Not All Shows Must Go On

This is old news, but there is a hit Broadway musical, “Book of Mormon” that has received a lot of attention and awards.  I have taken little notice of it.  The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has made little public comment other than to invite people to read the actual Book of Mormon and to visit our church meetings to judge for themselves as to whether the real church is anything like the pretend church that is receiving so much mockery in the musical.  After writing this, I will go back to my usual state of ignoring the show, but today I feel the need to write some of my thoughts.

I am sickened with the thought that anyone would produce a show that openly mocks the religious faith of any person or group.  I realize that free speech is a right, and artists may comment as they wish.  Similarly, patrons may freely choose which events to support with ticket purchases.  Some decide to attend.  Others, like me, shrink from the thought.  What I ponder with this writing is why folks would make the choice to purchase the tickets and attend this wildly popular and egregiously offensive production.  I have a few theories.

First, there is the allure of a new and popular show.  Something different, something that has won awards and accolades in the industry has its appeal to theatre goers.  My professional life has been among the arts community, and I enjoy new productions, too.  However, even if my personal faith were not the target, I would stay away from this one.  The language in many of the songs and dialogues is too foul to print.  I have no taste for that.  Of even greater significance is the desire to stay away from any visual or performing art form that has as its main purpose the ridicule of a particular faith or of religion in general.  The idea of eliciting laughter and immense revenue at the expense of another’s beliefs is abhorrent.  So, the artsy crowd flocks to check out the new show.   I get it.  Count me out.

Another reason why theatre goers may patronize this production could be curiosity of a religion that until recently, was lesser known in the mainstream of American churches.  Most people probably knew a member of the LDS church, but suddenly, the faith became in the media spotlight when a church member became a presidential candidate from a major political party.  There are lots of myths floating about concerning the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Maybe some attended to see just what Mormons are about.  There are many more accurate ways to satisfy that curiosity.  There are millions of church members worldwide who are happy to answer questions and to talk about their beliefs.  Over 60,000 missionaries volunteer around the world for two year full time missions.  The church is also very open and accessible to visitors, both in our chapels and numerous visitors’ centers and in free printed materials and websites.   Trusting the entertainment industry to accurately portray a serious subject is pretty unreliable.   Curious theatre goers would receive a much more correct and fair representation of the church and its beliefs by consulting a member, visiting a service, visiting lds.org, or by actually reading The Book of Mormon.

Novelty, curiosity about a religion, and even pity or scorn for the perceived misguidance of LDS members is not really what bothers me.  These are annoyances, but they have not caused me to shed tears.  What has truly troubled me and brought this to a personal level is the worry that I have might not have taken the opportunity to express to those around me that The Book of Mormon is a sacred book of scripture that is central to my faith. It is the keystone of our religion.  It is the word of God and a second witness, along with the Bible, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and the Savior of the world.  I have read The Book of Mormon more than twenty times from cover to cover.  I have studied it and prayed over it and received a sure witness that allows me to confidently say that I know that it is truly the word of God.  No one has to take my word for its truthfulness.  Anyone who reads it with a sincere heart may pray to know for himself if it is truly scripture.  Millions have done this and testify just like me. 

So, for whatever the reason, do I feel a sting of pain when my friends and colleagues buy their tickets?  You bet I do.  Let’s go to the Kennedy Center together and see something that will uplift both of us.  

Where to Begin

It’s hard to know where to start to describe a weekend so full of fear, blessings, and reflections. Sometimes life events come upon us unforeseen and unbidden. Those are the times when faith, family, and friends help us overcome challenges that would be ever so much worse to face alone. To understand the fear part, imagine watching a high school cross country race on a warm morning about 60 miles from home. You cheer on your son as he passes the 2 mile mark in a 5K race. He is smiling and keeping up his usual spot in the front half of the group. You stand at the finish line and watch the runners come in. The first half passes, and you wonder why you did not see your son. Most of the runners come in, and you think maybe he finished in a big pack of kids, and you missed seeing him. The last stragglers cross the finish line, and your son is not among them. Surely he is at the finish line congratulating his teammates. But, the panic nags you that he might be up there on the hill, injured somewhere on the course. You start running up the big hill, joined by event staff and worried teammates. Yes, there is a runner down, and you know he’s yours. 

