Reflections

Back when I changed my name, started trying to be true to myself, etc., I think I may have thrown out the baby with the bathwater. I was so determined to quit trying to be a perfect Mormon housewife just for the sake of fitting in that I also foolishly quit doing things I genuinely enjoyed. 

It’s kind of like when I first met Joe. All my friends were telling me how perfect we would be together, and I was so annoyed that I’d made up my mind not to like him and not to go out with him. It finally occurred to me that not doing something just because everyone was telling me I should was as foolish as doing what they said for that reason only. So I decided to go out with him and see what happened. And the rest, as they say, is history.

So right now what I don’t have is money to spare. What I do have is plenty of flour. I bought a jar of yeast a few days ago for less than the cost of a single loaf of bread. And now I have two loaves of bread in loaf pans, sitting on the stove, covered with a dishcloth, silently doing their work and rising. In another couple of hours, I’ll have two loaves of piping hot bread, and I’m going to slice off the heel of one loaf, slather it with butter and jam, and thank my Heavenly Father for blessing us.

I do like to cook, and bake. I’ve let myself get so busy with other things that I forgot about those small pleasures. And since we followed the counsel of the prophets, at least in this one thing, we have plenty of food storage from which I can prepare good meals. I spent about $9 today at the farmers’ market on some fresh peaches, an apple, some green beans, some cherries, and a nice onion. Dinner tonight will be stir-fried vegetables with strips of steak left over from last night.

I also realized that even though I declared a moratorium on crafts those years ago, I actually do enjoy doing some crafts. And does it really matter if I can’t do something perfectly, or if it doesn’t measure up to what I’d wanted to do? Why should I let my perfectionist standards keep me from doing something badly, as long as I enjoy doing it?

So I’m back to allowing that part of myself back out into the light, and I may be baking more and I may make some jam and I may do some dreadful crafts. And as long as the bread’s good and there’s light and life and love in my house, that’ll be just fine.

Disguised Blessings

Joe lost his cell phone this weekend. Such a bald statement that evokes none of the drama that took place at our house. We don’t use a landline at home, and Joe is on the road at least 45 weeks out of the year for his job. Our cell phones are our lifeline. 

Usually when something is missing, I pray, and we find whatever it is within a few minutes. And I have been praying about that phone since I got home from church on Sunday to find that he’d lost it. Since faith without works is dead, I, Faith (haha) was working diligently to back up my prayers by searching everywhere I could think of. No luck.

Joe’s been on vacation this week, and he’s continued searching for the phone. Again, no luck. So today he bit the bullet and went to get a new phone. The new phone cost something like $57, and there’s a $50 mail-in rebate, and they gave him a $70 credit on our bill, but he needed to buy a new protective carrying case thingie, so we’re ahead about $30. From losing his phone, we gain money. Go figure.

And there are some other disguised blessings that we’re seeing right now. We’ve been paying ghastly amounts of money for our cable tv service. He doesn’t use it (see paragraph a, above), and I virtually never watch television. We do need to keep our internet service, but he can voucher that as a work expense, since he uses it for work related purposes. I’ve been paying for Net*flix out of my personal allowance, and we’ve decided to keep that.  I talked to the cable company today, and am arranging to cancel the cable television service and keep only the internet. So a bill that was costing us about $150 a month has now effectively shrunk to $20 out of pocket for us.

We’ve been having I*R*S problems this week. Well, the problems have been ongoing for a while, but they reached a head this week. But because of the problems, I think we’re actually going to come out better because it’s forcing us to work together on the whole budget issue. The budget has been in his hands the last couple of years, but we’ve been rather cavalier about the whole things, beyond making sure that our obligations are met and that we’re diligently paying down the credit cards.

So it’s been a terrible, awful, no good, very bad week. And yet, it’s been a wonderful, beautiful, blessed, lovely week at the same time. It’s a mystery.

Dive In

Have you ever gone to the beach or a swimming pool on a really hot day? You really want to get into that refreshing water, but it seems so cold in contrast to the heat.

There are usually two ways to get in the water. The first way involves sticking in a toe or two, quickly withdrawing it because the water’s so cold. Then you try again, putting a little more of your foot into the water. Lather, rinse, and repeat until you’ve finally managed, with a lot of shivering and gasps, to get yourself all the way into the water.

