Good Luck and Be Safe!

Anne Lamott quipped in her April 2017 Ted Talk, “Every story you own is yours. If people wanted you to write more warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” We all laughed at that: her audience in Vancouver, and me as I listened to the recording almost a year later.  

My own story began with an angelic mother.  In kindergarten, I distinctly remember feeling empathy for my classmates, looking at each of them in genuine compassion as I realized that none of them got to go home to my mother at the end of the day. How could they face life, I wondered, without my mother behind them?

The most hurtful thing my mother ever said to me was, “Tashi, I’m just me!” after I went on and on about all the wonderful qualities I saw in her. So her worst fault was that she wasn’t big on compliments.  I share this only to illustrate how remarkably well my mother behaved to merit the accolades that follow. Ah, my dear, sweet mother. Though she wouldn’t want me “tooting her horn,” I’m going to indulge myself and sing her praises to my heart’s content.

Did I mention my mother is an angel? She passed away last April. So many beautiful moments gave us peace in her “graduation” from this life. The sacred details are recorded in my journal, which I feel is the appropriate place to leave them, rather than posting them here.

I miss her. All my sisters do. We often share with each other the sweet remembrances we have of her. As I write this, I’m taken back five decades to the time I sat with my mom on the foot of her bed. I was trying to find meaning in the sorrow overwhelming my six-year-old heart. Our beloved pet had just died and our whole family was grieving over his death.  I moaned, “I don’t want to have pets anymore if it has to hurt so much when they die.” My mother wisely comforted me saying, “Losing pets helps prepare us to deal with the pain when we lose people we love.” Somehow giving a purpose to the pain made all the difference. And I do think it helped prepare me for the pain of her passing.

What I really want to write about, though, is not about her death, but her life:

Arlene Nelson Williams

(1925 – 2017)

An Idaho-girl, Arlene was born in a farmhouse, the oldest of eleven children. She was a natural nurturer. She decided she wanted to be a nurse at the tender age of 6, and fulfilled that ambition, working in the nursing field for 45 years.

Arlene was a year and a day older than Lois, her next sibling. Lois was the more adventurous of the two. At age 3, Lois would play rambunctiously and then caution her big sister not to attempt her daring feats, warning, “Too dangelous for you, Arly!” But Lois made it look so fun that Arlene broke free of her timid nature and joined Lois in her escapades. Once they took it upon themselves to provide their family with a rare chicken dinner.  Though they grew up on a chicken farm, the chickens were reserved for customers. She and Lois (ages 5 & 6) reasoned that with all those chickens, they should be able to have one for dinner. So they each caught a chicken and took them to the chopping block. When Arlene's first blow failed to behead her chicken, Lois let hers go and held onto Arlene's chicken so the next blow finished the deed.  At this point, Arlene’s conscience got the better of her. She knew she’d done wrong by killing a chicken without her dad’s permission, so she hid the chicken in a bush.  Lois let their dad know about the chicken, all ready for dinner. Arlene's punishment was to be sent to her room while the family dined on poultry that night. Her mother later snuck her a little piece because she had worked so hard for the family’s chicken dinner; Arlene fondly remembered that one bite of chicken was delicious!

Lois and Arlene in costume (Arlene is on the right)

As a child, Arlene: 

•  Delighted in brightening up her home with flowers.
•  Hauled 100 wagon-loads of gravel to earn a dollar so she could buy herself a doll, and helped Lois haul another 100 loads of gravel for the same purpose.
• Sponge-bathed her many little brothers, strategically waiting for them to fall asleep first as she discovered they were far more cooperative with being washed while slumbering.
• Sat in her father’s chicken-coop for endless hours, tagging the best layers. She noted the chickens made a satisfied cackle when they laid their eggs, so she called eggs “cackle-berries.”
• Felt tremendous sympathy for Lois after she was scolded by their mother for looking for the potato jackets. (When their mother told Lois to boil the potatoes in their jackets, Lois envisioned little blue jackets like Peter Rabbit’s rather than the hum-drum potato-skins.) Arlene decided then that she would never scold her own children. She did remarkably well at keeping that goal.

She met our Dad, Leslie Warren Williams, while she was in nursing school at BYU. She wrote, “I was watching this tall, handsome man and thinking, I think he’s going to be talking to me. Then the lights went out and the room became darker… I looked up and this [handsome man] was standing beside me asking me if he could stand [by] the light of my fluorescent watch.” They danced, they dated, and before long she was whisked away to California to meet his family.  Then they married and had six daughters, raising them together. Warren died three years before Arlene and she missed him very much.

