My foot in the door story

Yesterday, Elder Rasband shared a marvelous story of when he felt prompted to put his foot in the door while tracting on his mission. As a result, he was able to find and teach Marti, who ended up joining the church and now 136 people are members because of that ‘foot’.

His experience reminded me of something similar that happened on my mission. We were tracting and at one of the doors, a woman answered the door. My companion gave our door introduction and said that we had a message about God that we wanted to share with her. Before she could finish, a man, whom I assume was this woman’s husband, came up to the door. He was well over six feet tall, burly, beer-gutted, and bald. He had on a dirty white tank top. He scoffed and derision soaked his loud, angry words as they echoed in the concrete hallway of the building.

“God? God! There is no such thing as God and nothing you can say or do can make me feel otherwise. Go take your lies somewhere else.” He started to slam the door in our face.

And it stopped.

On my foot.

Like Elder Rasband, I had not done this before on my mission, nor did I do it after that, but before I could reason with myself, my foot had stuck out and stopped the door from shutting. The big man looked down, saw my shoe and paused, irritated.

“Sir,” I answered with a strength that could only come from the Spirit, “I know that God exists. I know that He is real and nothing you can say or do can make me feel otherwise.”

Silence.

In that moment, I am not sure what I thought would happen. Would he be angry that my foot was impeding his ability to get on with his life? Would he open the door and want to hear more, having been touched by my testimony? Would 136 people join the church as a result of my foot?

He just stood there for a few brief seconds while the spirit dissipated the derision that had hung so heavily in the halls just moments before.

“Well, good for you,” he said, his voice down to a more decent conversational level. “But I’m still not interested.”

I removed my stubborn foot, nodded curtly, and the door closed between us. As far as I know, he never listened to the missionaries or joined the church. Not one, two, or anywhere close to 136 people joined the church because of what I had done.

But I was changed. I knew God knew what I had done. I knew with a power that does not stem from this earth that God lives. Again - the results were not something that might be shared as a ‘faith-promoting’ story over any pulpit - yet my faith was promoted. My faith in God was strengthened.

Now, no disrespect to Elder Rasband and Marti. I wish my beer-gutted man had asked us to come in and that his whole family had joined the church. But that was not how it happened, and there is a lesson in that. May we not be focused so much on the physical and temporal results of our obedience and faith and hold those ‘results’ as the standard to which we determine if our actions and obedience were acceptable or not. May we recognize that the blessings we receive for heeding a prompting are still real and tangible and faith-promoting. Then, perhaps, we can share these differing types of faith-promoting stories where the focus is on the faith, the obedience and the diligence, regardless of the results.

The parable of Josh's eyes

This oft quoted scripture has been on my mind over the last few days:

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

Over the course of my life, when I’ve read and pondered this verse, I’ve reflected on my many weaknesses. This verse tends to humble the reader and prompts one to realize we all have our weaknesses. We often think that the purpose of our weaknesses is to humble ourselves. That, is, of course, a necessary first step. But, we often forget about the next steps - and perhaps the unwritten steps implied before those weaknesses can become strengths. After humbling ourselves and recognizing our weaknesses, we then need to have faith in the Lord - actually believe that our weaknesses can change - AND BE WILLING TO PUT FORTH THE NECESSARY EFFORT REQUIRED TO DO SO. I know I often stop at the attempts to be humble and am okay with accepting my weaknesses and almost wearing them as badges of my humble humanity.

Then, my son had an accident and now I think about this verse differently.

The Parable of Josh’s eyes.

Josh was born with weak vision. We didn’t realize the extent of it until he was almost four years old and trying desperately to read. When he failed his pediatric eye test, we took him to a specialist who put him in very strong glasses. We still remember him pointing out the window on the car ride home with his new glasses on: “Tree!” “Light!” “Bush!” “Car!” He could finally see the things all around him clear enough to give them their appropriate names. From the beginning, his left eye was vastly weaker than his right. At its worst, it was 20/400 - or legally blind. His right eye, quite a bit stronger, compensated for his left and with his glasses, he flourished in school. 

During one of his appointments a few years later, however, his eye doctor realized that his right eye was so much stronger than his left eye that the left eye was simply fading away from disuse. His brain was going about the path of least resistance, and was allowing him to get his vision almost entirely from the right eye. If he continued down this path, his left eye would stop functioning completely. In order to combat this, Josh had to start wearing eye patches. Every day we had to patch up his right eye with a large bandage, forcing him to use his left eye. Josh hated his patches. He hated them so much he would take brand new boxes of them and hide them, thinking that if we couldn’t find them, he wouldn’t have to wear them. Much to his dismay, I would simply drive to the store and buy more (and they weren’t cheap). For years he had to wear the dreaded patches - even to school. I went in and met with his school teachers to explain to them about his patches. They were all so understanding. One of his teachers had had to wear patches as a child, so she just hugged Josh and was so sweet to him. The teachers would talk to the class and as a result, very little, if any, bullying or teasing took place. Josh still had his thick glasses - and his patches. He hated having such a weak left eye.

