Bid Thine Heart All Strife To Cease

Vanetta was one of the things I was most looking forward to about coming back.
She was the woman I so wanted to be.


She was good at literally everything.

Her and I went to a shotgun shooting class.
I had never seen a gun in real life before that day.
On the way over I shared that with her and she assured me:
We're both going to learn.
We got there and Vanetta opened her trunk and took out two guns.
Her own- that her Dad made for her.
And one for me.
Through our lessons that day we each shot 50 clay pigeons.
I hit 6 that day.
Vanetta hit 48.

The summer I was 25 we went fishing every Saturday.
We just did.
I went with her and Paul and Kent.
Even when Ken was working.
We had taught ourselves to fly fish.
And were so proud to be "purists."
Like Kent.
Kent and Paul had waded out to their chests and were casting and casting and casting.
It was so hot.
Especially in waders.
I looked over and saw Vanetta heading towards shallower waters.
I followed her and we set our rods in the boat and then
We sat in the water.
And cooled ourselves.
We looked at the rocks.
And the snails.
And ran our fingers through the water.
And she said:
Isn't it amazing that God made this for us today?

We were Visiting Teaching partners.
Our deal was she would call and set up the appointments and I would give the lesson.
She was such a natural talking to people.
Relating to people.
Once we were supposed to meet with a lady who wasn't active in the church.
When we got there the lady wasn't home so Vanetta asked her husband if we could meet with him!
We stayed for an hour and a half.
Just chatting.
Then she had me give my lesson.
After we'd leave each house she would tell me what a natural teacher I was.
She'd tell me how good I was at talking to people.
How I could relate to them in ways she couldn't.
I never saw that in me.

When I found out I had a brain tumor and told Vanetta about it she was dead set on zoning it out of me.
She gave me foot zones three times a week.
She brought oils over.
And gave me gross drinks to drink.
Like Living Thyme.  And Kombucha.
She'd rub my feet and speak so optimistically about my future.
She'd tell me how smart she thought I was.
And how strong she thought I was.
She'd tell me what beautiful babies she'd thought I would have one day.
She never believed my tumor would cause infertility.
Like my doctors said it would.
Like I believed it was.
She'd smile and her cheeks would go clear up.
And her eyes would sparkle like a thousand Christmas stars.
And she'd say:
You're gonna be a great Mom some day.

And I got pregnant.
And, I think, Vanetta always kinda' counted Kole as hers a little bit.
She was responsible for that baby getting to me.
She gave me teas for morning sickness.
She brought different oils.
And kept on zoning.
She brought clothes for the baby and slippers and books.
And a few weeks before the baby came... she threw me an outrageous baby shower.
She cleared all the furniture out of her house to accommodate. 
I remember she put peas in her chicken salad that day.
That day she always had her hand on my back or around my shoulders.
A few times she held my hand.  And patted it.
When the clean up was done and I was still eating cake she said:
We did it.
And something then, and now, made me think she was talking about more than putting chairs away.
And I wish I still had one of those little bottles of oil to smell.
I'd just sit.
And smell it.


When I went to the hospital at 4 in the morning...we called our parents.
And then called Vanetta.
She was the first person to hold him.
I can't believe I don't have a picture of that.
Maybe Kent does.
I'd like one.


Vanetta was gracious and lovely.
She had a naivete that I longed to possess.
She never said anything mean.  Ever.
She never even said, "I really shouldn't say this but,"...
She had class.
The old kind.

She thought Kent looked like Nicholas Cage.
She snorted when she laughed.
She sang alto.
I was always her partner in Pinochle.
I never led the round.
I'd tease myself that at least I was a good supporter.
She'd say:
You're good at everything.

I love how she smelled.
Earthy and natural with something... extra.  Something spicy.
I loved her hair.
Especially when her gray was coming in.
Because mine is the same way.
I loved all the bright colors she'd wear to church.
And how she'd tuck her shirts in even when she was dressed casually.
I love that she thought I was tall.
And pretty.
And smart.
And good at things.