The other way is faster and, in the long run, a lot less painless.  You hold your nose and jump. The initial blast of cold water can temporarily take your breath away, but only for a moment, and then you’re splashing around having a lot of fun.

That’s how I feel about getting back into church. I want to just dive in and do it. I get to enjoy it longer, and don’t have all the painful adjustments to go through. I’m just there. And the water feels great.

Treasures at the Book Store

During my lunch break today, after running the errands that needed to get done, I stopped in for a brief visit at Half-Price Books. I was really wanting some MoTab music, but couldn’t find anything. I checked in the religious books, to see their incredibly small selection of LDS books–nothing that I didn’t already have. While I was there, I decided to get a copy of C.S. Lewis’s Screwtape Letters for a quick re-read before I pass it along to a friend.

Then, as I was standing in line to pay, I saw the golden snitch: CDs of James Earl Jones reading the King James Version of the New Testament priced at $20. I have a copy of the Book of Mormon on CD already, and oh, how I would love it if James Earl Jones would read that.  Anyway, back to my point–I did quickly snatch it up and listened to the first four chapters of Matthew on the drive back to the office. I love his voice!!

Also, my beloved sister Izzybella sent me an e-gift certificate to Deseret Book for Mother’s Day. She knows how difficult Mother’s Day tends to be for me, and she said she wants me to know that she fully supports my efforts to get my life in order. I was very moved by her characteristic kindness–she’s always doing things like that, and it means a lot to me. Anyway, I got the DVD Praise To the Man, and a Neal A. Maxwell book, Not My Will But Thine. They should be coming soon in the mail, and I can hardly wait to devour them.

Mother’s Day

There is a fantastic post over at Feminist Mormon Housewives about Mother’s Day for the Motherless and Infertile.  Mother’s Day has been a very painful day for me for a long time, but not, fortunately, because I’m motherless. In fact, I have a plethora of mothers. Let me tell you about them.

First there’s my Mom. She loves me so much that she carried me the two extra months when I refused to enter this earth. She even loves me so much that when she finally did go into labour on December 7th, she kept begging for me not to be born on Pearl Harbour Day. I granted her desire, popping out on the 8th to say hello. She’s encouraged me in every pursuit. She indulged my book habit. She made fun of me when I needed to be made fun of, and laughed at my smart-alecky comments when I was a kid. We had some strain as I hit my teenage years, but what mother-daughter pair doesn’t? I’ve been proud of her all my life. She sets her focus on what she wants, and she goes out and makes it happen. She was the first female certified latent fingerprint examiner in the state of Georgia. She has her Ph.D. She has taught high school and college. She has published numerous books, including fiction and non-fiction. She loves me. And I love her.

Then there’s the Monster. You know, the wicked step-monster of fairy tale fiction. Well, not so much with the wicked, although we had a good stretch where we cordially disliked each other. I’m not sure when that began to change. I know that we both made efforts to overcome it, because obviously we were going to be part of each other’s lives whether we wanted to or not. She loves my Dad with all her heart, and I appreciate that. And she hides a soft, mushy heart under what can be a stern and off-putting exterior. I’m pleased to tell you that not only do I love her, I really like her.

My sweet mother-in-law is older than my other mothers. Where I was the oldest of 3 that my mother gave birth to, my husband is the 5th of 6 children. She has the softest heart I’ve ever encountered, and she loves all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I haven’t gotten to spend as much time with her as I’d have liked to, since we’ve lived far away ever since we’ve been married. When we are together, I see her loving tenderness towards all the family.

And now that I’ve told you about my mothers, let me tell you about my children. I know, I know. I don’t have any. Well, that’s not strictly true. See, for several years before the IVF in 2000, I knew that I was going to have a pair of twins, a boy and a girl. And I knew what their names were going to be. I was actually nervous about my son’s name, because I felt that his first name would be the name of my husband’s birth father rather than his step-father. I’ve never met Joe’s birth father. He passed away before I came into the family. And Joe didn’t necessarily have real great memories of him. So how could I tell my husband that I wanted to name our son after his father?  So I kept proposing different names, and one day while we were in the car, Joe asked me a question. “What,” he said, “if I know our son’s name and you don’t?” I immediately said that he was the priesthood holder and the head of our family, and I would follow his inspiration in that matter. Then he told me that he felt our son’s first name should be his father’s name. I felt completely awed. When I told him what I’d been thinking, we were both very deeply moved.