After years of going to doctor appointments and being told, “Let’s keep up with the patching. It is working. It is improving. We just aren’t there yet…” We finally went to an appointment and got some good news. He could stop wearing the patches in public if he promised to wear them as soon as he got home until he went to bed. 

This continued for another year or two. Finally, after over four years of wearing patches regularly and strengthening that weak left eye little by little through tough, undesirable means, he was done with patching. All his hard work and effort had paid off. His left eye was now strong enough that it could withstand a surgery designed to tighten his eye muscles to keep his eyeball from shifting undesirably. If we had done this surgery two years earlier, or before his left eye was strong enough, the surgery would not have held. The surgeon could have stitched the muscle tighter, but it would not have been strong enough to last. 

So, three years ago Josh had surgery on his left eye. The pain afterwards was almost unbearable - as nothing - no Tylenol or other narcotic could ease the pain from the incision on the nerves and muscles inside the eye. But, once he had recovered from the surgery, his left eye, strong from years of patching and hard work, took the new tightening of his muscles like a champ. His left eye, with the use of corrective lenses, could now see 20/30.

His left eye, previously so weak that it was dying, was now functional. Still, his right eye was stronger and dominant, but at least his left eye could pull its own weight, so to speak.

Then, last Friday (the 13th- by the way), he was playing frisbee with some friends and didn’t see a step and tripped and hit his head on a large cement planter. He fractured his skull and sustained damage to the optic nerve for his right eye - the strong eye. 

It’s been a few days now. The swelling has all but disappeared, leaving just a very colorful black eye and some bruises and scrapes. The skull fracture was clean and will heal with time, rest, and no big movements. His eye, however, is still unknown. The ophthalmologist, unfortunately, feels the damage might be of a permanent nature (though we still have not ruled out any miracles). He cannot see out of his right eye, save a few shades of black and gray and some rough shapes. 

This might be his new normal. 

Josh, before he had even heard the eye doctor’s prognosis, said, “So, I wonder if I’ll become left-eye dominant now.” Yes, Josh, you probably will. 

For years, he had to humble himself. He had to face the reality that his left eye was weak. He had to confront the possibility of humiliation at wearing ugly brown patches on his eye at school among peers who could be mean. He had to put forth daily effort to work at strengthening his weak eye. He worked, he was humbled, he had faith, he put in the time. And his left- eye became strong. 

Now, with a non-functioning right-eye, his left eye will soon become not only stronger, but his only source of vision. How grateful we are that he took all that time and all those years of effort and trust in the Lord to make a weak thing become strong. 

What can we learn from this? What if, in 3 months, or 4 years, or a decade, we had to rely on only the weakest parts of us to make it? Would we look at working at making them strengths with renewed vigor? But, the Lord does know. He is willing and able to help us. With humility, faith, and a willingness to put forth effort on our part, we can, and should, with the Lord’s involvement, make that which is weak become strong.

The "R's of the Atonement

I like to create word tricks to help me learn and remember things.

I'm the Beehive Counselor in my ward, and at one point I had 21 Beehives. So, I created an anagram of all their names so I could remember them in my prayers or on email lists. 

Beachcommber Bliss Kave  {Bree, Eden, Aydia, Cassidy, Hannah, Courtney, Olivia, Maya, Maddie, Brooke, Eden (yes, I had two Edens), Rachel, Brynlee, Laine, Isabella, Sheridan, Sydney, Kaidyn, Anika, Victoria, Elizabeth} 

But, onto the real point of this post...

Studying, learning, and applying the Atonement of Jesus Christ is a life-long eternal pursuit. Over the last several years, I've decided to come up with my own word tricks to better understand the Atonement. 

For me, there are three major aspects of the Atonement:

1) Resurrection -- the 'free' {because we kept our first estate} gift of immortality and a body that will be perfect. Often, we focus on this aspect when we lose someone, or have health issues. Since both have happened to me too often for someone my age, this aspect of the Atonement is very real and something I am grateful for and hope for and look forward to and RELY on every day. 

2) Repentance -- the gift of hope -- knowing that the first tiny mistake we made after baptism didn't doom us to eternal misery and woe. We can repent. We can progress and become clean through the blood of our Savior. I lasted about three hours after my baptism at age 8 before I messed up. That's it. Three hours. But.... I had also received the gift of the Holy Ghost that morning... and the Holy Ghost prompted my doomed eight-year old self to repent. Because of the repentance aspect of the Atonement... all was not lost! I went in my closet (lest my siblings or parents walk in on me and see me praying in the middle of the day) and said a prayer where I sincerely repented. Immediately I felt clean and pure! Since that day... let's just say sometimes I don't even make it three hours between needing to apply the repentance aspect of the Atonement in my life. 

