A world of castles

[There are so many castles in this post, you will be completely overcome with castles by the end of it. You won't be able to take in a single other castle. But just imagine how WE felt, seeing them in real life! I've saved this post for last because it was my favorite part of our trip.]

A long time ago, right after I graduated from high school, my friend Rachael and I got to go on a trip to Germany with her grandpa (who is the Candy Bomber). I know, I'm always going on about it. But it was SO exciting. And such a formative experience for me. We were 18, we were best friends headed to the same college, we were taking this amazing trip together AND we got to be part of her famous Grandpa's entourage! It was just the best. That was back in the days when camera pictures had to be jealously meted out because you only had a couple rolls of film with you. And half the time, you'd get your pictures back from the developer and they'd all be blurry, or overexposed or something. So I really don't have a good pictoral record of that trip. But I have a record in my memory, and especially of a place called Rudesheim. I can remember riding there on the train, gazing out at the scenery and chattering excitedly with Rachael, with her grandma sitting there across from us, full of her typical serenity and reserve, probably wishing we wouldn't be quite so giggly. The trees across the river were emerald green, and every so often we would glimpse a perfect fairy-tale castle peeking up out of the trees. When we got to Rudesheim we rode an aerial tram above the vineyards overlooking the Rhine, and it was so quiet, and the sun was so warm. I remember Rachael and I clutched each others' arms in pure delight, overcome by the beauty and wonder of it all. I really think it was the most beautiful place I have ever been. We cried a little as the tram came to a stop, and we made a solemn promise to each other that someday, we would come back. "With our husbands!" we squealed, hopeful but hardly daring to believe that there would ever BE such a thing. 

I've thought about that place so many times since. It almost seems like a place that exists outside time and space, waiting there unchanged and unchanging for us to come back someday. (And we WILL!) I knew it was somewhere near Frankfurt, but I had never even really looked for it on a map, because, as I said, it seemed too magical to be on a map! 

Well…I still haven't gone back. But after we visited Drachenfels and loved it so much, that night I was looking online for something to do the next day that might be similar; maybe another castle we could visit. I ran into some information about the Rhine river cruises that floated through the Middle Rhine Valley, which people were describing as one of the most beautiful places on earth. And suddenly I saw Rudesheim on the map and realized it was in the same area as the river cruises I was looking at! It was about three hours away from us by train. Strangely, my first emotion upon realizing this was…I don't know…something like fear. I wanted to go to that place again. But I also didn't. I'm a different person now. I see with different eyes. And I was so afraid it wouldn't be what I remembered. I couldn't get past that feeling. And I didn't want to go without Rachael!

But of course, I also wanted Sam and Malachi to see this amazing area! So, I decided we would compromise by finding another, closer, spot along the river where we could get on one of the cruises. (And in a lucky coincidence, it happened to be the very last day these riverboats were running, before stopping for the winter!)

As we rode the ICE train down to Frankfurt, and then the regional train from Frankfurt toward the Rhine, it was drizzly and grey and cold. I was worried that we might not be able to even see anything from the boat! I was praying (apologetically) for just a little sun. Even just a little! I promised to try to appreciate and enjoy whatever weather there was. But I wished for just a clearing of the sky, so we could see the beautiful things around us.

When the train pulled into the station, it was still raining, and we had only minutes to find the boat dock, so I pulled the baby wrap over Ziggy's head and we RAN. We were so afraid we wouldn't make it. We had farther to go than it had seemed on the map. But finally we were racing breathlessly up to the ticket office, and hearing the ticket man yell to the boat to wait one more minute, and then boarding the boat in a flurry of apologies and coats and camera bags.

And just then…the sun came out! It lit up the hills and cleared away some of the fog, and warmed up the upper deck where we were settling ourselves. (There was an indoor lower deck with windows, but somehow looking at the scenery out of a window wasn't quite the same!) The deck was nearly deserted, except for a young couple enjoying a romantic outing together (we seemed to be forever disturbing romantic outings, on this trip), so we stood there exclaiming to each other, and taking pictures, and ducking under the canopy when it rained, and leaning over the side railings when it didn't. I couldn't quite believe we'd made it and we were actually doing this!

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Zons

While we were in Germany, a girl who lives near Düsseldorf and follows Sam's art on Instagram sent me a nice message, saying that if we liked Medieval villages, we ought to visit Zons. It was a place I had researched a little before we came, but it was so hard to figure out stuff on German websites. I couldn't tell what was going to be too hard to get to, or what would even be worth attempting to see…only to find out it was inaccessible or closed for the season or something! But based on this girl's recommendation, Zons seemed worth doing. It was tricky to get to: regional train and then bus and then walking, and all of this in tiny, out-of-the-way, non-tourist areas that would probably not have any signs in English! It was our last day in Germany and I felt so responsible for making it a good one, since I'm usually the one planning what we'll do and I was afraid we would spend the whole day getting lost! But at least Sam would be with us. So we made the attempt.