So since I’d known for several years that I was going to have twins, a boy and a girl, I went into that IVF with perfect faith. I never, at any time, doubted that I would get pregnant and would have those twins. Even when it turned out only 3 eggs were viable, after my initial distress I calmed down. I only needed 2. And even when they were only able to transfer 2 embryos, I was okay with that. Because 2 were all I needed. Things were great for a few days, but I knew by the time I had to go back for my pregnancy test that I’d lost the babies. The test results confirmed my knowledge, and as I’ve said before, I was never able to try again before having to have a hysterectomy.

In the days and weeks after the loss of my two little ones, I was searching everything I could find for an official church stance on miscarriages. Because in my mind, it was a miscarriage. They may not have had a whole lot of cells, but they were growing for a few days. And I knew them so well. And I couldn’t find anything that brought comfort. I prayed and prayed and wept and prayed and wept some more. And I had the impression from the Holy Ghost that those two children would not be coming to me on the earth, but that they were waiting for us beyond the veil, and I am their mother and will still get to raise them. I asked Joe if he had felt that. He said that he hadn’t, but the Spirit bore witness to him that I was correct.

So every now and then I get to feel the presence of my children’s spirits with me. Not often, and not for long, and it always leaves me in a puddle of tears because I so much long for them. One of my best friends had her last son a few months before Tad and Ellie would have been born, and every year when T. gets another year older, I get a pang, thinking of where Tad and Ellie would have been, what they’d be like, what we’d be doing together as a family.

And that’s why I have such a hard time on Mother’s Day. Even writing this I’m sitting here crying. And I know that my heart will be so full on Sunday that I’m not quite sure how to handle it. I’m going to church. I want to. But I may have to spend sacrament meeting sitting in the foyer. I hope that’s okay. I’m not sitting there hating Mother’s Day because I don’t have children or because I don’t have a mother. Mother’s Day hurts because I do have children, but they’re not here. They’re not anywhere on the planet that I could go to and hold them in my arms and hear them call me Mother.

If you see me on Sunday and I’m crying or teary, you don’t have to worry about not knowing what to say. Just smile at me, give me a hug, let me play with your baby’s feet, let me cry if I need to, and just love me. 

Thanks.

Just Wondering

I’ve been listening to BYU streaming radio at work all week, and today I got “Teach Me to Walk in the Light” stuck in my head.  I also commented a few minutes ago on a blog with the reminder about learning “line upon line,” which brought that song from Saturday’s Warrior to mind.

So while I was sitting here checking e-mail, I absent-mindedly started singing the latter song. My youngest dog came running up to me and put his paws around my arm to get loves while I sang. And then I finished the song, gave him a pat and told him to get down. And then I started singing “Teach Me to Walk in the Light.” I looked over, and saw that both dogs had fallen asleep.

My question is: did they go to sleep because they were lulled by the peace of the words and music? Or did they go to sleep out of self-defense?

Just wondering.

September 24, 2000

I was sitting in Sacrament meeting. My IVF had failed–the two embryos were dead. I was still trying to keep on, but it was excruciating. Joe didn’t go to church with me that day for some reason, so I was sitting by myself. I watched all the families coming in together, and my heart ached.

While the sacrament was being passed, I was praying with an earnest desire to know if I would ever be a mother, if we would ever have children in this life.  One of the scheduled speakers that day was sick, and someone else filled in at the last moment. I was trying to pay attention, but my mind kept wandering despite myself.  And then it happened.

I’ve only had them a few times in my life, but I treasure those moments when pure intelligence is being poured into my spirit by the Holy Ghost. I knew instantly that this was something I had to record. I grabbed a fireside announcement that had been tucked inside the program and scribbled notes to myself with a dull pencil. I was told not to worry about something that was beyond my control. I was told that I had to live my life, and not keep putting things off that I wanted to do because I was going to get pregnant or have children or adopt or whatever.

I haven’t been the same since that day.