3) Real Power -- Elder Bednar labeled this the 'enabling power of the Atonement'. The scriptures refer to it as Grace. If Grace started with an R, then that's what I would have called it. But, I like my word tricks... This is the aspect of the Atonement that Alma referred to in Alma 7:12 

“And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.” (Boldness added for emphasis)

The Savior's Atonement included Him going through every know trial and affliction ACCORDING TO THE FLESH (not according to His Divine half) SO that He would know ACCORDING TO THE FLESH how to succor (HELP, give us REAL power) to get us through our trial and infirmities. There is REAL power in the Atonement in knowing that we are not alone -- that He has been through what we are going through and has suffered as a mortal has. He can then bestow upon us the power, the courage, the hope, the faith to take the next step -- whatever it may be. 

I have too many examples of this aspect of the Atonement in my life to list any. Just know that applying this aspect of the Atonement has made me who I am today. 

As I pondered these "R" words of the Atonement, other R words came to mind:

Remember - {remember the Atonement as we partake of the sacrament. Remember His sacrifice and love for us}

Rely - Turn to Him in all things. He knows. We can trust Him. We can Rely on Him.

Relief - There is tremendous relief in the Atonement. We can feel the relief the saints of Alma the Elder's day felt -- our burdens can be lightened because our backs can be strengthened.

Revelation - We can receive personal revelation as to what we are to do by turning to the Savior.

Resilience - One of the definitions of this word is "the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties" -- if that is not one of the benefits of applying the Atonement -- I don't know what is.

Rescue -- The Savior's Atonement literally rescues us for an otherwise certain endless torment as captives to the Devil

Reflect -- The Atonement allows us to reflect on all the blessings of our lives and all the blessings in store for us.

Realize -- How wonderful is the day when we realize the Atonement was for each one of us.

Receive -- We need to receive His saving grace into our lives.

Reason -- You are the reason the Savior performed His Atonement -- every single aspect of it. Reverence -- In understanding the Atonement, we should view it with the reverence it deserves.

Reconcile - A definition of this is "to bring back in harmony one with another". Again -- the point of the Atonement was to reconcile us to our Heavenly Father. I have to thank my Gospel Doctrine teacher for sharing this definition. I loved it.

Finally, as I was teaching my Beehives about the Atonement today, the spirit whispered one final "R" word -- and perhaps it is the most important of all of them. As we learn about the Atonement, as we apply each aspect to our lives as needed and as often as needed, we develop a RELATIONSHIP with our Savior -- which I believe is what it is all about. 

I'm so blessed to have a relationship with my Savior Jesus Christ. It is a relationship I treasure and one I plan on improving every day.  

On this Easter Sunday, may your RELATIONSHIP to the Savior grow as you apply each aspect of His greatest of all gifts -- the Atonement.

Writing prompt #23: "She studied her face in the mirror"...

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.

Writing prompt #23: Start with "She studied her face in the mirror"

She studied her face in the mirror. Her eyes stared back at her, the same ombre of blue to green emanating from the jet black pupil to the furry outer fringes. 

I guess they didn't think he'd notice my eyes, she thought to herself, seeing the tiny freckle that nestled on her left tear duct. A brown spot friends and strangers alike had kindly whispered to her must have been some leftover mascara puddled into a pinpoint. 

"It's a freckle," she'd say. And they'd correct her, until she wiped at it for their sakes and they saw it wouldn't dislodge.

"I didn't think freckles could grow there," they'd say.

"Freckles can grow anywhere," She'd say, repeating the words her opthamologist had told her years ago.

Would her unusual freckle give her away? Suddenly, that was all she could see in the strange reflection mirroring her every expression. Her nose was slimmer, though still sporting blacks and blues from the reconstructive surgery. Her cheek bones more defined. Her double chin gone.

The wrinkles that had been her constant companion as of late still wrote her worries across her forehead and around her eyes. But they had to make her seem at least close to her real age. But would it be enough? Would her secret stay safe now, after so many doctors and staff and worked on her? Supposedly they'd never been told her identity, her reason for the face reorganization.

She thought back to the night only one month ago when she had returned to the office to grab a file, and she thought no one was there. But, boy, had she been wrong.

__________________________________________

How would you continue this????

Writing prompt #22: It was a dark and stormy night

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.

Writing prompt #22: It was a dark and stormy night...

It was a dark and stormy night. The thunder reached in the window and shook my out of bed, the lightning illuminated the destruction outside from the wind and the rain. I reached for my bunny and ran to the door. I was almost nine years old. Too old to be scared of a stupid storm. I turned around, determined to be strong, when the sky lit up like the devil's clawed fingers grasping for me. I opened the door and started to turn towards my parent's room when I hard the voice.

A man yelled at someone -- angry, uneven words stabbing in the dark.

"Calm down!" Another male voice spit back. My dad. Who was he talking to? I crept down the hallway to the section just before the turn and carefully peered around the corner. The front door creaked open, shining with the rhythm of the wild wind, letting in whistles and moans and raindrops the size of nickels. And neither of them even noticed me, or cared.

"Tell my exactly what happened."

"She's dead! She's dead -- he killer her!" The man paced around, blood splotched all over his shirt.

"Who is dead?" My dad asked.

"My wife."

"How? What? No!" My dad shouted. "What have you done?"