She came and saw me the first day we moved to Farmington.
And I just...
...
thought she'd come see me on our first days back in Idaho Falls.

Vanetta was calm.
And calming.
She had things figured out.
She helped everyone.
This effect she had on me... making me feel like her own...
Everyone feels this same way about her.
How did she do that?

For nearly a week I've been thinking:
Now there is this void.
And no one can fill it.
No one is like her.

No one is.
And, at first, that made me mad.

And then today I thought:
I can still try to be.
That was my unspoken goal anyhow.
I can still give.
Give love.

And hope.
Just give.
Everything.
With all my heart.

I think maybe that was her secret.

 


  



 

Page 281

This ward sings some songs I don't know des temps en temps.  What am I saying "des temps en temps"... they sing weird ones consistently.  I prefer the Hits. Babe. Nothing but the Hits.   

There is Sunshine In My Soul Today
How Great Thou Art
I Believe In Christ
I Stand All Amazed

The Hits!  I like to sing and swing a little.  Do a little reverent head bopping.  We get the hits sometimes but it seems like every week there's an old one in there.  One I've never heard of.  One that makes Kole look at me all cock-eyed since I sing three-quarters of the notes wrong.  (We Are All Enlisted!  Another Chart Topper!)  With the deep crush I've developed on this ward I've just decided to roll with it.  I thought, "Maybe these people are the exceptional people they are because they don't judge hymns... or people."  So I decided to open my heart to the crazy ol' Hymns they sing.  All my faves, all the bland ones, and all the ones I've never heard.  In doing so- we sang a hymn that has become my favorite.  Page 281. (shuffling for hymnals.)

Help Me Teach with Inspiration
Grant this blessing, Lord, I pray.
Help me lift a soul's ambition
To a higher, nobler way.

Help me reach a friend in darkness;
Help me guide him through the night.
Help me show thy path to glory
By the Spirit's holy light.

Fill my mind with understanding;
Tune my voice to echo thine.
Touch my hand with gentle friendship;
Warm my heart with love divine.

Help me find thy lambs who wander;
Help me bring them to thy keep.
Teach me, Lord, to be a shepherd;
Father help me feed they sheep.

I give you a second to wipe your tears and enjoy that warmth in your chest.
Those lyrics! 
"Lift a soul's ambition..."
AH!
"Reach a friend in darkness..." "Touch my hand with gentle friendship..."
SING IT!

It's soft and lovely.
It is what living in this house, in this ward, for the last year has been to me.
A true lifting.
I feel like the best version of myself when I am surrounded by these people.
I feel calm.
And gracious.
And loved.

It will be hard to move away.
Next Wednesday.

P.S.
Do wards have theme songs?

Cuz 'dat Hymn should be it.
Well... that or... Beautiful by Snoop Dogg feat. Pharrell.  Everyone is just gorgeous. Gorgeous! Like Vampire Gorgeous.

B is for Believe in Magic

When we were younger, my sister, Victoria, claimed she had magical powers.  She could do anything if everyone believed in her 100%.  If one person had one iota of doubt... her powers were diminished.  I can remember a Saturday when we were in charge of cleaning the garage.  (I think we had plans to make it into a rollerskating rink.)  We had completed and were left with a huge pile of dirt mixed with spiders in the middle of the garage. Victoria said she could make the pile disappear with her magical powers.  Rounds of "prove it" broke out.  Victoria closed her eyes, stretched out her hand, and the pile remained.  Someone didn't believe.  The magic wouldn't work.  Vicky assured us that one of us lacked belief.  Because her powers were real.
I was a believer then and I'm a believer now.
Victoria does have magical powers.