When I was going through my piles of family history and genealogy research, I found that piece of paper. The pencil marks are fading, and I want to capture it before it fades so much I can’t read it anymore. There are things I wanted (at the time) to do, things I’d been putting off, and some counsel.

• Attend school – BA degree. Check. I got a job at a local university that December, and started back to school the following autumn. I graduated cum laude with a degree in English in 2004.
• Manhattan
• New England (Boston, Walden Pond, American lit.) – this became a dream of mine while I was studying American literature. I wanted to plan out and take an American literature tour through New England.
• Europe – London, Stratford Upon Avon
• Egypt
• Teach middle school — I pursued this, but ultimately decided against it.
• pay off house – in the process
• buy new car – we bought a new-to-us car
• write book – I finished one book and am working on several others
• home library – I think I probably meant organize my home library, and that so hasn’t happened yet
• season tickets to ballet & symphony – we did get season tickets to the symphony once, but as it turned out we had to miss every concert. However, we gave the tickets to people who truly enjoyed going, so it definitely was not wasted.
• plan my life
• do things
• don’t sit around & wait
• Have courage to accept Heavenly Father’s will
• IVF? Sure. But only 2 more; if no kids, accept it. — as it turned out, we were still repaying the loan to ourselves for the first IVF by the time my endometriosis was causing me so much pain that I had to get a hysterectomy. So I had to accept no kids sooner than I wanted to.
• Reinvent myself
• LIVE

 

It’s Not a Potluck

When I go to a potluck, I look around and see what there is.  Invariably, among all the incredibly delicious items, there’s something that looks absolutely revolting to me. I see others eating it with relish and seemingly enjoying it.

That’s what the gospel can seem like sometimes. There are commandments, counsel from prophets, all kinds of “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots.” Some of them are easy, perhaps even delicious. Others, not so much.   It’s human nature to avoid things that are distasteful or unpleasant. But sometimes those unpleasant things are what we are most in need of.  Regardless, we pick and choose the areas in which we will be obedient, and those that we will not.

Oh, we don’t word it that way to ourselves. That would be admitting that we’re in error! No. We just say that this particular counsel from the prophet was a general guideline, not a commandment. Or we tell ourselves that others may need to avoid this or do that, but we’re different. We can choose for ourselves, because even in this thing that we’ve been counseled to stay away from, we can find something good. Or we tell ourselves it’s a matter of personal expression, and it’s not important to our eternal futures. There are all kinds of ways to justify the potluck approach to keeping (or not keeping) the commandments, and I’m familiar with them.

We know that it’s a slothful people who need to be commanded in all things.  “For behold, it is not meet that I should command in all things; for he that is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant. . . But he that doeth not anything until he is commanded, and receiveth a commandment with a doubtful heart, and keepeth it with slothfulness, the same is damned.” (Doctrine & Covenants 58:26, 29)

So maybe that means that those things that we have received by commandment or prophetic counsel are worth paying attention to.

For myself, I have obeyed the counsel to avoid R-rated movies in spurts. I would stay away from them for a while, and then decide that this movie was a good movie, and probably no worse than this other movie that was rated PG-13, and ratings are so subjective anyway, yadda yadda, and the next thing you know I was watching any R-rated movie I wanted to.  But I can look at this logically and say that if an R-rated movie is no worse than a PG-13 movie (which I haven’t been counseled to avoid), rather than watching that R-rated movie I should instead probably not watch the other. And I can tell the difference when I’m obeying that counsel.

That’s just one example, and I could come up with dozens. But that’s not my point. My point is that I don’t want to take the potluck approach anymore. I know I can’t perfectly obey every single thing I’ve been counseled to do all at once, but there are plenty that I can. And I’ll keep working on the other stuff–that’s what progression and repentance are all about. I also know from experience that it’s easy to work on harder concepts when I’ve got the simpler ones mastered.

I want to finish this with another scripture that, for me, helps clarify the question. We don’t have to pick and choose. It’s all good for us, and it’s all good.  “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness” (Isaiah 55:1-2)

When in this world do you hear someone telling you to delight in fatness? Calling someone fat is frequently a harsh word used to wound. But the Lord would have us savour every good thing. And I know that it’s hard to savour every good thing when you’re filling yourself up with those things that don’t satisfy. Spiritual hunger, famine–that’s where I was a few weeks ago. And I’ve been feasting on the scriptures, on prayer, on things that are of good report and praiseworthy, and I’m delighting in fatness, and it’s so satisfying.