He’s unconscious on the ground. Folks are trying to cool and revive him. You hurry off to a hospital in an ambulance and hear an emergency room physician telling you many frightening possibilities. You watch your healthy young son lay unresponsive and then awake to writhe in pain from awful medical procedures. After several hours, you watch him drive off in yet another ambulance to a bigger, better equipped hospital. You follow behind for 60 miles of anguished fear. 

So, just where were the blessings in all of this? To start, both Wayne and I were at the cross country meet. Peter has run in many events, and this was the first time we have attended a meet together. I can’t imagine how the day would have been if we had not been on the scene. While we were still on the course, Peter’s teammates gathered around and formed a prayer circle. These wonderful kids joined their faith and offered up their prayers for aid. Wayne and I will never forget that sight, and our gratitude to them will never fade. Although we were 60 miles from home, my dearest friend, Gail, and her husband found their way to the hospital to provide much needed and appreciated hugs and food. Our daughter and son-in-law, Cindy and Mario, drove many miles to arrive at the second hospital ahead of us and in time to greet Peter at his arrival with a huge comforting soft teddy bear. They supported me and drove me home and stayed the night with me in our very dark house, where a big storm had cut the electrical power. 

Although the first hospital gave needed and immediate relief and treatment, it was the second hospital that provided the calm and experienced judgment of pediatric specialists who frequently treat kids’ athletic and heat stroke related injuries and could keep a level head as to exactly which tests and treatments were needed. I was filled with gratitude for the competent doctors we met who had studied and prepared themselves to calmly offer skilled care. Before long, our runner, Peter, was talking and joking and looking forward to a return to school and sports and friends. His buddy was soon at his bedside offering the best medicine that only a seventeen year old “bro’-ski” can provide. 

I’m very tired, having only been back at home for a few hours, but I reflect on how my prayers were answered and how people who could help us were put in our path. I am grateful for God who whispers peace to my heart and assurance that He loves me and my son. I’m thankful for my husband, who was at my side when I needed him and at our son’s bedside all night long. I’m in awe at the delicate balance that our bodies need to function properly under stress. It is humbling to see the devastation when simple fluids and rest are inadequate, and physical demand is too great. I don’t want to have this experience ever again, but as I lived it, I was never alone. All is well, and we will sleep much better tonight.

No-More Goodbyes

This thought comes to mind every time I travel to visit family and friends:  I don't like good-byes.  I am always so eager to see the folks at the other end of the trip, but when it comes to leaving my loved ones at home, I hate to part.  While I feel immersed in love with the folks I'm visiting, my heart aches for the ones I left back at home.  When I turn my face back toward home, I'm so happy to ease my homesickness, but I immediately ache to stay with those I am leaving.  I want to have all of the folks I love in one place.  I don't want to say good-bye and to miss you.  That whole absense makes the heart grow fonder idea is over-rated.

 

My vision of heaven is where I will always be surrounded by those I love.  Sure, you can roam about as you will and won't be chained to me, but I never want to be far from you.  I want to be at your side without the time and distance of travel.  I want to see my darling grandchildren whenever we wish it.  I want to chat face to face with my kids without buying plane tickets.  I want to talk about music with a beloved friend without having to send a text or squeeze in a quick hour when we wish we could talk all day.  I don't want to dread the day when my best friend will move, and I will remain behind.  I want to spend forever with my husband at my side and surrounded by all of our loving family and friends.  I want it all so much, that I think about my heaven every day. 

 

Make no mistake, I'm not suggesting that I am in a hurry to change my residence from earth to heaven just yet.  For now, and for many more years to come, I will settle for my pieces of heaven, and I will travel back and forth between them.  It is good to know that when I leave one place on the map, I can anticipate joy at each end of the long car ride or airplane flight where another group of folks waits to welcome me.  But some day, I want each of you to have a home on my block.  To never have to miss you will be happiness forever for me.

2 Pieces of Heaven

Written on June 24, 2010

I don't know exactly what heaven will be like, but I have a pretty good idea.  Our joyful times on Earth can be replicated and expanded upon in heaven.  Today I met a dear friend who I had not seen for many years.  She is now on temporary assignment at the Washington, DC, temple.  We had a lovely visit at her apartment, and then we rejoiced to serve in the temple together.  I happily thought that that scene will play out again and again, to be in the House of the Lord with those we love. 