And, miraculously, nothing went wrong! I even managed to read the bus schedules correctly and get us on the right bus, and as we rode along the winding roads into the countryside, with all the school children heading home from school, and the mothers carrying their shopping, I could almost imagine living here, in one of the old brick houses tucked away behind tiny gardens and rows of trees.

We didn't know exactly where to even go, but we got off the bus and walked toward a church tower, which seemed like a promising landmark.

We passed a square full of pigs. I wish I knew the story behind them. Even if there had been an explanatory sign, we wouldn't have been able to read it!

4

Prayer as faith-food

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Saturday Afternoon Session of the April 1978 Conference.

Elder George P. Lee had some remarkable stories in his talk—like how his older brothers tied him up and tried to make him drink wine and beer. (They sounded like Laman and Lemuel!) But here's the section that stuck out to me the most:

Your faith needs nourishment through prayers. Exercise the muscle of the faith until it is one of such strength that it will sustain you. Beloved youth, get on your knees. The Lord has a testimony just for you—one that fits your size and needs—but you have to ask for it.

Your faith needs nourishment through prayers. I keep thinking about that statement and why it might be true. How does praying (a faithful act) nourish faith, other than just being a way to exercise that faith? You would think faith would be nourished by fulfillment—like, if you had faith the sun would come up and then it DID come up, your faith would be nourished.

And actually, I think this principle IS related to that. I was thinking awhile ago about how if you don't ask for something, you can't have it granted to you. So, for example, suppose I get an unexpected check—a tax refund I'd forgotten about, or something—in the mail. That would be great, but not really a miracle. But suppose I had been asking God for help in paying my rent, and THEN the check arrived. In this case, it would seem much more like a miracle! So even if God was responsible for the blessing in both cases, in the first case I wouldn't really even recognize it as a blessing.

It could be something a lot smaller, too. Something really mundane, like seeing a hummingbird. If I haven't been praying for anything, IF I even notice it at all, I see it and think, "Huh, that's pretty. Dad loved hummingbirds." And it's just a thing that…happened. But if I've been praying, "Please help me know that my dad is aware of me from the spirit world. I miss him, so please help me somehow feel his love"—and THEN I see a hummingbird, I can now interpret and accept that sign for what it really is: a blessing and an answer to prayer.

Furthermore, as someone commented in our Sunday School class the other day, "If I pray for something and it's granted, that's wonderful. I know God answered my prayer and I feel his love because of it. If I pray for something and don't get it, that is also wonderful. That gives me a chance to exercise even stronger faith because it's faith in the face of apparent silence. This is an opportunity for even more spiritual growth." But the key is that neither of those scenarios can transpire if we don't pray in the first place!

Prayer helps clear our vision to see the blessings God is already giving us. Prayer helps blessings seem like blessings.

"But," I can hear someone protesting, "if I pray for enough things to happen, then everything will start to seem like a miracle!"

Exactly.

Other posts in this series:

• Accumulated Testimonies by G
• Testimony: May We Never Ever Lose It! by Jan Tolman

2

More around Düsseldorf

This was a long avenue in Düsseldorf with a canal running down the middle of it, and lined with trees, called Königsallee. There were lots of fancy stores, and some guy let Malachi sit in his McLaren P1. 

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The Cologne Chocolate Factory: a moral tale

Malachi loved the Cologne Cathedral so much that he requested we go there again on another day. There were some other things we could do in Cologne too (a zoo, a chocolate factory), so it seemed like a good idea. One of my favorite things about riding the train there (it's about 40-50 minutes from Düsseldorf by train) was seeing the cathedral towers suddenly appear out of the city from various angles. I knew to be watching for it this time, and it was so fun and surprising every time, as you were walking along what seemed like rather ordinary streets, to suddenly realize you were approaching one of the most famous architectural landmarks in the world! It just serves as a reminder that there are hidden wonders all around us…

But that is not that moral part of this tale.

It was kind of a chilly morning, so Ky and I decided to go to the chocolate factory since that was indoors. There was a museum talking about the history of chocolate, with various applicable artifacts. It wasn't terribly different from this exhibit, but still interesting.

We were quite tired and suffering from Museum Knee by the time we were done with the exhibit, but then there was a hall where you could watch the chocolates actually being made, with samples, and that revived us wonderfully. There was a cool machine making molded chocolates and then placing them on a conveyor belt to be wrapped, which you can watch in this video if you like that sort of thing:

Then we were feeling a bit peckish, so we stopped at the chocolate cafe for something to eat.