The Wallers of Iowa

I’m transcribing some of the things I’ve found so I’ll have a soft copy as well as a hard copy, and thought I’d share them here.

WALLER SHORTS, by Ed Wallace

     There is a certain shortness on the Waller side. It goes back through the Wallers and also, apparently, in the Frenches. My great-grandmother Waller was a French, as you will note.

     I have an aunt, my Mom’s sister, Mildred, who is 4′11″. My mother is the tallest of her sisters at 5′3-3/4″. My mother’s father was 5′5″, quite short for a man. My grandfather had a sister, Lornie, who was about 4′6″ tall. Her mother, Amanda French Waller, was shorter than that! My great-grandfather, Thomas Webster Waller, was regarded as short in this verse of a poem about people of Leon, Iowa, many years ago:

J.C. Porter was a preacher

So was portly Rev. A. Brown,

Also Mr. Silas Johnson,

And Waller, shortest man in town.

     These are just a few of the shorts in the Waller record, but all the Wallers were short.

********

I’m a few generations away from the Wallers, and am definitely taller than some of those mentioned above. I’m a whopping 5′4-1/2″, and my sister just surpasses me at 5′5″. I like finding these little tidbits.

Here’s another tidbit, a bio of my third-great-grandfather, Thomas Waller. I found it in Biographical Sketches of Leon County, Iowa.

******

REV. THOMAS WALLER, of Leon, has been a resident of Decatur County, since May, 1858, He entered 200 acres of land in Decatur Township, in 1854, and at the same time entered eighty acres in Burrell Township. He settled upon the land that he entered in 1858. He was born in Lincolnshire, England, April 21, 1819. He served an apprenticeship at the razor-making trade, at Sheffield, which he followed until he came to America, in 1841. His father, Thoams Waller, Sr., was an exciseman of the Government of England, and a local minister of the Wesleyan Methodist church. He died when his son Thomas was three years old. When he came to America he was unaccompanied by any member of his father’s family. A sister, Mrs. Eliza Woods, with her husband, came six years later, and settled in Illinois, where her husband died soon after, of cholera. She now lives in Pekin, Illinois, with her children. When he first came to this country he settled near Jackson, Illinois, on a farm where an English settlement was already established. A year later he went to Greene County, Illinois, with the English family with whom he was living. Mr. Waller began preaching as a local minister of the church of the Methodist New Connection, in England. He intended to become a missionary, but failed to complete his studies, from lack of means. He then resolved to come to America. He was married in Greene County, Illinois, December 8, 1942, to Catherine Smith, borne in Cape Girardeau County, Missouri. In the fall of 1843, Mr. Waller was appointed by the Illinois Conference of the Protestant Methodist church to a circuit. He was ordained by this conference and was engaged as a circuit preacher for several years. When the Methodist church divided on the question of slavery, Mr. Waller concluded to unite with the Congregational church. He continued to preach for this church till after his removal to Iowa. In 1856 he removed with a colony to Nebraska, and assisted in the organization of the Second Congregational Association of that Territory. He resided in Nebraska until 1858, when, as already stated, he came to this county. Soon after, he took a mission under the united auspices of the Congregational and Presbyterian churches. He worked on his mission till those churches divided on the question of slavery, and he then united with the Methodist Episcopal church, where he has remained ever since. He continues to preach as a local minister. He resided on his farm until 1879, when he came to Leon. In December, 1860, he lost his wife by death, and in 1861, he married Mrs. Lavinia T. Holmes, a native of the same county as her husband. Her first husband, Edmund Holmes, died in this county in 1859. Mr. Waller’s first wife bore him six children, five of whom are living–Mary, wife of James Hisey, of Kansas; William v. and Thomas W., live on the homestead; Alfred, resides in San Francisco, California, and Sarah A., wife of James A. Hawkins, of Leon. His eldest son–Alexander K., was a member of Company D, Fiftieth Illinois Infantry, and was at the taking of Fort Donelson and Clarksville, and was killed the first day of the battle of Shiloh, April, 1862. A son of Mrs. Waller, Richard Holmes, entered the army as a drummer-boy, and died at the siege of Vicksburg, in 1863. In 1881, just forty years after Mr. Waller left his native land, he returned to England on a visit. He found that marked changes had taken place, not only in the people, but great progress had been made in the nation generally, in liberalizing thought, education of the masses, and general prosperity. he is one of the highly respected citizens of this county, and much esteemed as an honorable Christian gentleman.