She travels, dances, judges food contests, paints.  She writes, runs in marathons, she has impeccable taste in .... gosh, everything.   Victoria is a force for good in her community.  People are drawn to her.
Like magic.
And it's taken me 28 years- but I think I've figured out her trick.
It doesn't matter if everyone or anyone believes she can do it.
Victoria believes she can do it.
So she can do anything.
Her magic lies within her because she knows who she is. 
When I listen to Victoria talk about her wife, her most recent publications, her latest favorite song... it's like an incantation. 
She pours her spell over me and suddenly, I feel magical too.
I'm excited about Hanson or organic farms in Allegheny County.  I care about things I had never heard of up until 5 minutes ago.  And not only that...
I feel like I can do anything and be good at it.

The key to Victoria's magic is confidence.

There is no need to be afraid of confidence.
Especially in yourself.  It isn't vain.  It isn't prideful.
It's comforting, inviting, and exciting.

If you don't feel like yourself...
Try new things until you find something that excites you.
Maybe it will be a musical instrument.
Or slam poetry.
Or taking walks.
Maybe you'll enjoy watching birds.
Watching movies.
Or crochet.
Eat foods you love and then try a dessert you've never had.
Visit a place you've never been.  And bring a book.
If you've tried something and don't feel comfortable.
Stop.
Try something else.
Look in your local paper for classes that are available.
Pottery, gardening, writing, parenting, photography, karate, sculpting, bonsai.

Once you find what delights you, stick with it.

You will feel like a burning version of yourself.
Alight and alive.

You'll feel magical.

Victoria.

So you know that I love me or in case you wanted to know a little more: Patters
Last year's A to Z: Barbies
B could also be for Big Bully