(This guy is always peckish)

At the cafe, there was a menu in English, thank goodness (…although "Schokolade" is fairly easy to decipher), and Malachi got the Hot Chocolate and I got the Cold Chocolate, which sounded like it would be sort of a float or milkshake of chocolate. Having built up enormous appetites with all our walking that morning, we waited with great anticipation until the waitress brought our orders at last.

Malachi took a sip of his. Then I took a sip of mine. And…it was HORRIBLE. Absolutely, horrifyingly HORRIBLE. Probably the worst taste that has ever crossed my lips. I was first shocked, then saddened as I thought to myself how cultural expectations had probably caused this terrible misunderstanding. The Germans in Düsseldorf must just have different tastes, I reasoned. Perhaps they made this chocolate from straight ground-up cacao beans (it did sort of remind me of a bitter cacao bean I had tasted once). Perhaps they would be equally shaken if they tasted a milkshake I made. Perhaps it was an acquired taste, or I had just been caught off guard by the unexpected. I took a cautious second sip.

HORRIBLE! I looked at Malachi with dismay. Were we both to suffer this dreadful fate? But he seemed to be enjoying his hot chocolate. I tasted it. Delicious. I was so confused!

Malachi and I spent a few minutes marveling at what had occurred. How was this possible? Even the darkest of dark chocolate had never offended me in this way. I hoped the waitress wouldn't be disgusted with me for a leaving a nearly-untouched drink! I decided I was probably just not as adventurous of an eater as I had liked to think myself. It was slightly embarrassing. Malachi had a sip of the cold chocolate and didn't like it either, but he was just a boy! We sat in silence for a time, while I fed Ziggy and flipped idly through the menu.

Something was nagging at me about the (HORRIBLE) taste of the drink. There was something familiar about it. It tasted almost…like…the smell of coffee. (I have never tasted coffee; it's a religious thing.) So when I saw that the menu also offered a "Cold Coffee" drink I suddenly became very suspicious. The next time our waitress appeared, I asked her, "Is this drink made of chocolate, or coffee?" She smiled pitying at me. "It's chocolate. Schokolade." I felt embarrassed, but pressed on: "Are you sure? It's just so…bitter." At that she looked puzzled. "Bitter? No…it should be quite sweet…" She peered at the drink more closely and then turned abruptly. "One moment. I'll go ask."

In a moment she was back, looking shamefaced. "I'm so sorry. They made this one with coffee. Let me make you a new one." Sorry? I felt like dancing for joy! Cold German Chocolate wasn't horrible! What reassurance! What relief! Yes, I had inadvertently drunk a substance I never intended to drink in this lifetime…and I felt strangely disgruntled about that for a minute…but the Platonic ideal of chocolate could now remain pure and untainted! I was so happy.

When the Cold Chocolate drink finally arrived, I took a cautious sip, and it was wonderful! Ice creamy…rich…delicious. Everything I had hoped. And so all ended well. But I was left with a vast awe for my fellow humans who, voluntarily, DO drink coffee. What on earth do you see in it? And, remember, the version I tasted was full of cream and ice cream and probably other ingredients…so it ought to have been more palatable than the pure version. I've heard coffee is an acquired taste, and okay, I get that, but for what possible reason would one want to acquire it? All my life, I have watched people drinking coffee in movies and in cafés with idle curiosity, wondering what it would taste like, but not really wishing to try it. But now! I just can't believe it is a substance that anyone ever thought of as a food for human beings, let alone enjoys consuming. *shudder*

But even THAT is not yet the moral part of this tale.

This is a picture of the chocolate we brought home with us from the Düsseldorf trip. We got some after our adventure at the chocolate factory, and some at Heinemwummmummmn, and some at pretty much every other chocolate shop we passed on our travels. (We ate some of it as we went, of course.) It looks like quite a bit, doesn't it? A few of these bars were to give away, but most of them were just for eating ourselves (and maybe sharing with the children…occasionally…if they were lucky). And we did fill up the spaces in our suitcases with this chocolate quite tightly. After our Great Regret of not bringing back enough chocolate from our Berlin trip, we were determined not to make that mistake again. 

(I might briefly mention here how much we love the "Goldschatz" RitterSport chocolate. It is so good! I happened upon a review of it somewhere which was acting like RitterSport in general was for only the least refined of palates, Philistinic palates if you will, but I will proclaim my love for it nevertheless. Even after tasting so many [all delicious] types of chocolate in Germany, it remained one of my top choices. And this "Goldschatz" [Gold edition?] was a milk chocolate with 50% cocoa in it. It was intense but not dark, if that makes sense. Mmm. Sam and I are both already mourning the inevitable day when what we brought home is all gone.)