(side note -- this scene ended up making its way (with some changes) into a pivotal point in my first book "Clicked")

Writing prompt #21: Phone call in the middle of the night...

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.

Writing prompt #21: You receive a phone call in the middle of the night...

"Everything okay?" he murmurs, a hand reaching over to find me in the darkness. Nothing good comes from a phone call in the middle of the night. He knows that. I know that. Correction. I knew that. This could be it -- the answers I've been asking for. Praying for. Paying for.

"Wrong number," I whisper, turning away slightly so his hand retraces its step to his side. I lay there, counting in my head. Listening until his breathing lengthens and deepens. Until I know he won't notice my absence.

I count to ten -- slowly -- for good measure and deftly slip out of the sheets, padding over to my closet where I slip on some clothes by moonlight. Tiptoeing down the hall and to the side door, the one I know won't beep its opening.

And there it is. A black limo, windows tinted, though it is hardly necessary on a cloudy night like this. I steel myself, square my shoulders, and walk straight towards it. Just before I can open the door, it opens from the inside. A beefy man steps out and asks me to splay myself against the car. I hesitate for a second before I see her legs -- in the car. I can't believe she's here. I can't believe she came. Yes, of course I'll splay.

My heart rate picks up as he frisks me thoroughly before giving me a nod. I step inside and see the most influential woman in the world sitting across from me: The President of the United States, and, as I just discovered, my birth mother.

Writing prompt #20: They say everyone always has a dream...

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.

Writing prompt #20: They say everyone always has a dream....

"You might have heard this poem before," she said, un-creasing a paper and brushing back a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She adjusted her glasses, bringing the page in and out of focus until it was just right.

I looked down at the remnants of my potluck dinner, several pieces of print mix doused in a delicious dressing, but something -- some part had been extremely bitter - -almost causing me to gag and I couldn't tell what kind of lettuce was guilty. So, I gave it up entirely I eyed my neighbor's half-eaten cheesecake. I should have gotten that instead of what was obviously a store-bought cookie. Oh well, I can't get up now.

The lady continued her poem - one I had heard before. "Oh when I can drive -- then I'll be happy.... Oh when I can get out of my parent's house, then I'll be happy. Then college exams, then graduation, then marriage, longing for kids, all things always blocked the voice's path to happiness. "When my kids aren't so young -- when they go to school -- I'll finally have time to be happy --When they graduate, when they get married, when I can retire, when I ....

Misery. The poem defined pure, unadulterated misery.

My first child was at home, sleeping in all her four-month glory and my husband just starting a new job. I was happy. Right then. Right there. I would not depend on dreams, on tomorrows, on next steps even, to deliver delight.

I would choose happiness now. I said it over and over to myself. No stage of life is without its own joys. No tomorrow can possibly be better than the today, because tomorrows are shadows -- ungraspable and fleeting.

I have not been perfect in my 27-year-old self declaration, but for the most part, I can say that that poem did its job. And today, I am happy in today.

Prompt #19: Brrring

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.

Writing Prompt #19 -- The sound: Brrrring

Brrring -- brring -- brring. What is that horrible noise? Oh, the construction next door. Some poor worker must be slaving away with a sledge hammer. Wow, his rhythm is perfect; too perfect. Brring -- brring.

Alarm clock. I reach my hand out and fumble around on my desk for the little button to end my misery. Is it a snooze day? What day is it? What do I have going on? Think? I try clear the fog of my dream, still nestling around me -- a ball of yarn longing to be unfurled. It was a nice dream, that much I still taste.

I eventually deny it any more time and roll out of bed, my pajamas more wrinkled than my thoughts, and stretch my arms as high as they can go. I walk over to the bulletin board by my desk and finger through the myriad of papers, business cards, and ephemera tacked on. Where did I put that? Think - what color was it? Blue. Some shade of blue - with a camera logo on it. Makes sense. She's a photographer.

I find it tripled under some Chinese take out coupons and a notice of some recall on my Toyota.

"Rrff, rrff," my Labradoodle comes bounding in - sensing I was finally awake and ready to play. I burrow my head in her furry goodness.

"Come on, Cinnamon," I say, "Let's go get ourselves a job."

Women's Conference Notes

Last Saturday, I got to teach at our Stake Women's conference. It was an incredible experience -- mainly the preparing for the conference, but also the teaching. Here is a very jagged outline of my lesson. You'll have to insert dialog and commentary as you see fit. My topic was "Who are you little one? And what will you become through the Atonement of Jesus Christ?" I took about 3 minutes to talk about those two questions, and then added a third "How can who we are becoming (through the Atonement of Jesus Christ) help others?"

Enjoy!

A Palace under construction...

* Who are you little one?

A daughter of God. The plan of salvation/ happiness and then your plan w/in that plan.

*What will you become through the Atonement of Jesus Christ?

RESURRECTION: Immortal, resurrected beings

REPENTENCE: Repented, clean, worthy to live with the Father

RESILIENCE: the capacity to recover from difficulties; Enabling power of the Atonement: Strengthened, improved, who we are meant to be.

