Category Archives: Creativity

What I Know For Sure

Oprah used this phrase a lot during the time I watched her shows in the late 90’s, and it’s stuck with me. Usually I make one or two New Year’s resolutions but today I’m reflecting on all the upheaval in our world and “what I know for sure.”

More and more, I live modern life like running the bases in baseball. Each one is a safe touch point and helps restore my inner peace when the going gets tough:

Home Plate: I know there is a God, loving and powerful, and we will live forever through Christ’s Atonement.
First Base: I know most people are good and that goodness will triumph in the end.
Second Base: I know I must reach out for new challenges and new connections to be happy.
Third Base: I know I must develop the divine within to progress eternally.

What do you know for sure? What bases do you touch when anxiety or adversity strikes? This is a good time to put those things front and center and give them new life.

I’m knee-deep in a major purge of my files, and I’m finding gems I forgot I had. Here’s a quote I just found (from Gail Godwin’s novel, The Finishing School) that may speak to you as it does to me:

There are two kinds of people . . . One kind, you can tell just by looking at them at what point they congealed into their final selves. It might be a very nice self, but you know you can expect no more surprises from it. Whereas, the other kind keeps moving, changing. With these people, you can never say, “X stops here,” or “Now I know all there is to know about Y.” That doesn’t mean they’re unstable. Ah, no, far from it. They are fluid. They keep moving forward and making new trysts with life, and the motion of it keeps them young. In my opinion, they are the only people who are still alive.

We all let fear and habit slow us down, but that keeps us from those “new trysts with life” that not only surprise our friends but they also surprise ourselves. C. H. Lewis wrote a book called Surprised By Joy. Let’s all be surprised by joy this year and spread it around.

City Park, Author’s Photo

A Deeper Surrender 3 – Stroke and Glide

I grew up across the street from a huge city swimming pool, so I took a lot of swim lessons. For years, though, I was afraid to spend much time underwater. Treading water for long periods of time was a favorite assignment of my teachers. I frantically paddled hard enough to always keep my head above water, quickly becoming exhausted. Ditto with swimming laps. So I was never completely at home in the water, unlike many of my friends who swam like fish. Was I just a weakling or did they know something I didn’t?

Living in New Hampshire at the foot of Highland Lake, I would swim in the clear, shallow water regularly. It was so peaceful that I let go of my anxiety, spending more and more time gliding through the water with my head and face below the surface. I got lost in limbo between earth, water, and sky, a welcome meditation. Later, several of us would swim after dark in remote Center Pond. I’d picture creatures lurking below the surface waiting to grab me and pull me down to unspeakable depths. But then I’d look up at the stars and the silent pine trees ringing the shore and lose myself again in that magical limbo world.

Finally, when I was teaching my daycare kiddies to swim, a professional swim teacher turned on the final light bulb. We all float and can just fully relax in the water; it’s just that most of us only reach that point when we’re completely underwater! Once we accept that, we can swim for hours if need be. Just try to float lower in the water than your body naturally wants to go – you can’t do it without real effort. The trick is to pair breathing in with a swim stroke that lifts our heads above water, then submerge, find our flotation point, and fully relax while we glide and exhale slowly through our noses.

The glide portion lasts two or three times longer than the stroke. Oddly, until we know better, we focus on the stroke since it’s the action part and necessary for moving forward. But as I mastered this swim style, I also came to appreciate the power of the glide. If I fully relaxed in the water, trusted the power of the previous stroke, and exhaled in a long, controlled breath, I could go on and on. And I found that I never sank very far in the water, no matter how much I relaxed. When I moved into an apartment complex with a large indoor pool, I could swim laps for surprising distances, racking up a half mile, then a mile. It was liberating and exhilarating to overcome those childhood fears and limitations.

I find that relating to my emotional, creative, and spiritual highs and lows is a lot like swimming laps. I appreciate the power of the glide here as well. The rest and reflection that my burned-out body force on me bear great fruit, perhaps as great as my bursts of energy and productivity. I sit in my comfortable chair, watching flocks of birds at my feeder, the “wall of green” beyond my patio undulating in the breeze, and new insights come to me that fuel the next “stroke” or push in life. And I find that the Lord never lets me sink below my spiritual “flotation” point as long as I’m truly reaching for Him.