So when we packed up to leave Germany, we felt rather pleased with ourselves, and with how much chocolate we had amassed in a relatively short space of time. But when we got home and I laid it all out on the bed and contemplated how many children would want tastes of it, I realized with dismay that it was nothing like as much chocolate as we'd thought. It was a pitiful amount. Paltry. And I could see with painful clarity how soon it would all be gone. How I wished I could go back and warn my former self of the inadequacy of her efforts! Alas, I could not, and thus we see how vain and foolish are the efforts of man. But you, reader, I can still warn (**moral alert!**), and I do so now in the strongest possible terms:

When visiting Europe, bring home more chocolate than you think you will possibly need. Much, much more. And then add just a bit more just to be sure. OR YOU WILL BE SORRY! As I am, even now.

8

Cologne Cathedral

Cologne is one of those places (like Germany itself, actually) about which I wonder HOW we English-speakers have the audacity to call it what we do. In German the city is Köln. So why don't we call it "Köln," or at least, if we harbor a justifiable suspicion of umlauts, "Koln"? And if we're going for a spelling that gives a more phonetic pronunciation, surely we could think of one without a "gn" in it?

Well, it's a mystery to me, but the city itself was wonderful! After we went to Drachenfels, we headed back on the train to Cologne, which is quite close to Düsseldorf. I didn't have a sense of any of the geography before we went, but the city of Cologne is about equidistant from Bonn on one side, and Düsseldorf on the other. And they're all along the Rhine, which flows UP (well, you know, downstream, but north) from the southwest side of the country. 

I had heard of Cologne, of course, mostly because of Cologne Cathedral, which must be mentioned in every study of Gothic architecture. When we went through Cologne on the train on our way to Königswinter, we saw the ghostly spires of the cathedral rising up through the misty clouds. But in the afternoon when we came back, the clouds had thinned and the sky was brighter. You walk out of the train station and the cathedral is RIGHT THERE. It is amazing and surreal, kind of like walking out of Westminster Station in London to see Big Ben not fifty yards away. Looming dark and massive above us, it was breathtaking. (This picture is actually of the other side, once we'd walked around a little.)

There are a lot of Roman ruins in the area, including this archway and wall. There was a Rome museum we didn't go into, but we peered in the windows and could see old Roman mosaics on the floor. Very cool.

We did go inside the cathedral, and it was stunning—just the vastness of the space was impressive enough, but together with the stained glass windows and the intricate piecing and carving of the stone, it was almost too much to take in. You can never really get a picture that captures that Gothic splendor.

2

Drachenfels

When we were in Berlin a couple years ago, we got to see some cool castles and palaces, but they weren't really the sort of castle one thinks of, when one does think of castles. Or perhaps one's ideas of castles are constrained by an imprecision in the language. What I'm trying to say is that I never thought about the fact that there are different sorts of castles, but I guess we could say there are the medieval fortress-y types, and the 18th-century Frederick the Great types. But when I think about it, I can see that castle makes me think more of the former, and palace of the latter. And I think that the German language has this same distinction (though I could be wrong, having picked all this up indirectly); that is, burg for the fortress-type and schloss for the palace-type. (Then there's this distinction, but let's not get into that.)

Anyway, though I loved the Berlin palaces, I also was hoping someday we would get to see some real CASTLE castles. So I was excited to learn that there were some not far (by train) from Düsseldorf. In fact, there was one place where there was both a burg and a schloss, both of which had similar names and I'm still a little confused about it. One was Burg Drachenfels and one was Schloss Drachenburg (so…Palace DragonCastle?). But at any rate the city they were in was called Königswinter, which, accordingly, we set out for. It took us awhile to decipher the train schedules, but at last we made it.

We walked past the little town, and then to the bottom of a big hill where there was a rack-and-pinion railway! I was very pleased about this, since we had ridden a funicular railway in Italy, and at the time I thought to myself, "Now if only I could ride a on rack-and-pinion train, my specialty-train-related life would be complete." Haha. Most trains can't go on a grade steeper than around 2%, so on steep hills, there are sometimes special trains that use cogs or pulleys to keep them on the tracks. A funicular railway uses a pulley system, and a rack-and-pinion has gears or cogs that grip a special track. (If you want to know more—and why wouldn't you?—go here.)

We hurried onto the train without getting to look around much, and I said to Sam, "If only I could see the cogs working under us! I need to be able to describe it to Sebastian!" So I was happy when, in the little train station on the way down, we saw this:

As you can see, there are two regular train wheels on the sides, and then the special gear-wheel in the middle, which climbs up the grooves in the middle track. The parts lock together to stop the train from rolling back downhill. Cool, right? And this particular railway, the Drachenfelsbahn, is OLD, too—I read later that it has been around since 1883!