 

My other piece of joy, which I also believe will be a part of heaven, was tasting my first ripe tomato of the summer.  I wait all year for that.  Thanks to Gail's bounteous garden, I didn't have to wait for mine to ripen.  There must be ripe tomatoes in heaven, but there is also joy on earth, and we can have that today.

I'm not Julia Child

Written on June 19, 2010


I've been too busy cooking all day for 2 days and one evening to reflect and write.  I've been preparing for a bridal shower and a dinner with friends.  I'm not a great cook, and I'm not sure I enjoy it all that much, but I did find joy.  It's a joy to make and share with friends.  It's a joy to easily buy fresh, delicious, healthy food and to prepare it in a kitchen that is outfitted with all the modern conveniences and decorated to my taste.  It is a joy to be healthy and strong and to feel it (except for the sore back and knee, but it's all good.) Bon Appetite.


To make up for no message yesterday, I'll send a second one this afternoon.  I attended a lovely piano recital this afternoon, another one where kids that I substitute taught earlier this spring were performing.  Some of them played like little professionals, and others played liked regular kids who take piano lessons, but each of them gave up free time to practice and to prepare.  As I listened, I thought, "I love my job."  I work so hard all year to make these performance opportunities happen for literally thousands of kids.  When I see them play and see their happiness when they achieve a level of artistry, I feel joy.  It warms my heart to the core.

A Quarter of a Century, and I Remember it All

Time is a great healer.  Memories that were hard soften to reflections on blessings received and lessons learned.  Perhaps that is how old people become as wise as they are. 

This afternoon I drove Peter to the hospital to visit a young friend.  I had an hour or so to wait, so I went to a family waiting room on the pediatrics floor, and I was not prepared for what I would see.  Or maybe I was.  Four mothers of patients were there, surrounded by family and friends.  Some were obviously suffering as their tears and anguish were evident.  After awhile, I couldn't stand to watch it anymore, and I moved to another lobby. 

The thought came to mind that I personally understood the feelings of those mothers.  I have sat in that very hospital in a state of shock and sorrow and worry as my four week old daughter suddenly was in critical care with no major organ systems functioning on their own.  I felt the disconnect, the out of body sensation when reality becomes too overwhelming to process.  I felt the gripping fear when I dared to think about what could happen and how I would deal with it.  I felt the exhaustion and the worry about my two other little ones back at home.  I struggled to understand the medical terms and processes and procedures.  It was a swirling sea of anguish that I wished I could have avoided.

I remembered it all today, but what I didn't think of until our drive home was that today is the very anniversary of that scary day back in 1987.  It has been 25 years.  That baby girl is now a mother.  While I can still recall the horror, much of it has softened to peaceful gratitude.  Many people came to our aid back then.  While expert physicians worked day and night to save our baby, our friends and family cared for our little girls and our home.  They prayed for us and visited us with hugs and encouragement.  They held me when the tears came weeks and months, and even years after the crisis was over. 

A quarter century has come and gone since then.  There are life events that I can't say I am grateful to have experienced, but I am profoundly grateful for the lessons I have learned.  Maybe I'll become a wise old lady some day.  I hope so, at least the wise part.

The Hands of Girlfriends

I've written before about how I enjoy our weekly music group at an assisted living facility in our neighborhood.  Today while we were singing patriotic songs for Veterans' Day, I saw a sweet scene on the front row.  Two ladies were holding hands.  One was definitely stronger and more alert than the other, and she was sharing her strength with her neighbor.  Both were benefitting from the gesture.  

Afterward, I reflected on what I had noticed and thought about how women need each other.  Not to diminish our love for men, we adore them, but this kind of sister love is different.  I have marveled as I have read about childbirth in early America.  Just before the births, the midwife called in about six additional women to assist with the delivery.  These family members and neighbors would hold and support the new mother's shoulders, back, and limbs.  Their combined strength was the only pain relief available for the laboring mother.  It must have helped, as this technique of support and encouragement was practiced for more than a century.

There have been many times in my own life where I have sought and found help from the women I love.  My children have made the comment, "Mom, you surround yourself with strong women."  Well, there is a reason for that.  I love them and admire them, and I need them.  The bonds of sisterhood are precious to me.  I smile whenever I see a pair of girls walking down the street chatting and giggling together.  My heart warms when I see a pair of wrinkled hands offering support and comfort to another pair of wrinkled hands.  We figure this out as little girls, and we draw upon this knowledge throughout our lives.  Women need each other.  Life is richer when we girls have girlfriends.