I recently hit an emotional wall, feeling overly isolated, frustrated, and creatively constrained. But instead of frantically “swimming” against this downward force, I let myself glide through the underwater of my soul, checking out what I was really feeling and why, as well as what my many options for response were. I received insightful advice, solved a persistent sign-in problem on a web forum for like-minded people, and read a Guideposts story about its publisher’s stack of prayer requests that he turns to in odd moments – a good example of how I could serve even in tired moments. Doors started to open in my soul and in my life.

Living from my spiritual and creative “flotation point” has been both empowering and humbling. It’s allowed God into my soul. Next time you find yourself in a pickle, try a long glide under your conscious mind and see what surfaces.

A Long Glide
Courtesy Matt Stevenson.MOD.Wikipedia Commons

A Deeper Surrender 2 – Flexibility

This week turned out to be the polar opposite of the last two and appeared to make my conclusions of my last post, A Deeper Surrender, appear at least partially wrong. The high I was on from surrendering my will to God’s will was real, but now I realized it may have been unsustainable, at least with my physical limits.

What I learned this week as my energy crashed was that the answers that were so right yesterday may not be right for today. Inspiration, like ancient Israel’s manna in the wilderness, doesn’t keep and can’t be recycled. Time to regroup and shift gears is also part of an unselfish and productive life. I seem to have to learn this lesson over and over. I guess it’s why I start my day with both prayer and a little yoga – to loosen up both my mind and my body – and open up a window to that higher guidance.

So this week, my writing, family history work and real estate prospecting were all pulling on my mind, but I decided to regroup instead. I went to bed between 8:00 and 9:00 pm. I finished preserving the 40 lbs of apples my granddaughter and I picked a couple of weeks ago. My grandson and I had rearranged my bedroom to accommodate a gift bed, but the overflow still clogged my office. It took four days but my office is now free of clutter, and I put up pictures I forgot I had. I feel at peace about what I did accomplish. Next week, I’ll tackle those neglected projects and will probably buzz through them, surrounded by order and serenity.

As I puttered through these tasks I remembered other guidance about similar times:

Years ago, I read an article by a busy mom also trying to find time for creative projects. She made a point I’ve never forgotten: within the limits of your schedule, operate from enthusiasm, not a grim list of have-to’s. Her advice: The energy generated by your enjoyment will power you through a long day much better than a whip at your back, and those have-to’s will get done on the coat-tails of your passions.
Back when I was teaching high school, I approached the last week of school in a very right-brained, zig zag way. Similar to the above, I just followed my nose in what I tackled – gauging my energy level, which students were around to help, and available time. Many jobs didn’t get done in the time available, but I always got back to them. The very last day, I always had a firm deadline, 10:30 am, when I had to leave for graduation, and I didn’t want to come back. The last half-done jobs somehow all fell into place that morning. The last box went out to my car. The last forms were delivered to the office, the counseling center, and the custodians. The board was cleaned, my desk cleared, and I could go off and enjoy my seniors’ moment of triumph. Somehow I always made that deadline.
Finally, I remember a book from my hippie days, Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach, a charming little allegory about a baby seagull obsessed with flight who’s surrounded by peers happy to live a pedestrian life on the ground. In claiming his own nature and dreams, he had to overcome many preconceptions about his limits and abilities. Each breakthrough transcended some previous truths or habits, to take him higher and higher, until he broke free and truly became a bird of flight. It’s short and a lovely read.

I hope you all find the answers God has for you in your quest to take flight!