When we got out of the train at the top of the hill, we were greeted by this amazing view of the Rhine. It was so beautiful! Then behind us, at the very top of the hill, we could see these castle ruins:

4

Düsseldorf: Adventures with Malachi

A few months before Ziggy was born, Sam got invited to do a workshop in Düsseldorf, Germany. (And you better believe I'm spelling it Düsseldorf rather than the anglicized Duesseldorf. How often does one get a chance to use an umlaut?!) I love Germany, so I wanted Sam to accept the job— although we weren't totally sure if it would work for me to come with him, with a brand new baby! But I didn't want to stay home without Sam with a brand-new baby either…and I remembered how easy it was to travel with Teddy when he was a newborn, so we thought we would try to make it work! As we worked out tickets and child care arrangements (my wonderful mother took the girls and Teddy, and the older boys stayed with our homeschooling neighbor friends) we realized that we could pretty easily take one of the kids with us, and that would be nice because I'd have someone to keep me company and help with Ziggy while Sam was working.

Malachi ended up being the lucky chosen one, and he was SO excited about the trip! I was mostly anxious about getting Ziggy's passport in time (you can't apply for one until the baby is actually born, obviously), and I would lie awake at night before he was born, worrying about it. I don't know what good I thought worrying about it would do, but that didn't stop me! After he was born and we finally decided on his name, we hurried and got his birth certificate, and then took him in to the passport office, and everything worked out just fine—we even got the passport a couple weeks early. Just like Sam said we would. And then I finally felt like I could start thinking about the actual trip itself instead of just the lead-up to it.

I'm almost embarrassed to write about how good Ezekiel was on the plane ride. We had a nine-hour flight first, which could have been so awful with a crying or fretful baby, but he was just good. (He did stay awake most of every night while we were in Germany, just like he does every night at home, if that makes you worry less that he's too good for this world.) Even while we were waiting in the airport (eating at Cafe Rio, yum), he fell asleep in the most awkward position on my arm! Such a tiny little sleepy guy.

6

Glory be to God for Dappled Things (Ziggy's birth story)

When I was in third or fourth grade, I had a recurring nightmare. The details varied, but the feel of the dream was always the same. I was outside at dusk. The light was violet and fading, and I was turning from side to side, trying to find something in the shadows. But I couldn't see. Everything was dim and out of focus. I would blink again and again, trying to open my eyes wider, trying to wipe away the blurriness, but no matter how frantic I became, my vision held only shadow and twilight.

In real life, I had just gotten glasses, and I had said to my mom, breathlessly, as we walked out of the optometrist, "I can see the points on the stars!" It was the happiest thing in the world. And apparently, once I could see clearly, my subconscious had some issues with it ever having been otherwise. But I don't think that was all there was to that dream. You know that story about how Mozart's mom would get him out of bed by playing an incomplete scale on the piano, because it would bother him so much he would have to run downstairs to complete it? That's me. I like resolution. Not just in my eyesight, but in everything. I like the sort of books about which critics write, "Everything was tied up a little too neatly." I like to analyze things; to classify them and to understand them. It's not that everything must be literal: metaphors with multiple interpretations are okay; open-ended symbolism is okay—as long as I can cobble together some meaning out of it, I'm fine. But deliberate obscurity? Purposeful lack of resolution? It literally gives me nightmares.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let me begin again.

It wasn't easy being pregnant with our eighth baby. I don't mean to be insensitive by saying that. I know that any pregnancy is a blessing; and a healthy, normal pregnancy even more so. I certainly didn't have any discomfort bad enough that I'd feel okay complaining to a pioneer ancestor about it. And I am lucky enough to really like many parts of being pregnant! So when I say it wasn't easy, I don't mean more or less than this: it was uneasy. I was uneasy. Not in a foreboding sort of way, but in an unresolved sort of way: I felt like I had unfinished business, and it nagged at me.

Well…pregnancy is unfinished business by definition, honestly. So what was different? I don't know if I can describe it, and I always feel hesitant to share too much about questions of family planning. It's so personal! And it doesn't belong to me alone. But lately I've been feeling that maybe too little is said, collectively, on the subject, and then people end up feeling like they're the only ones struggling to figure it out. So I will just say that the decision about if and when to have more children has never been simple for us—nor do I think it's meant to be, though maybe it is for some people. For me, it's been a time when preferences and duties and abilities, hopes and insecurities and expectations, become all tangled up in the long strands of eternity, and my clumsy mortal fingers seem incapable of loosening those knots. 

This time it was no different. We prayed and considered and waited and disagreed and questioned. I kept telling Heavenly Father that I truly would sacrifice whatever he required! I assured him that I was ready to obey whatever course he had in mind for us. All I asked was that I could please KNOW what that course was. I felt I could handle anything…except uncertainty. And then of course I would think of those lines from Lead Kindly Light: Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see/ the distant scene. One step enough for me. And somehow I feared deep down that that was the sacrifice God was going to require.