PS.  I think there are four boys on my mailing list - my husband, our two sons, and my dad.  Just to set the record straight, I need you guys, too.  You make my life complete, but I probably won't call on you when I need help choosing my clothes or when I need to sit and cry for a spell.  Fortunately for you, I'll be in good hands for those times. 

A Sweater and a Happy Halloween

Another Halloween has come and gone.  It was fun to see the kids come onto our porch and gaze in wonder at our blinking, moving, music playing decorations of a ghost mine and a ghouls' ball.  They're just little mechanical table decorations, but every kid lingered on the porch to look at them and exclaim how cool they are.  It was also fun to see that Halloween is a custom that has spread to so many other nationalities that have moved to No.Va.  I think only one trick-or treater that visited us was a garden variety white kid.  The rest were Asian, Middle Eastern, Polynesian, Hispanic, and who knows what else.  It's very cosmopolitan here, and I love it.  One thing was evident tonight. Kids from all over the world love candy (and noisy flashing lights.)

    I mentioned a sweater in my subject line.  That was what gave me even more joy today.  You may have read my last post about my sadness at the death of my friend, Bonnie.  Well, nearly a year ago, Bonnie and I were shopping at Eddie Bauer, and I admired a sweater but thought it was too expensive to buy.  We left the store, and a couple of days later, Bonnie called me to say that she was back at E.B., and that the sweater was 40% off, plus she had a further discount coupon, and wouldn't I like it if she picked one up for me.  I said, "Great.  Just buy the size that fits you, and it will fit me."  The next day she showed up at the pool with 2 identical sweaters in 2 different sizes.  She couldn't decide which fit better, so she bought them both and offered to return the one that I didn't want.  And that's exactly what she did.  I love the sweater.  I wore it all last winter, and I unpacked it and was very happy to wear it today.  It's soft and warm and felt like a hug from Bonnie.  I confess that I even kissed it before it put it on this morning.  I never dreamed last fall that before my new sweater was a year old, that my friend would die.

    Thanks for letting me muse on this a little.  It helps me to write my thoughts.  Who knew that an EB sweater could be so dear and so comforting?  Cherish the folks you love.  Learn to make new friends and love them, too.  Never supress an urge to do a kindness - like calling a friend to tell her that her sweater is on sale and that you'll pick it up for her. 

Gains and Losses

written on Tuesday, October 27, 2011

These days of economic downturn have us all talking about gains and losses - mostly losses in the stock market, low interest rates, and high unemployment.  These are often devastating losses, but that is not what is on my mind today.  Today a dear friend passed away after a battle with cancer.  It was cancer that doctors should have seen during repeated annual screenings.  But they didn't, and tragedy struck.

This is the first time that a friend younger than I has preceeded me in death.  I feel very sad, stung, numb, teary, and I admit, a little angry all at once.  What I don't feel is loss.  I never like to hear the well intended phrase, "I'm sorry for your loss."  Be sorry for my separation and my grief, but it is not a loss.  My friend is still my friend.  I am sorry that we have had a parting so soon.  In fact, that causes me an outpouring of grief, but we have not parted forever.  Bonnie has gone to a place where I can't see her or hear her or hug her, and that hurts, but she is not lost.  This parting is temporary.

I won't speak of Bonnie in the past tense.  I don't like to hear that she "was a great person."  She is a great person.  All that I love about her is still with her.  She's still friendly and cheerful and chatty.  She's still funny and attentive.  What is in the past is her illness and pain.  Those are gone, never to return again.

So why do I write about this in my efforts to describe joy?  Today is a hard day.  I don't like good-byes, and this one is especially tough, but it's not about loss.  It's about gain.  When I gained Bonnie as a friend, it was forever, not just for the three-plus years that we swam together three times each week.  Not just for the times we chatted at Starbucks and combed the sales at Eddie Bauer.  Our friendship was a gain that will stay with us forever.  When Jesus Christ arose from the tomb, believers and non-believers were all given a gift.  It is the sure promise that life does not end with the grave.  We will part, but we will see eachother again, and every good thing will be retained.  I know this truth for certain, and that brings me comfort and hope amidst the tears.  My gratitude for this gift of life is a source of joy, even on a day like today.