Courtesy Vridhi Chowdhry

Silent Mountains

In 2001, I went on a student tour of Europe. While in Italy, I wandered out to the balcony of our hotel room late one night to just sit and let my thoughts wander over the amazing experiences we were having. Gradually, I noticed some very large, dark shapes on the skyline and quickly realized they were mountains with not a light showing on any of them. They seemed to ring the city like silent sentinels from the past. I imagined they were symbolic of the dead civilizations of Europe whose remains we were viewing on this trip: Greek, Roman, and Etruscan. All were gone but they cast long shadows, still influence our lives today, and provided the foundations of Western Civilization. I wondered if we, with all our modern ways and seeming cultural security, will ever suffer the same fate: Dust to Dust, Ashes to Ashes, as the saying goes. But no matter, I’ll celebrate what we’ve achieved over the last 1500 or more years. My thoughts then turned to other mountains of influence in my life: The University of Iowa where my father and grandfather both spent their entire working lives, along with the dads of almost all my friends. I attended a University “lab school” where professors’ kids were taught by the brightest and best graduate students and senior faculty. The entire weight and majesty of Western Civilization gradually unfolded before my initially reluctant eyes, but that reluctance turned pretty quickly to a love affair with history, music, and art. Try visiting Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg with his glorious arias piped into every room – it’s enough to melt the hardest heart. Or view Bernini’s sculpture The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa in Rome and try to hold back the tears.

Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, by Gian Lorenzo Bernini
Courtesy I. Sailko, Wikipedia

I attended college classes in four ancient granite buildings that surrounded the “Old Capitol” building, set in the center of what we called The Pentacrest, five buildings that were the heart of the College of Liberal Arts at the University. The photo below was taken by my father on a cold winter day which I prize above all my memories of the sunny spring days I spent there because so much of my education was gained by not only braving the elements (I walked or took the bus to classes in all weather), but by braving the wilderness within – my life was forever changed. From that foundation, all the subsequent learning in my life found a harmonious home. What a heritage and how grateful I am to those who made it possible. Other personal mountains that surrounded me were the standards of hard work and honesty I found all around me – my own family and others who dedicated themselves to something good and greater than their own self-interest. And I’m grateful for the example of neighborliness of my parents, especially my mother who took special care of Frank and Cenie next door and Mrs. B on the other side. I didn’t have the same inclinations, focusing more on my life and friends, but that example now informs my current efforts to provide some service to my friends and neighbors.

What are your silent mountains? Maybe take some time now to contemplate them and pay a little homage.

Old Capitol, Iowa City
Family Photo, All Rights Reserved

Ye Shall Also Reap

Today I went with friends to pick plums for free in a neglected orchard. We all got enough to dry and make into plum jam or plum butter (yum!). I was reminded again of the abundance of nature. One plum seed grew into a large tree with hundreds of plums, which could seed a whole orchard, and from which thousands of plums could be harvested! I’ll give some away, dry some, can some plum butter for winter breakfasts and Christmas gifts, and just enjoy eating them fresh.

But those plums didn’t just grow without help. The original farmer had to plant the seed, nurture the seedling, then the young tree, prune it, prevent pests, and finally harvest them properly before fruit meets taste buds. The same is true of any project or job we undertake. We had a saying in education about managing student behavior: Get what you want before you give the student what they want. Well, life demands the same: we have to sow and cultivate before we reap the harvest.

I get a lot of joy from my adult children and teenage grandchildren, but there was a price to be paid: hundreds, probably thousands of diapers; late night feedings; whining in stores; and endless meals and snacks. Sure they were fun as children, but they also created what sometimes seemed like thankless work.

I’m currently working on converting my booklet on managing children’s behavior into an ebook. Since it was originally typed on a word processor, I have to retype it, study the Kindle formatting guidelines, and find a cover designer. Then I’ll still have to promote it online and hope it sells – weeks to produce and months til we have a harvest. It’s a bigger project to find a publisher for my phonics readers, written in the 1980s and distributed only minimally since phonics weren’t in vogue then.

We can have a harvest in our characters as well. Quote is from Ralph Waldo Emerson:

Sow a thought and you reap an action;
Sow an act and you reap a habit;
Sow a habit and you reap a character;
Sow a character and you reap a destiny.

As I look at my pantry with jars of soup, jam, and chicken broth and remind myself that the harvest is coming on my current projects. I believe there’s a harvest for my writing that will benefit both reader and author, and make the effort worthwhile. I can look for opportunities to say the kind word, not the nasty one, and hope for a better character. And I believe those plums will soon be nestled in jars and bags waiting to delight my taste buds this winter. Then I take heart for another day of cultivating my personal garden.