And that's exactly what transpired. Moments of clarity between long stretches of obscurity; whisperings, large and small—but no road map. No vision of what was to come. Nothing tangible to grasp except a hundred quiet assurances and a repeated message which was beyond words but sounded something like: Wait, and you'll see.

I really would have rather seen RIGHT NOW, but I held on to that assurance through the months, before and after I found out I was expecting. And life was full, as it always is, of schedules and deadlines and immediate concerns. I alternated between busy days not even remembering I was pregnant, and long, wakeful nights where I was full of questions and fears. As when I was pregnant with Theodore, I wished for more time to sit and ponder, maybe to get some glimpse of who this baby was, but it was so hard to slow down and actually do that! Light and shadow, the summer raced on.

11

The Anticipatory Arrangements of a Heavenly Mother

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Saturday Morning Session of the April 1978 Conference.

There were some really good talks this week. I wanted to write about Elder Ashton's awesome talk on avoiding contention. It was so good! And Elder McConkie had a great talk about the Restoration of the gospel too. But then I read Elder Neal A. Maxwell's talk about women, and I decided I had to write about that! I think I have heard some quotations from this talk before, but I discovered so many more parts I liked. I had practically the whole thing highlighted! Here's one part I loved:

Special spiritual sensitivity keeps the women of God hoping long after many others have ceased.…Like Mary, they ponder trustingly those puzzlements that disable others. 

I know sometimes when someone gives a talk praising women, some women feel uncomfortable or guilty because they don't match the glowing descriptions of womanhood in the talk. But I've always thought it was obvious that the traits described are an aggregation; of course no one has all these qualities or exhibits them all the time! This is an aspirational description of what women CAN be, as they develop the qualities they've inherited from Heavenly Mother. And I love reading about how to be like Her! This quality Elder Maxwell describes, of hope and trust and optimism in the face of apparently contradictory evidence, is one I want so much to develop. It's hard to do! But I like his reference to the scripture about Mary "keeping things and pondering them in her heart," because I relate to that so acutely! I have so many questions and worries and pains that have to stay inside my heart, but Mary apparently turned all those "puzzlements" over to God, and let Him calm her heart so she wouldn't be "disabled" by them. I can do that too.

Here's another trait I want to gain:

So often our sisters comfort others when their own needs are greater than those being comforted. That quality is like the generosity of Jesus on the cross. Empathy during agony is a portion of divinity!

It's so easy to excuse myself from being nice or patient because things are hard, or I'm tired, or I'm preoccupied. But I KNOW it's not right to. Remembering the Savior's "empathy during agony" is such a great way to jolt myself out of any self-pity, and to inspire me to serve others especially during times when I'm having the most difficulties.

Another great quote, said with characteristic Maxwellian forthrightness:

I thank the Father that His Only Begotten Son did not say in defiant protest at Calvary, “My body is my own!” I stand in admiration of women today who resist the fashion of abortion, by refusing to make the sacred womb a tomb!

I can't stop thinking about that.

But this last section was maybe my favorite, especially because of the Thanksgiving holiday this week.

Finally, remember: When we return to our real home, it will be with the “mutual approbation” of those who reign in the “royal courts on high.” There we will find beauty such as mortal “eye hath not seen”; we will hear sounds of surpassing music which mortal “ear hath not heard.” Could such a regal homecoming be possible without the anticipatory arrangements of a Heavenly Mother?

I'm definitely not as skilled of a hostess as my mom or grandmother, but I love trying to make things nice in our home: setting the table beautifully, cooking extra good food, making the house feel clean and bright and light. I love it especially at this time of year. So this comparison just made me long to…I don't know…to always belong in this role, to share it forever with the great sisterhood of womankind. And to do it perfectly someday. I just love to think of Heavenly Mother bustling around making preparations like every woman does at Thanksgiving or Christmas; making a place that is lovely and beautiful and comforting, in joyful anticipation of Her family returning home.

Such a beautiful thought. I can't wait to see Her again!

Other posts in this series:

• Neil Maxwell on Women by G
• In Praise of Women by Jan Tolman

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Every little bit of him

Abe (my 15-year-old) and I have been doing something fun lately when we drive together: he plays me a song that he likes—he has varied tastes, so it could be Muse, or Imagine Dragons, or Beck, or Lemon Twigs, or Fitz and the Tantrums—and then I play him whatever song it reminds me of: maybe something by Fleetwood Mac, or Yes, or Boston, or Jethro Tull. It turns out I know a surprising amount of Classic Rock (surprising to me, I mean—it seems like I would have forgotten, but it comes back to me when I hear these new songs!) and, amazingly, I have yet to hear a single one of "Abe's" songs that doesn't remind me of one of "my" songs in some way or another!