C.S. Lewis quote

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace.

Write down 3 trials that you have had to overcome or deal with.

Now, next to each one, write down qualities or attributes you’ve developed or sharpened or strengthened because you have turned to the Savior. 

Share some of these — Write on the board next to second question.

Side note: this is the WHY behind our trials. God needs us to BECOME these things. 

NOW, I’m going to add a question: HOW CAN WHO WE ARE BECOMING HELP OTHERS? (Becoming, not become — it’s an ongoing process)

-too often, discussion of trials or adversities stops with the why and what we can learn, as if our own betterment in life were the only end goal. But everything about the gospel is to help others.

The qualities and attributes we developed or learned from trials are to bless others.

These are gifts to us from our Savior

Gifts of the Spirit — always to bless others

Parable of the Talents — do we bury our gifts? — Think of the list of qualities or attributes we’ve gained or been given as talents - or gifts from our Lord. Now re-read the parable.

Lovest Thou Me? Savior and Peter.  After 3 years spent by the side of the Savior, learning, being trained and being taught all of these attributes and qualities, after the death of the Savior, Peter and the others returned to their boats and their fish. They had missed the mark that the Savior wanted them to use all that they had learned to bless the lives of others. (Feed my Sheep)

Elder Holland’s quote: 

“We have neighbors to bless, children to protect, the poor to lift up, and the truth to defend. We have wrongs to make right, truths to share, and good to do. In short, we have a life of devoted discipleship to give in demonstrating our love of the Lord. We can’t quit and we can’t go back. After an encounter with the living Son of the living God, nothing is ever again to be as it was before.” - Elder Holland

Have we been changed by the Atonement? Then we cannot quit and we cannot go back. After our encounter with the Son of God — after His atoning influence in our lives, — nothing is ever again to be as it was before. As changed individuals, we can look forward and look upwards, whilst on bended knee asking for guidance to know which neighbors to bless, which children to protect and how. Which poor (in spirit, in mind, in friendship) to lift up, which truth to defend by our own experiences. We have good to do. You have unique good to do because of how the atonement has helped you. You can now share that knowledge with those who are grasping for a sliver of hope.

Parable of the talents:  (v. 16 ‘went and traded with the same’) — Prayer for guidance, always following the spirit to know who could use your help, and how to best help.

Examples: My health / panic attacks - able to help others and be a physical, tangible someone they can talk to or hold on to while they turn to the Savior. “The light from my refining fire can illuminate someone else’s path” - Josie Thompson

One of the main differences between a cottage and a palace is that a palace can provide shelter to so many more people struggling through their own personal rainstorms. We were meant to be palaces. 

Writing prompt #18: Tell about a casserole

And again... here's the pledge...


Writing prompt #18: Tell about a casserole
1/9/2014

It all started with a casserole. One casserole was all it took to change my life forever. It was the way the cheer on top was cooked. Perfectly golden, bubbles undulating, just waiting to collapse in my mouth. My saliva glands warmed up. Two more people in front of me and it would be mine.

This was why I endured the silly ritual of breaking my once-a-month fast with all these late 20-something (and spattered early 30's) almost strangers. It was the food. Every other day of the month, I was content with microwave pizza, deli sandwiches from the cafe around the corner of my office and protein bars while navigating my way through morning traffic. But, once a month, I indulged my taste buds. Real, actual home-grown food. Multiple entrees, sides, and even desserts.

I reached for the utensil ladling the casserole and grasped. Air. What? I looked down. The serving utensil was gone. Someone else was helping themselves to my casserole. Was even scaring off the cheesy goodness. What nerve!

"Excuse me!" I said, following the hand holding the ladle up. A strong hand. Clean, clipped fingernails, long sleeve light blue button up shirt. As I reached his face, he stopped scooping and looked at me. His eyes smiles, a deep, blue smile. And, suddenly, I really wasn't all that hungry.

Writing prompt #17: stream of consciousness gratitude

With Thanksgiving tomorrow, I thought I'd share the prompt from our last writer's meeting. We were asked to write a list of things we were grateful for, but instead of just a list, to qualify them with a phrase or two of explanation. Here is mine:

1. The way time passes when I'm fast asleep because it means I'm really resting and rejuvenating, something I've struggle with for too much of my life.
2. The way Dave comes and finds me wherever I am in the house when he gets home to give me a hug and kiss.
3. The way my family rallies around each other at the slightest hiccup of a need, but allows space to breathe an independent life.
4. The way my daughter makes it a point to tell me goodnight and is often the first to say, "love you,"
5. The various positions of blankets and clothing choices I find my youngest daughter in when I go to check on her before retiring. It lets me know she was busy imagining up a new world moments before finally surrendering to slumber.
6. The way by quiet son nods his head in agreement whenever I comment on how smart he is. He's not cocky, but simply aware of a gift and self-confidence enough to not deny it.
7. The ability to be a stay-at-home mom and learn and stretch and grow according to a timeline not imposed by a paycheck.
8. Tender experience in my youth that established a rock of a foundation in my belief in God and His Son, Jesus Christ and in the Kingdom here on earth.
9. Opportunities to serve others in a wide range of callings and capacities that open my soul to see others in a light that can only be sourced in Heaven.
10. The look on my husband's face when he follows through on some inspiration he's felt -- to visit his parents, to call a friend, or to rethink organizing his work space.
11. The way technology connect me to family and friends all throughout the world so I can celebrate and mourn and converse with people I might never see with my mortal eyes again.


HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Writing prompt #16: Tell the backstory of a phobia

Here's my pledge.

Writing prompt #16: Tell the backstory of a phobia
11/21/13

We were relegated to her bedroom. Again. It's what happens with seven kids plus friends and a small house when no TV is allowed, it's raining outside, and our brothers were being, well, brothers.

After rehashing who said what and who did what during exciting 5th grade, we sat on her bed and looked around for our next source of entertainment.

To this day, I have no idea which one of us suggested it first, but we both jumped on board.

"Let's take turns climbing in the toy chest and seeing how long we can last in there,"

We cleaned it of stuffed animals and baby blankets. We were both on the small end for our ages, but still, even squished up, it'd be a tight fit.

The rules were simple and clear. One of us went in. The other sat on top of the closed chest. Then, the person inside would count in their heads. When they were ready to come out, the knocked three times. The person on top got up and opened the chest. The person with the highest count won.

Jenny went in first. I sat excitedly on top, trying to visualize what she was going through. Playing with my fingers, awaiting my turn at adventure.

Knock, knock, knock. I jumped up and opened it to see her smiling face. "50" she said and unhinged her body out of the box.

My turn. I crawled in, bending my legs and arms to fit them in all the crevices and crouched my head down in the corner. "Okay, go!" I said. Darkness enveloped me, but I just started counting. "One, two, three..." This was easy easy. "Forty-nine, Fifty." Ten more for good measure. "Okay, I'm done."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Nothing.

Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Nothing.

"JENNY! I'M DONE!"

Nothing.

"Jenny?" I pushed hard against the top of the chest. It wouldn't budge. My legs started contributing now. I was stuck. "Help!" My heart started to race and I felt like I was about to die. "Jenny! It's not funny anymore! Let me out!" Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized I just might die in this silly chest.

Then, she opened it. She was silently laughing. "I tricked you!" she said, laughing, until she saw the tears streaming down my face.

Writing prompt #15: A secret message

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.

Writing prompt #15: A secret message
10/29/2013

'Crap!' I thought, setting the 17th box of the morning down. 'What did I just break? Already.' I turned around and bent down. I couldn't see any cracks, but I knew I had heard something. I retraced my steps. There. I see-sawed on and off of one of the large 20 inch Italian tiles that had only been one of the myriad of reasons I had fallen head over heels in love with this 85-year old fixer-upper. I crouched and fingered the edge of the tile in question. Yep, I had definitely cracked the grout holding it in place. I moved it around and suddenly it came up in my fingers. It was heavy. Heavy.

'This must be grant or marble,' I thought. As I was inspecting it, a sliver of something caught my eye. I slid it gingerly to the side, wondering what it was underneath the tile that had grabbed my attention. The more I moved it, the more I could see. Yes, that was definitely some words -- writing. I rotated it slightly to get the sunlight on the exposed hole. Tiny, almost illegible scribbles were somehow etched into the floor.

"January 20, 1929. My name is Peter LaForce. I built this home. If you are reading this, beware. This home is haunted."

Writing Prompt #14: A different ending to a fairy tale

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my Prompt posting pledge.

Writing Prompt #14: Write a different ending to a fairy tale

NOTE: I wrote this on October 15, 2013, long before the new Disney Cinderella came out. Long before I had ever heard the phrase, 'have courage and be kind.'  Nice to know the Disney writers and I think alike...

Revenge was just not in my nature. My parents had raised me well. Well, my real parents. My sweet mother had been scorned when she married my father -- a duke. She had been the second daughter of a miller. But, my father, who knew what mattered, had fallen in love with the goodness, both in and out, of my mother. He didn't care that his family taunted and begged him to reconsider. Love was more important than money or title. During their first few years, before I came along, my mother dealt with all sorts of duplicitous townsfolk, trying to trip her up in her new 'lofty' state, to cause her to believe she was less than her married-into-status. My father and mother held hands and stood together, strong and full of the confidence that comes from within, from a pure soul.

Often, as a child, my mother would tell me these stories. About people who now loved her who used to make fun of her. "I could have been vengeful towards them, as my influence in the town grew, but that is never the answer. Love always is. Remember that, sweet Ella. Always return good. Good for good. Good for evil. Good even for only mediocre. If you have only good in you, only good will be able to come out,"

Now, here I was, the crown princess with more power and influence than my mother or father ever dreamed of having. And the court room full of dignitaries and dukes awaited my decision.