Fear not to do good, my sons, for whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap;
therefore, if ye sow good ye shall also reap good for your reward.
(LDS Doctrine & Covenants 6:33)

Book Review: When my kids were little, I came across a delightful book that I think I enjoyed even more than they did: The Carrot Seed by Ruth Krauss. It’s about a little boy who plants a carrot seed, and his whole family tells him that “it won’t come up.” But the little boy continues to care for his seed anyway, believing that it will. All you gardeners out there know that carrot seeds are tiny and notoriously slow to germinate. Even though it’s very short, The Carrot Seed packs a real punch, especially if you’re down and don’t feel like the projects you’re nurturing will ever bear fruit!

The Carrot Seed Book Cover
Author’s Image of Own Book

Lessons from Plants

This year I decided to splurge on flowers, so I bought lots of “wave” pansies that did very well this spring on my back patio. Then I bought three gorgeous hanging baskets dominated by varying shades of purple, accented with white. I put two of them side-by-side in a metal “half barrel” planter which was an unbridled success. But the prize goes to the third basket hanging from the corner of my carport for all to enjoy.

This basket came in the usual plastic pot with its own hanger. I knew from experience that it would dry out quickly in its small pot, and need once or even twice daily watering. So I took it down before the heat hit full force and gingerly removed it from its pot. I lost a few small branches but not too serious. Then I struggled to get it out of the old pot and replant in a larger one which I filled with extra rich potting soil and lots of organic compost. I lost even more greenery. Then came the real challenge: placing the pot in my sturdy metal basket with real chains without more damage. After an annoying struggle with the chains trying to position the plant, I was ready to hang my prize.

The pot by this time was heavier than I wanted to lift, plus you have to get on a step stool to reach the hook. No one was around to help me and I was impatient. I thought I could hold my creation on the handle of my step stool with one hand while reaching up for the wire hanger, but disaster struck: The pot escaped the hanger, fell, and landed on the cement – heartbreak! I started all over to rescue my darling: unhooking the chains again, tenderly righting the plant, scooping soil back in the pot, and replanting the now bedraggled plants. I called a neighbor to help hold the pot high enough to reach the hook. Success finally came, but my plant was a sorry sight. I trimmed, watered, and apologized to the poor thing, then hoped nature would heal my crimes against it.

It took a while but it’s back giving pleasure to all, except for one gap that reminds me of life’s fragility, the need to respect all the steps, and not take shortcuts. Fortunately, nature is forgiving and the plant is more lush than ever. (See my photo below.) I’m like this plant, a little battered but still surviving life’s bumps and knocks.

I’ve learned lots of lessons from plants over the years. Here are a few more:

This same basket still needs to be watered daily, and twice if the temperature gets above about 98°. Remorse has made me take extra care of this plant, so I’ve gotten into the habit of “dead heading” it during my morning watering. I’m amazed at how many dead and wilted blooms I remove each day. Last week I observed that this process is a lot like self-improvement. As an adult discovering Christianity, I found I had lots of bad habits that needed dead-heading too. So as I pluck wilted flowers, I think about the unworthy thoughts and actions I need to pluck out of me.
Plants, like people, can become “root bound” – stuck in our comfort zones and missing opportunities for positive change. In plants, the roots gradually absorb much of the soil or crowd it out, then grow in tight circles around the sides and bottom of their pot. The plant suffers, producing fewer flowers and not growing. Then it just needs to be tapped out of the old pot, the root ball loosened and put in a larger pot with fresh soil. Loosening the intertwined roots often tears them, and I imagine I hear them complaining, “How could you do this to us?” – just like we complain to God when faced with a major life transition. But sometimes it’s the only way to get increased growth and productivity, in us and in plants.
Finally, “. . .whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap” (Galatians 6:7). I’ve tried just putting a commercial hanging basket out and was always disappointed when the flowers drooped in the heat no matter how much you watered, their colors faded, or they just failed to thrive. This year, my basket got the royal treatment: larger pot; better, richly fertilized soil; plenty of sun and water; and finally dead heading the spent blooms to encourage maximum growth. The result is pretty spectacular – truly “joy in the harvest.”

What are you planting or nurturing? Is life repotting you? Remember you’ll bloom again!

