's a first. It'll give you something to laugh about in the car later."
And oh, we did so.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Touched By An Angel
If Hallmark films are too much for you, skip this post.
Life is of such a happy nature lately that an honest retelling is bound to resemble a cheesy G-rated film.
When I was a kid, I loved a TV series called Touched By An Angel. Each episode depicted a family in distress, and the saving characters were angels disguised as humans. I loved the angelic stories, and my barbie dolls were consequently named "Monica" after my favorite cherubic hero. At the end of every show, something was revealed about the heroic neighbor to leave the viewer in awe at their suggestively angelic nature.
On P-day, Sister Howard and I were adopted in by a few real-life sisterly angels from Oklahoma. Danyl* and Delora* need no introduction, but I'll give one anyway.
They are true Oklahomans. While I say "we're planning" to do this or that, they are "fixin" to do it. This is the distinguishing linguistic mark of an Oklahoman. Their cars sport Cowboy Church decals. They wear jeans to church. They run a dog rescue on the side of their busy life obligations, and they'll let anyone in their front door...Hence we enter the story.
We knocked on their door three months ago, and Danyl let us in despite the clearly marked "No soliciting sign. I think they put the sign up because they know that they don't have time to love every Girls Scout and Mormon missionary in Lawton. We count ourselves fortunate to be among the sign-disregarding folk.
We handed Books of Mormon around and stayed for an hour discussing the goodness of God. We stopped in occasionally to teach, but little progress was made. We still hope and pray for the door to conversion to open somehow. But meanwhile, Danyl and Delora just spoil us rotten.
Five and one-half hours. That is how long they spent with us on P-day. And when it was time for us to go home, they begged for longer still. After all, they had only taken us to Meers (a Food Network-acclaimed restaurant that pre-dates Oklahoma's statehood...my new favorite joint EVER), to the Holy City (a mountainside city replica of Jerusalem built for an annual Easter pageant), Medicine Park (a hick version of Sundance, UT), and Mount Scott (was it really a mountain? Not a Timpanogos, but certainly the tallest thing I've seen in Oklahoma).
I sat in the back of their car and laughed at their stories and felt Grandmothered. That's not a work, but it's how I felt.
They paid for our food. We couldn't decide what we wanted, so they ordered a little bit of everything.** Then, as if I were not 24 years old and attempting to be mature, they bought t-shirts for us. And we probably squealed a little and ate too much cherry cobbler. We drove through the mountains and went window-shopping and laughed.
And at some point during our journey, I had a revelation. "They're not real! These are actually ANGELS," I thought. And for a moment, I was convinced. Who else could be so impossibly kind to a couple of strangers? I remembered Touched By An Angel, and I laughed at my own thoughts.
The best part of this story is that they are for real. Danyl and Delora actually exist. They are followers of Jesus Christ, and their radically-generous lives are a reflection of the life that our Savior wants us to live.
When we enter into the way of following Jesus Christ, we can "speak the tongue of angels" (2 Nephi 32:1-3). But maybe we can also do the works of angels.
So here's to earthly angels. I'm grateful to be touched by angels, but I also know that I want to be the angel in someone else's life.
Please help me grow my wings!
*Names are changed, as usual. but since they are probably actually angels, I doubt you'd find them in the yellow pages even if I didn't conceal their identities.
**Meers Oh my. Established in 1901. A popular spot for motorcyclists and outdoorsy folk, all nestled up in the mountains. The food is large in portion, heavy in flavor, and ridiculously inexpensive. The drinks come in mason jars, the food on pie pans. Local Texas longhorn provide the meat. The spread--I can't help detailing my food--is as follows: mashed potatoes and country gravy; fried okra; fried green beans; a pie-sized seismic hamburger; brisket; biscuits; ribs; peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice-cream and banana pudding for a crowd. Welcome to Oklahoma, where health is secondary to happiness.
Life is of such a happy nature lately that an honest retelling is bound to resemble a cheesy G-rated film.
When I was a kid, I loved a TV series called Touched By An Angel. Each episode depicted a family in distress, and the saving characters were angels disguised as humans. I loved the angelic stories, and my barbie dolls were consequently named "Monica" after my favorite cherubic hero. At the end of every show, something was revealed about the heroic neighbor to leave the viewer in awe at their suggestively angelic nature.
On P-day, Sister Howard and I were adopted in by a few real-life sisterly angels from Oklahoma. Danyl* and Delora* need no introduction, but I'll give one anyway.
They are true Oklahomans. While I say "we're planning" to do this or that, they are "fixin" to do it. This is the distinguishing linguistic mark of an Oklahoman. Their cars sport Cowboy Church decals. They wear jeans to church. They run a dog rescue on the side of their busy life obligations, and they'll let anyone in their front door...Hence we enter the story.
We knocked on their door three months ago, and Danyl let us in despite the clearly marked "No soliciting sign. I think they put the sign up because they know that they don't have time to love every Girls Scout and Mormon missionary in Lawton. We count ourselves fortunate to be among the sign-disregarding folk.
We handed Books of Mormon around and stayed for an hour discussing the goodness of God. We stopped in occasionally to teach, but little progress was made. We still hope and pray for the door to conversion to open somehow. But meanwhile, Danyl and Delora just spoil us rotten.
Five and one-half hours. That is how long they spent with us on P-day. And when it was time for us to go home, they begged for longer still. After all, they had only taken us to Meers (a Food Network-acclaimed restaurant that pre-dates Oklahoma's statehood...my new favorite joint EVER), to the Holy City (a mountainside city replica of Jerusalem built for an annual Easter pageant), Medicine Park (a hick version of Sundance, UT), and Mount Scott (was it really a mountain? Not a Timpanogos, but certainly the tallest thing I've seen in Oklahoma).
I sat in the back of their car and laughed at their stories and felt Grandmothered. That's not a work, but it's how I felt.
They paid for our food. We couldn't decide what we wanted, so they ordered a little bit of everything.** Then, as if I were not 24 years old and attempting to be mature, they bought t-shirts for us. And we probably squealed a little and ate too much cherry cobbler. We drove through the mountains and went window-shopping and laughed.
And at some point during our journey, I had a revelation. "They're not real! These are actually ANGELS," I thought. And for a moment, I was convinced. Who else could be so impossibly kind to a couple of strangers? I remembered Touched By An Angel, and I laughed at my own thoughts.
The best part of this story is that they are for real. Danyl and Delora actually exist. They are followers of Jesus Christ, and their radically-generous lives are a reflection of the life that our Savior wants us to live.
When we enter into the way of following Jesus Christ, we can "speak the tongue of angels" (2 Nephi 32:1-3). But maybe we can also do the works of angels.
So here's to earthly angels. I'm grateful to be touched by angels, but I also know that I want to be the angel in someone else's life.
Please help me grow my wings!
*Names are changed, as usual. but since they are probably actually angels, I doubt you'd find them in the yellow pages even if I didn't conceal their identities.
**Meers Oh my. Established in 1901. A popular spot for motorcyclists and outdoorsy folk, all nestled up in the mountains. The food is large in portion, heavy in flavor, and ridiculously inexpensive. The drinks come in mason jars, the food on pie pans. Local Texas longhorn provide the meat. The spread--I can't help detailing my food--is as follows: mashed potatoes and country gravy; fried okra; fried green beans; a pie-sized seismic hamburger; brisket; biscuits; ribs; peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice-cream and banana pudding for a crowd. Welcome to Oklahoma, where health is secondary to happiness.
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