[The really fun thing is how much, without my having really guided his music choices (besides playing classical music for him since he was a baby, which probably counts for something), our tastes overlap! We both find great satisfaction in introducing a previously-unknown song that the other one ends up really liking, but I also love it when he says, "okay, see if you like THIS—" and it turns out to be Journey, or Ben Folds Five, or Collective Soul, or something else I already know and like. A song by Rush started playing the other day, and Sam and I and Abe all said, "I love this song!" at the same time, which seemed like just the best thing ever.]

Anyway, having dipped a toe into the current musical waters, I've been surprised how much music repeats and recycles. I don't listen to the radio and the only reason I can even name any of those newer groups is that my kids tell me about them—but here they have been going along all these years, each in their turn, revisiting the old ground again and again: themes, melodies, basslines, lyrics. Admittedly, as I said, Abe's tastes and mine are similar so there's probably some selection bias. But still, the fact that nearly every new song I hear comes with an easily-thought-of older counterpart is a pretty impressive testament to the lack of true "originality" in the music world.

It's been kind of fun to find it in music, but in other areas, I often feel paralyzed by the inevitability of repetition! No matter how I wish to say something new (and somehow new=worthwhile in my mind), I can't!

And even though I've always known that this happens with writing (I remember Leslie Norris talking about how all literature falls into one of the Seven Great Themes) I still have to fight the urge to edit myself right into silence because everything I want to say has already been said by someone else. (Or because I, myself have already said it! Ha ha. It's funny in this context that I'm quoting one of my own previous blog posts on this same subject.) I have to remind myself that originality is not really the ultimate goal! There's a statement about that by C.S. Lewis:

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The present pleasure

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Welfare Session of the October 1977 Conference.

President Kimball brought up something I've thought a lot about, which is the fact that the gospel is not just for the purpose of securing some future happiness, but it's actually given to us to make our lives better right now! Lately I've noticed people making a point of saying that "living the gospel doesn't mean we'll never have hardships." It's probably because some accuse "the gospel culture" of misleading us on this point; of somehow duping members of the church into thinking that if we live a good life, everything will go perfectly. Some people even say their testimonies have been shaken upon discovering that life holds sorrow for even the righteous. I'm surprised if anyone actually was TOLD that righteousness would make their life free of trouble. That assumption, spoken or unspoken, hasn't been in any of these old Conference talks I've read. And I certainly was never taught that! But I can see the danger if it was taught, so I guess maybe it doesn't hurt to clarify the doctrine either way?

However! With all this correction and clarifying and reacting-against, I hope we don't lose the deeper truth that was there all along, whether well-expressed or not, and that is that living the gospel does make life better. President Uchtdorf said exactly that in this year's October Conference (2017):

I testify that when we embark upon or continue the incredible journey that leads to God, our lives will be better. 

This does not mean that our lives will be free from sorrow. We all know of faithful followers of Christ who suffer tragedy and injustice—Jesus Christ Himself suffered more than anyone. … 

No, following the Savior will not remove all of your trials. However, it will remove the barriers between you and the help your Heavenly Father wants to give you. God will be with you. He will direct your steps. He will walk beside you and even carry you when your need is greatest. 

You will experience the sublime fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, [and] faith.”

Anyway, back to President Kimball in 1977. He knew as well as anyone that living gospel principles doesn't ensure a uniformly blissful existence. So I appreciated his statement that

…in the recent past we have placed considerable emphasis on personal and family preparedness. I hope that each member of the Church is responding appropriately to this direction. I also hope that we are understanding and accentuating the positive and not the negative.

Then he went on to give examples of several aspects and principles of church welfare—things that to some people might seem boring or tedious or unexciting. Concepts like "provident living" and "food storage." And he talked about the positives of all these principles. He showed how a life dedicated to living all these principles can bring not merely the satisfaction of a duty done or an assignment completed (though I guess even that's a pretty good feeling)—but how such a life can also bring us actual, tangible, noticeable, day-to-day JOY.

We speak of literacy and education in terms of being prepared for a better occupation, but we cannot underestimate the present pleasure of our reading in the scriptures, Church magazines, and good books of every kind. We teach of emotional strength in terms of family prayer, kind words, and full communication, but we quickly learn how pleasant life can be when it is lived in a courteous and reinforcing atmosphere. 

In like manner we could refer to all the components of personal and family preparedness, not in relation to holocaust or disaster, but in cultivating a life-style that is on a day-to-day basis its own reward.

Other posts in this series: 

• Scriptures: Meaning In Their Depth by Jan Tolman

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Not a gospel of souvenirs

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Sunday Afternoon Session of the October 1977 Conference.