Life’s Magic

In the movie Sleepless in Seattle, the lead character’s mother described her first meeting with her father …. It was magic. Then Tom Hanks’ character describes taking his dead wife’s hand for the first time : It was magic! Meg Ryan’s character realized she didn’t have that with her fiance and decided she didn’t want to live without it. Neither do I, and I expect no one does.

I think we can all recall times of magic in our lives. Time stands still, a new emotional and spiritual reality envelopes us, and a peak experience emerges. As I get older (happening mighty fast!), I like to look back on some of my magical experiences.

The summer after high school graduation, I worked as a waitress at a summer resort in Wisconsin. A guest named Mike, a law student from Northwestern University, dated me the week he was there. We went to Leibkins and ate ice cream in the afternoons, drove to a corn roast after dinner wrapped in a blanket in a convertible with our friends. Then we ended up at 1:00 in the morning sitting on deck chairs, holding hands, watching moonlight on the water, and discussing our philosophies of life. He was smart, funny, and a complete gentleman. For those few days, we lived in a small world of our own – carefree, interesting and magical.

Pete and I moved to New Hampshire after graduate school following an exploratory visit. During our very first drive up Highway 123 between Peterborough and Stoddard, we were suddenly captivated by the leafy forest overhead and the filtered sunlight, creating a yellow green world very like being underwater. It was enchanting, and the magic descended. Our friends Peter and Peggy put us up while we looked at houses and the guys built fences. We lived there three years, had two children, then divorced. Pete never left.

As a single mom during the next three years, still in New England, I discovered English country dancing, held in local town halls and churches. My friends and I carpooled each weekend along winding wooded roads, scurrying into the hall right at 8:30, like leaves blowing off the trees. We danced until midnight to centuries-old fiddle, concertina, and penny whistle music: reels, contra dancing, and occasional round dances. No alcohol, no drugs, but we were high on movement, music, and the shadow of colonial history you could still feel. Absolute magic. Have a listen on CD Baby.

One of those winters, a boyfriend took me on his snowmobile into inaccessible woods and lakes. We passed waterfalls that froze in colors: blue, green, pink, and yellow because of the abundant minerals the water washed out of the rocky hillsides. A white, frozen world where one could fantasize about figure skating alone on Center Pond at midnight under an archetypal night sky, all mauve, gray and pearly white. More magic.

Later, entering the world of my children through late night walks in summer, watching our shadows grow longer and longer, talking about anything and everything. Starting the PBS miniseries, Middlemarch, at 11 pm with daughter Amanda on another summer evening years later, not ending until 4:00 am, and then going out for a walk to reflect on a great story. Picking Peter up from the dude ranch where he worked right after high school and listening to his stories of riding horses (I only landed on my head twice!) and playing with bull snakes in the hay fields.

Finally, I’ve been blessed with many magical experiences communing with the divine. Just this morning early, a pool of golden light – reflected through a small window opposite – appeared on my family photos and the picture of the Salt Lake Temple skyline at sunset right above them. It only lasted a few minutes but it seemed to be a direct message about the eternal nature of my family and the promises found in our temples. This is a magic that will never end.

Please post any of your special memories for us all to enjoy.

Frozen Waterfall
Courtesy PublicDomainPictures.net Image 11480

Tackling Big Challenges

When I was working full-time, it was easier to structure my time. At work, I had deadlines and many set tasks that carried me through my day. As soon as I walked in my door, I opened mail, put away my shopping, and started dinner without batting an eyelash. The momentum of the day carried me past dinnertime. By the time I could quit, the critical things were done and I could relax.

Now that I’m mostly retired, I find time management to be a bigger challenge. You’d think with more time and fewer tasks, it would be easier! But now I am getting to the projects I’d had to put off previously: deeper gospel study, gardening, keeping up with friends, bigger projects with grandkids, and finally getting my house really in order.

It helps me to remember a freelance photographer describing how he worked. He categorized work into A, B, and C TASKS:

A‘s were the big ones – they take time as well as creative and emotional energy – easy to put off. Examples: Writing my blog post for the week or cooking a company dinner.
B‘s are medium sized – still somewhat time-consuming but less daunting: Editing and typing the final draft of a report or doing an hour’s ironing.
C‘s are short and easy – we can string several together and hardly feel it: Emptying the dishwasher, checking email, changing the laundry, etc.