One Year Ago

On this day last year I got the MRI results that confirmed my brain tumor. It seems like a long time ago.
I remember when the doctor first told me she thought something was wrong. She didn't know what it was but she confirmed my feelings that something wasn't right. I was given order after order for an executive panel of procedures and tests. I arrived at Quest Diagnostics for the first of my tests. I was ushered back to the lab room. I saw the needles. Somewhat longer and thicker than ones used for normal tests. As the nurse rubbed iodine on my arm I asked, "Will it hurt?" She wasn't truthful and told me no.
Looking back I have thought if before I came to Earth if I asked Heavenly Father, "Will it hurt?" He would have said, "Yes, it will hurt."
I have learned that life hurts. Sometimes something happens. And your heart breaks. Something happens that threatens all sense of logic or hope or certainty... sometimes- even faith. You don't feel like a whole person. Something happens and no matter how you emerge, nothing will ever be the same. Your life is changed forever not only by the pain but by facing your need to heal. Healing hurts. Healing beings only when we face the hurt in its full force and then grow through it with all the strength of our soul.
I need to be healed. I am learning that you cannot simply take a day off and return healed. Although I wish I could. Healing is a 5-step process. Maybe more. I'm up to 5 so far.
The first thing I have learned is healing is active.
I have to participate. Ken, my mom, my friends cannot do it for me. You have to face the problem. And the pain. To begin healing you must acknowledge and feel the hurt. You must realize that Heavenly Father is going to help you. That was my first hurtle. I have always had an intense faith in God. Never shaken. I knew God still did miracles. I had seen it happen to other people hundred of times. But had it ever happened to me? Why would God help me?
I found a scripture in Mark.
Mark 9:24- "And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."
I went to God in tears with the same plea. Help thou mine unbelief. Please. The world was silent. I waited for God to help me. And, in time, He did. Once God confirmed that He would help me I was ready to be cured. I prayed for God to cure me. I asked for a blessing so God would cure me. But the blessing I received said nothing about being restored to perfect health. I was blessed with a knowledge that God loved me and was aware of me and was well pleased. I was blessed with patience to deal with the doctors I would see. I was blessed to stay strong and to be able to endure what lied ahead. I was blessed to rely on my husband. The blessing did not even allude to being cured or healed. Curing and healing are not synonymous.
Cure is medical. Clean, scientific, relatively quick.
Healing may involve a lifelong process of recovery and growth. In spite of- or perhaps because of- enduring physical or emotional pain. It requires time. I prayed for a cure when I really need healing. Whether for cell reconstruction, for emotional recovery, or for spiritual forgiveness, we all need healing. And it takes time and energy.
The second thing I have found is healing is private.
The hymn, "Lord, I would Follow Thee" describes "hidden sorrow" in a "quiet heart."
When I was diagnosed- I didn't want to tell anyone. I didn't want help. I didn't want sympathy. It was a terrible blow. I was so afraid. Afraid of what was going to happen. Afraid of how people would react. Afraid of how my life was going to progress. Or not progress. I couldn't even say the words. The small words brought fear into my life I had never experienced before. I spent a lot of time with hidden sorrow in my quiet heart.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell taught:
There is, in the suffering of the highest order, a point that is reached- a point of aloneness- when the individual must bear it... alone. Even the faithful may wonder if they can take it any more or if they are in some way forsaken.
I first had to face the pain alone. I had to face the hurt alone. I had to face the truth... alone. It was absolutely necessary to do so. I would look in my mirror at home and tell myself my diagnosis and all the facts I knew about it. I wrote it down. I repeated it in my head like a mantra. I kept it inside of me and I faced the pain. It was weeks before I could talk about it. Once I could I felt ready to venture out. I wanted to tell someone. I felt a need to share my hurt. But I didn't know how and I was still too afraid. Hurt is personal. So personal the thought of sharing it literally paralyzed me with fear. I came across my next stepping stone scripture in John.
John 14:27
Peace I leave you, me peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
...Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
My heart swam with confidence. Confidence in God and in myself. I was healing again. Instantly. I was healing again. Healing happens quietly, while you face the pain. It happens over time as you live, work, study, and accept from others. I do not think private healing can happen without the help of others.
This was the third thing I learned.
Once Heavenly Father calmed my troubled heart I opened it to those around me. The outpouring of hope and love was beyond my belief. It was sincere. People honestly cared and possessed the faith I needed to see to carry on. Help came through phone calls, notes, e-mails, blog comments, messages on Facebook, photos, visits, packages, gifts, and my favorite--- treats! I needed people. Friends. To help me heal.
When we have a terrible loss... Or pain. We try to get back to normal. Back to the way things were before. But they will never be the same. Pain changes us.
But, Healing changes us. The fourth thing I leaned is Healing changes us. Healing can help us become more sensitive and awake to life. Healing inspires repentance and obedience. Healing invites gifts of humility and faith. It opens our hearts to profound complexities of truth, beauty, divinity, and grace.
Orson Whitney said:
No pain that we suffer is wasted. It ministers to our educations, to the development of patience, faith, fortitude, and humility. All the suffer..., especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable.
When you feel pain or hurt or loss, and you make it past the initial shock or fear. You see your life in a new way. I saw my life in a new way. My life is a gift not a burden. Not a trial. I am in charge of my life. I call all the shots in my life. Am I calling the right ones?
Then, change that.
Become new, and fresh, and lovely again.
The fifth thing I have learned is I'm not the only one hurting right now. Someone is hurting. Someone is afraid. Someone is disappointed. Someone feels inadequate. Someone needs a friend. Someone needs to be noticed. Someone needs healed. Sometimes I think that "someone" is only me. But it's not. I can help that someone heal. I can give encouragement and hope and love to that someone just like people are giving it to me. It is necessary for me to help others in order to heal myself.
When Jesus was on this earth his mission was devoted to healing. When He called the twelve apostles, He specifically gave them the power to heal and told them to use their gifts freely. Use the gift to heal freely.
It doesn't always feel that way though, does it?
Now, after a year of medical treatment I wasn't cured like the doctors though I would be. I'm not healed either. Maybe the curing and the healing are going at the same pace. It's hard. Sometimes I feel like I just got the news for the first time. But I'm working on it. Every day. I am working on it. I know that Heavenly Father is going to heal me.
I know because of this scripture:
2 Kings 20:5
"... I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will heal thee."
I will be healed.
I know God lives and I know He will heal me.