My step-mother and two step-sisters, who had done nothing but injure and demean me for years stood in front of me. What would be their fate? Revenge could certainly be justified. But, I remembered my mother's words. Always return good.

I smiled, "Let them be free."

Writing prompt #13: A disastrous family picnic

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.

Writing prompt #13: Write about a disastrous family picnic...  {And, as you can see below, sometimes the time runs out before I even broach the writing prompt's intended topic}

"If we don't leave NOW, it's going to be too dark to enjoy the scenery," I shouted to anyone who bothered to listen. Sometimes I felt like my voice was nothing but white noise in my kids' ears. Chatter they tuned out unless it has the words 'ice cream' or 'play' in it.

I'd heard about this spot from a few friends. Seen posts online. They made it look idyllic. Eden-like. We could use some Eden-like in our lives right now. My husband's job security was, well, un-secure. A recent car incident had left our financial situation more topsy-turvy than a tumbling new toddler. Our oldest child had officially entered teenage-dom with its eye-rolling amendments and attitude regimes.

Our youngest was so obsessed with puppy dogs, she only ate from under the table and bake at me if I didn't call her by her new self-given name of "Princess Puppy."

Our middle child had discovered a website with DIY practical jokes. Twice I'd fallen for the saran-wrap over the toilet bit. Twice.  Yes, we needed idyllic.

Confessions of a scripture-reading family

We are a scripture-reading family. But we are not a perfect scripture-reading family. If we only read scriptures when circumstances were perfect, we would be stretching the truth to state we were a scripture-reading family.

I'm a numbers person, so here is what I mean, broken down by digits.

25% of the time we read scriptures, a member of our family is missing. Dave is out of town for work or busy with a church calling. I'm gone to book club or a child has a late activity. Dave leaves for work at 5:00 a.m., long before the rest of our alarms are even gearing up. Eden leaves at 6:45, Josh leaves at 7:30, and Teya leaves at 8:25. And, Teya needs the extra sleep. If we were to wake her any earlier than absolutely necessary, we'd pay a price in family accord we just aren't willing to pay. Thus, we read at night.

20% of the time we read, we actually listen to the scriptures being read by the male voice on gospel library as we are driving home from a family outing or dinner with grandparents.  Car = Captive audience.

20% of the time we don't read scriptures at all. We forget. Dave and I are out for a date night. We are just too tired. It happens. We decide a family prayer will have to suffice for the evening.

100% of the time at least one member, if not multiple members of our family are reading them on our phones or electronic devices. Those phones are always nearby and sometimes we can't find scriptures bags that were hastily placed somewhere after church on the way to raid the fridge.

So, if you imagine the Blaser family sitting around in a circle, our leather-bound scriptures open and the five of us pondering and commenting and marking and reading every day, you'd be imagining fiction.

But if we waited until the circumstances were perfect -- until we were all home, had found our physical scriptures, and weren't tired, well, we probably would have a horrible scripture reading track record.

So, we read the scriptures when and how works best. And we love them. However we get the words of inspired prophets into our minds...

Why I dislike parenting books...

I recently read a book on parenting for my book club. It was a good book full of new insight and wonderful concepts and ideas on being a better parent and I plan to implement many of them. However, as a general rule, I don’t enjoy reading parenting books. Every parenting book I’ve read has been what someone else in our book group has chosen over the years. I try to read every book because I love to learn.

So, why don’t I read or like to read parenting books? Because I’m a perfect parent already and don’t need the help? Hardly. I think it stems back to my childhood. (Something I learned from reading parenting books is that most of our issues as adults stemmed from childhood). 

My parents raised us using the scriptures as their parenting manual. 

I know, I know. Preachy, churchy, etc., etc. But as a 40-something mother, when I reflect on what my parents taught me about being parents, I realize the lessons that sunk in deepest and formed my core beliefs surrounding parenting was using the scriptures and making Heavenly Father a co-parent. 

Here are just a few specific memories:

I remember sitting around our large round wooden table as a family reading the scriptures. We were reading in 1 Nephi, where Nephi discusses building a boat. He had no previous knowledge of how to build a boat. He was not a shipwright. He was not educated in construction. But, he turned to the Lord and the Lord helped him build a boat. After he and his brothers finish building the boat, Nephi said, “ Now I, Nephi, did not work the timbers after the manner which was learned by men, neither did I build the ship after the manner of men; but I did build it after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me; wherefore, it was not after the manner of men.” (1 Nephi 18:2)

My mom read that verse and then looked up and said, “That’s how I’ve always felt about being a parent. I am trying to build a family, but not after the manner which was learned by men. I’m trying to build a family after the manner which the Lord as shown me and continues to show me.”

That idea stuck like super glue on my soul. Build a family after the manner of the Lord, not after the manner the world tells you to.

Years later, I was leaving on my mission to Slovenia. It was the summer of 1994 and Slovenia was a brand new country that still tousled with aftershocks of war and independence. It bordered Croatia, where Serbia and Bosnia still battled and bombs and tanks reigned supreme. I wasn’t worried to go there because I was born with an adventurous spirit and knew the Lord had called me to go there. But what my mom said in her talk the day of my farewell cemented the faith of brilliant parenting into me. 