Then he went on to talk about A, B, and C TIME:

A‘s are peak energy and a bigger chunk of time – mornings for most of us, long evenings for night owls.
B‘s are winding up or winding down time – transitioning out of high energy – and a little shorter.
C‘s are low energy times when we need to relax, putter around, and reflect, and may only be a few minutes.

Here’s the kicker: We need to match A Tasks with A Time and so on, for maximum productivity. I then remembered a talk on time management with an object lesson (shown below), using tennis balls, ping pong balls and marbles (A, B, and C Tasks) in a bowl (the productive part of your day). The speaker made the point that if you start filling your day with the multitude of easy tasks facing you, then move to the harder ones, and leaving the big tough ones until last, it will look like the bowl on the left. You’ll get to the end of your day facing the biggest tasks when you’re most tired and least motivated. You’ll feel guilty for not getting to all of them. And you’ll have gaps in your day when you’re bored but don’t have enough time to tackle the big projects, so you can’t really relax and enjoy it.

Now look at the bowl on the right. The same number of tasks are facing you, but you start by tackling A Tasks in A Time, then fill in the remaining time with B Tasks first, and C Tasks second. This way, you can both pace yourself and get it all done before the end of your day.

I’ve been holding my feet to the fire this week and tackling the daunting projects early in the day, early in the week, and at the peak of my energy. I still want to procrastinate, but my mantra is NO EXCUSES! And here’s the payday: There’s more satisfaction – way more – tied to A Tasks relative to the time and energy invested, and far more momentum to carry us into the next big project than if we miss that peak moment.

Tuesday I forced myself to go out in the heat of early afternoon and face my research goal at our local Family History Center. I was rusty and had hit wall after wall this spring while working on my own. This time, with help from two wonderful women, I identified my great grandmother Anderson’s brother Frederick to flesh out his family and do their temple work. He married Arianna Lorton in his late thirties, died five years later, childless, all in Davenport, Iowa. Arianna buried him in Chicago and moved there. Three years later, census records show her working as a hairdresser and as a Boarder with a single woman with a Machine Shop. I imagined them with living quarters above the shop, possibly with other boarders. Arianna’s death record many years later show her name still as Anderson; I assume she never remarried. I found her parents and siblings in the area, so she wasn’t alone. It felt like a little window back into history, and it tugged at my heart. Frederick was my great grandmother’s only sibling. I imagine she greatly missed him and will be thrilled to have them sealed to their family for the next life.

A final memory comes back to me: diving off the board at the City Pool as a teenager. I would walk quickly to the end and jump straight up while pushing the end of the board downward. As I dropped, the board came up, hitting my feet to spring me into the air and give my dive energy and height. If you hit it just right, it’s a little scary but much more exciting than just diving off the end of a stationary board. Using our creative energy synchronized with life’s timing is a lot like that. My second post, The Gems Within, talks about a life force out there that wants to work through us. Now I realize we have to use it at flood tide and not when it’s ebbing away – the ride into shore is thrilling and worth the effort!

Diver on Springboard
Courtesy Wikipedia Commons

Waiting Upon the Lord

Last week I got stuck for a topic for my weekly post. No idea I tried out really went anywhere. Then I happened to see a rebroadcast of the Elizabeth Gilbert interview on PBS’ Great Conversations that I had mentioned in a previous post, The Gems Within – specifically her observation that there is a spirit in the universe that’s seeking human expression. If we don’t let it work in us, it will move on to someone else who will respond.

This time, though, I was struck by a different thought. She reported that a songwriter friend of hers would either get stuck for inspiration or not be able to develop any ideas he did have. He told Elizabeth he would have a conversation with this spirit and say, “I really need you to show up – I can’t do this on my own!” I realized that I had felt that inspiration on all earlier posts and I sure needed it now. After all, God inspired me to start this blog, and I’ve been so happy to get reports that a particular post had given a reader a needed boost or insight, in ways I can only attribute to the Lord’s special knowledge of their needs.