***********

I have a copy of the microfilmed marriage certificate of Thomas Waller and Catherine Smith.

*******

In a copy of an article that appeared in the local newspaper, he’s mentioned again:

And there was “Uncle Tommy” Waller, who came from England as a missionary to convert the American “barbarians” and finally settled down over at Decatur (pop. 282), Ia., to raise peacocks and give elegant pea fowl dinner parties.

**********

Wish I could have attended one of those elegant pea fowl dinner parties!

I found some information from the Civil War service record from the Illinois State Archives pertaining to Waller’s son Alexander, who was killed at Shiloh.

•  
  • Alexander Waller
  • Private Recruit
  • Company D, 50th Infantry
  • Age 18
  • Height 5′7″
  • Hair: Light
  • Eyes: Hazel
  • Complexion: Fair
  • Marital Status: Single
  • Occupation: Farmer
  • Residence: Payson, Adams, Illinois
  • Nativity: , Pike, Illinois
  • Joined for Service Dec 15, 1861 for 3 years
  • Killed April 6, 1862, at Shiloh, Tenn

*********

I think of the Civil War epics I’ve read and wept over. I was so moved to find this relative who gave up his life for the cause of righteousness.  Where this line of my family was very anti-slavery, I have other kin who were from the South and who very probably fought for the Confederacy, and may have given up their lives for what they perceived to be a just cause.

Easily Fooled

I’m verbose today, no? But I’ve had this thought brewing in my head for a while, and wanted to put it down before it vanished.

In 2 Nephi 32:8, we’re told that “. . . if ye would hearken unto the Spirit which teacheth a man to pray ye would know that ye must pray; for the evil spirit teacheth not a man to pray, but teacheth him that he must not pray.”

So when I allowed myself to get caught up with the crystals, the Holy Ghost was warning me that I was treading in deep waters. But when those thoughts came, that scripture came to mind. And I would think, No one is telling me not to pray and would justify it to myself. And I prayed, perhaps not as much as I had been in the habit of, but I did still pray.

It wasn’t until one day last week, after I’d visited with the bishop, discarded the crystals and books, and changed my focus that I realized the subtle snare that I had walked right into. I was told that this crystal will help you feel calmer, and that crystal will do that, and so on.  So I had a little bag of small crystals that I was carrying around with me, and I had larger crystals on my desk at work.

You probably already see where this is leading, don’t you? I’m ashamed that it took me so long to figure out. I was turning to something other than God for the answers to my unuttered prayers. If I wanted to feel peaceful and calm, I wasn’t praying about it; rather, I was depending on a crystal to help me find that peace. And it was working to a certain extent, not because of any inherent virtue in the crystal, but because I was falling into that trap and the opposition was letting up.

But the Spirit did continue to strive within me, and I saw very clearly that I was at a crossroads. I had to choose which direction to go. And it was a conscious decision. I had sort of drifted aimlessly into the path I was on because of the love and acceptance I was feeling from my friends. But then the enemy wanted me to decide to continue on that path.

I’m so glad that at that time my husband was there for me and spoke to me very clearly, and we read scriptures together, and talked, and by the end of an hour I had resolved to turn back around. And I’m so glad that the bishop was able to see me right away, so I could unburden myself and begin repenting.

That was a difficult, yet important, lesson to learn. Just because someone isn’t standing in front of your face, wagging a finger and saying, “Now don’t you dare pray!” doesn’t mean that you aren’t being told not to pray.

I’ll bet I’ve prayed more in the last 2 weeks than I have in the last year. And I’m so sorry that I got so far astray. I’m just so grateful for an atonement that allows me to repent and come back in my figurative sackcloth and ashes.