I learned the French word "souviens" when I was thirteen. We went to Quebec and all the license plates said Je me souviens, which means I remember. "Like souvenir," my Mom explained. I liked that because I liked to remember things. And I still do. I like journals and pictures and scrapbooks and anything that helps me remember happy times! Every time I travel somewhere, and maybe this started with that trip to Quebec when I was 13, there's inevitably some point in time where I take a deep breath and try to absorb every sound, every smell, every detail of the experience, as I say to myself, "This is happening right now, but someday it will just be a moment in your memory." Those moments are my "souvenirs," and I do come back to them later, trying to transport myself to those places again. But no matter how hard I tried to memorize everything, the looking-back just isn't the same.

Of course there are plenty of good reasons to remember; to gather souvenirs of the past and reflect on times gone by. But there's danger in it, too. Looking toward the good times in the past with too much longing takes away our enjoyment of the present. Looking back at the bad times with too much regret stifles our hope for the future. I sometimes take the worst of both worlds and start regretting the passing away of good things before they're even over. I forget that, as Elder Holland says, "faith is always pointed toward the future."

True, there's lots of "remember, remember" in the scriptures. But it's never a "sit back and reminisce abut the good old days" kind of remembering—it's always accompanied by a call to action. Remember God's commandments so you can keep them. Remember God's goodness so you can thank Him for it. Remember your past confidence to get through your present doubt.

In this Conference session, Elder Charles A. Didier gave a talk that seems like it might be even more applicable now than it was forty years ago. He addressed his friend, a returned missionary who once had a strong testimony, but had then fallen away from the church. I was impressed by the love evident in Elder Didier's plea to him:

You have opened the gate to many. Why, why do you close it for yourself? May I put my foot in the door, as you once did in mine? Reach out your hand while there is still time, and let us tell you that we love you. Your bishop is waiting for you; your home teachers are caring for you; your missionary companions do not forget you; but more than that, we, we need you. Come as you are—our arms are open. We’re waiting for you. 

I think we probably all know someone we wish we could convey this same message to. Elder Didier tells his friend that change is possible in these powerful words:

…You should know that what you once were you can be again. May my testimony help you as yours did me some years ago. I know by the power of the Holy Ghost, the spirit of revelation. I know in my mind and in my heart that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, our Redeemer, and that we have a living prophet today…and that by following his directions and advice we can come closer to our Heavenly Father and repent of our sins. My prayer is that you may realize this again in your own life and make a new decision to be one of His disciples.

We can do this; all of us can! When we feel our testimony or energy waning, we can "make a new decision" to recommit to our discipleship.

My favorite part was this next part, though, because it's so full of hope, and such good advice for those who, like me, sometimes find themselves sifting sadly through mental souvenirs of the past, lamenting previous failures and sorrowing over what has been lost (forgetting that "nothing good is ever lost!). In fact, this is good advice to ANY of us tempted to feel like our best times might be behind us:

I hope that you will not mind if I have recalled some of the souvenirs of what you always referred to as the best time of your life. Why can’t it be the same way today? Why should the “best time” always refer to yesterday instead of tomorrow? The gospel of Jesus Christ is not a gospel made of souvenirs. It is a gospel presented to us so that we may live it today in order to know where we will be tomorrow.

Other posts in this series: 

• Identity Needed by G
• To Become a Better People by Jan Tolman

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Costumes and Pumpkins

Halloween was weird this year. Abe and Seb are too old for trick-or-treating now, and Malachi went with some friends to the Cedar City Temple Open House, so it was just the girls and Teddy dressing up. The older boys took care of answering the door and giving out candy (and we have ZILLIONS of trick-or-treaters here…this neighborhood seems to be a sort of Halloween "destination" for some reason. Cars were lined up driving into the neighborhood and parking all along both sides of the streets. Crazy. I buy the huge Costco bags of candy and still always run out before the night is over), and Sam took the little ones out for a short little trick-or-treating time before I got home from taking Seb to choir, so I didn't really do…anything… Halloweenish! Which was fine.

We were out of town during the middle of October, and we didn't want to buy pumpkins before we left, so the kids and I went out to a local pumpkin patch just the day before Halloween. We zipped in and out of there in the shortest time we could, but there was still time for some pictures.

Everyone but Abe—who was loading our pumpkins in the car for us

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Random Fallish pictures at the Nature Center

We went to the Nature Center to attend a talk about Owls. It was interesting and good, but mostly it was just nice to be outside in the warm October weather.

Ezekiel CANNOT GET ENOUGH of Abe! How does he keep his neck like that for long periods of time? It hurts my neck just to look at it. But he's always craning around to see things. I try to straighten out his head and he pops it right back into its unnatural position so he can keep looking at what he wants to look at.

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