So I decided to not force it but just keep praying and thinking until I felt that familiar rush of excitement and certainty that I was on the right track. It’s getting the focus or central thought right, then everything else falls into place. That was Thursday night and I’d been pondering for two days. I got up last Friday morning and the idea “showed up.” It was almost a duh! because the inspiration that got me out of being stuck was writing about being stuck! (One Foot Into the Darkness)

So today’s post is really a continuation of last week’s – the first step or that first blow on a wedge is our part. I’d sorted through my thoughts and started to write, but I couldn’t proceed without divine inspiration. Receiving that required a different sort of action – active waiting – mirroring this scripture from Isaiah:

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary;
and they shall walk, and not faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

Now I get this scripture and I really learned the lesson through teaching Sunday School for over two years. I could study and lay out a lesson, but on my own I struggled to create the right focus or impact. I needed to think, ask, and wait, then repeat as often as necessary. (Hey, that could be a book title, like Eat, Pray, Love!)

It was active waiting, expectant waiting, anticipatory waiting that got my silent partner to participate. The guidance was subtle and often last minute, but it always came. And it brought an excitement that felt just like I’d expect mounting up with the wings as eagles to feel. That three-way connection between me, my readers, and God is a total trip, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and socially. It’s not work, it’s fulfillment – thanks for participating!

For more insights, you might read the LDS Bible Dictionary on Prayer, the next to last paragraph, available online or the linked scriptures in the LDS Topical Guide under Ask.

From The Virgin of the Rocks, Leonardo da Vinci
The National Gallery, London, public domain image

One Foot Into the Darkness

As I rest and gather my forces for what may be coming up on the horizon, I find myself being dragged towards sloth. I watch the birds at my feeder long enough that I’m almost starting to name them. The house has never been so clean and orderly. I read scriptures twice a day and keep up with friends. But I’m not plugging into the larger picture. Finally I realize that the future isn’t just going to happen to me but it’s something I have to help co-create.

What’s calling to me? Family history research, increased temple attendance, finding ways to “defend the faith” online, plus unearthing those special real estate clients for whom I’m the right match. And of course, more writing. I have a small booklet on managing children’s behavior I wrote during my teaching days that I want to convert to an ebook and my phonics readers to publish. It all looks rather daunting, so I’m tempted to retreat back into more trivial pursuits, like perfecting my gluten-free crepe recipe!

Recalling again the Lord’s counsel to Joshua, about to lead the Israelites into the Promised Land: Be strong and of a good courage, . . . I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. (Joshua 1:5-6) And He didn’t: The Israelites prevailed over the idolatrous Caanites. I could therefore attack my to-do list with courage and confidence. However, my energy level won’t stand a big push right now, so I remembered other counsel, given to Elder Boyd K. Packer, soon after being called as an LDS General Authority:

I was very willing to be obedient but saw no way possible for me to do as he counseled me to do. I returned to Elder [Harold B. ] Lee and told him that I saw no way to move in the direction I was counseled to go. He said, “The trouble with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.” I replied that I would like to see at least a step or two ahead. Then came the lesson of a lifetime: “You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you” (“The Edge of the Light,” BYU Today, March 1991, 22–23).

So I’m resolving to just take the first steps on my projects. This afternoon I’ll toodle off to the temple and perform an endowment for a female ancestor who’s waited long enough. The Lord blessed me with the inspiration for this post last night, so it flowed easily. I’ll print my real estate flyers today and mail them on Monday. Next week, I’ll read up on ebooks and research blog directories to find missionary opportunities.

Then I remembered a lesson from my days living in the woods of New Hampshire. We burned wood for most of our heat, much of which needed to be split. We used the “hard” varieties like maple and oak which mightily resisted being split with an ax, even a sharp one. So Pete and I learned to use a wedge and maul. You make the first cut with an ax, then insert the point of the wedge, driving it down progressively with each strike of the maul. Finally, the thing splits in two. In a battle between the tortoise and the hare, the tortoise wins here every time.

So if you’re facing a daunting challenge, remember you only have to make one strike at a time, but each strike widens the split in the wood, giving momentum to our motivation. The wedge, or God’s grace, is the multiplier.

Splitting Wood
Courtesy Pixabay.com Image 5916

He Heals My Heart

Finding God's Grace in Today's World