“You might think, ‘why would I be okay with sending our daughter across the world into a war-torn area, where we will worry for her safety and well-being’. Well, before she was our daughter, she was His. He knows what is best for her, and we trust Him.”

Before my children were my children, they were (and still are) His children. He who is all powerful, all knowing, all loving is their parent. He wants what is best for them. He knows what is best for them. And He will share that knowledge in an instant if we but ask.

So, I have asked. And received answers. And asked. And read verses that provide insight into appropriate courses of actions. And asked. And felt impressions from church talks. And asked. And felt inspired to say certain words. And asked. And sometimes… felt inspired to remember something I read in a parenting book chosen in book group. And asked. And listened. And read. And pondered. And asked. And always, always, He answers.

For I am not building a family after the manner of men. My parenting book is written by the first and best parent. He wants what is best for our children. For they are His children.

Writing prompt #12 Which door?

Writing prompt #12: Four doors exist: Disappointment, Delight, Frustration and anticipation. Which one do you walk through?

"I'll be fine. Fine." I tell myself over and over. Forcing myself to be positive. This is no big deal. But maybe it is. Maybe your life is going to change today.

No.

Positive thoughts yield positive energy. No big deal.

I'm in the small waiting room of the doctor's office. Nondescript music wafts through  from the receptionists area. Three-month-old magazines lie scattered on a bleached wooden coffee table. My youngest daughter plays quietly on my phone next to me. She woke up with a slight fever and cold. She had to miss her very first day of 3rd grade and grandma didn't answer my call about watching her, so she's here with me. She has no concept of my journey to this point. The endless blood tests, ultra sounds, MRIa, and the waiting. The wondering. The unknown. Oh, the unknown. It can take years off a life as fast as the six-fingered man's contraption in The Princess Bride.

I ruffle through my purse. Aimless fingers. Anything to distract me. They call my name.

"He'll be in shortly," she says after taking my blood pressure. I wonder if it will be super high from nerves. But it's normal. Maybe those forced positive thoughts helped.

I smil at my daughter. She's as quiet as a mouse in such unfamiliar surroundings.

A small knock and he's inside. He shakes my hand and asks how I'm doing. "Fine," I reply. But I'm really just waiting for him to tell me how I'm doing.

"The spots on your liver are hemangioma." I have no idea what that is. Am I supposed to be relieved or worried? He continues, "They aren't uncommon and absolutely nothing to be worried about. Follow up with your primary care doctor in about 6 months, but there is no need to see an oncologist anymore. You are free to go!

Free! I float down off the exam table. I can't hide my smile as I take my daughter's hand and we walk, no, glide out the door called delight.

Prompt #11: After the happily ever after...

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.

Writing prompt #11: Start writing a sequel to a fairy tale...

July 1, 2013

Happily ever after? As if! The music stopped playing a week or so after the honeymoon. Then Eric was whisked away to meet with foreign dignitaries and religious leaders to haggle about boundaries and rules and cargo and land, land, land.

I love my legs, but they sure get tired. I can't just swish my hips and get from here to there. I have blisters all over my new toes from those awful shoe things. As the princess, I'm supposed to wear a different pair with each outfit. No time to get used to them! And my hand maid gives me no sympathy. I swear she purposely tightens the straps over the rawest blisters. She isn't fond of me, I can tell. I ask too many questions and need too much help.

I never realized being married to the man of my dreams would be so lonely. I can't really open up to him about how much I miss my sea legs, my tail, or all my friends. I don't want him to think I regret my decision to become human, because I don't. At all. It's just hard to adjust. A lifetime turned upside down in weeks and not a single face from my old life is present in my new one. Well, unless you count tonight's entree.

Prompt #10: A Different point of view

I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.

Writing prompt #10: Write about a character you cannot relate to -- someone very different
(Please note -- this is fiction and I tried to come up with a character that was as far from someone I could relate to as possible)
June 17, 2013

They always plead to their God. Begging me, snot running down their noses in a pitiful attempt, to not do my job. Ten years and God had never interceded. Once my cartridge jammed. The look of reprieve on his face when he heart the muffled click and then felt nothing -- as he slowly unscrunched his eyes was laughable. It took me fifteen seconds to clear the channel. If His God had intervened, it was only to hiccup. His body joined the others at the bottom of the lake. Maybe the God of fishes heard his prayer. Made him useful.

These men and women are nothing more than a pile of papers that need to be filed. Memos weighing down my inbox. Waiting to be properly re-categorized. Money borrowed, never repaid. Secrets divulged. Used-up affairs with too much knowledge. I hardly bothered to ask why anymore. The man who paid my bills, with which I put food on my table and drink down my throat told me to. It was my job. I didn't enjoy it. But who really likes their job these days? I haven't met someone who was actually happy for decades.

My mom was happy. But then a stranger came in that night with the gun. I hid under my bed and prayed to God. But He didn't intervene. He never does.