Arlene with Leslie Warren Williams

As a woman, Arlene:

·         Always kept her child-like zeal for life. She especially loved nature: flowers, birds, picnics in the mountains, and picking HUCKLEBERRIES!

·         Designed and created amazing building projects. (I admit I was sometimes disappointed as a child to discover the motor I heard running wasn’t a kitchen appliance whipping up delightful treats, but the power drill.) She also designed and crafted many colorful afghans.

·         Cared for the young, the old, people & pets, showing the utmost respect to all.

·         Had a magical way of calming babies.

·         Had a goal to never get angry. She wrote how a friend told her, “when people get angry it never helps the situation … So I stay calm and things usually turn out much better.”  

·         Was a model of determination.  She never let difficulties get in the way of her completing her projects.  Whenever any of her daughters despaired of completing an assignment we were supposed to do for school, Mama would magically make it happen for us. Often we’d wake up the next morning to find she’d worked through the night to set things right for us so we could finish our task. She showed us that we can accomplish anything we set out to do. She also taught us to always fulfill our responsibilities.

·         Loved to learn her whole life long. She always took notes at meetings because she felt it helped her learn more and made it possible for her to share what she learned. She often read biographies of both great and humble people.

·         Took delight in her heritage. She raised her children on the stories of our ancestors. She recorded her own story in many memoirs. I’m so grateful!

·         She always wished us goodbye by saying, “Good luck and be safe!”

Left--Arlene in her HS graduation dress, 

Top Right--Arlene's look of hope at the thought of being with her husband in the next life 

Bottom right--Arlene with Lois playing in the sandbox (Arlene is on the right)

Arlene and Lois, a lifetime later (Arlene is on the right)

Thanks to Rachel, Lois's daughter, who took this picture and gave me permission to post it.

My sister, Velinda wrote, "This picture brings tears to my eyes. Those two sisters dearly loved each other. 

When Lois left this world, [it wasn't long before] our mother left it, too."

Since our last goodbye, I've been about the business of having "good luck" and being safe.  It definitely helps knowing I've got such a loving angel looking out for me and mine. (Thanks Mama! I love you so much and always will.)

Let Us Now Praise Famous Men

                      "Who sabotaged my towel?!" my dad cried out in frustrated anger. "Someone hid some pins in my towel and they scratched me all up."

                I froze in my 8-year-old tracks, hiding in silence.

                I had a rocky relationship with my dad between the ages of 8 and 18. I was a perfectionist and often felt that I did not measure up in his eyes.  I was jealous of my sisters who seemed to effortlessly win his approval.  He could be gruff at times and my super-sensitive-self would wither under a disapproving gaze.  I won't deny I could be a brat towards him. I refused to sit next to him in church, to name one example.

                And I planted the pins in his hand towel.

                I didn't do it maliciously.  They were decorative pins and I thought they looked nice there, not thinking of the possibility they could do any harm.  It took me over 40 years but I finally owned up to it, though everyone else in my family had long since forgotten the incident.   

                When I left home, I made a choice to let go of any negative feelings I had towards my dad and hang on to all of the positive ones.  It was a good choice. I grew to appreciate my dad more and more over the years.  Few people have done as much as he has to make me recognize my own worth. 

                During my dad's last months of mortality, he grew very weak.  The once-simple effort of talking grew comparable to struggling against a tidal force.  He needed help but had a hard time expressing his needs.  As I took my turn serving as his caretaker, sometimes I'd get things wrong and he'd seem a bit impatient in letting me know.  In a flash, my childhood insecurities resurfaced and I saw myself as the disfavored child.  I told myself not to take it personally, that my dad's frustration wasn't about me, but rather the exertions that were wearing him down.

                Then came his final week.  One by one, his daughters visited to tell him goodbye.   The date of March Fourth came, which my Dad always liked to say was the only day of the year that could be issued as a command.  He thought it a fitting day to March Forth to the next life, but he held on a little longer in order to say goodbye to the rest of his children. I was one of the holdouts. I couldn't believe he was really going.  On March 6, 2014, Just a few hours before he died, I was at his bedside.  I did all the talking, telling him how much I love him, how his many letters will be such a comfort, how I learned valuable lessons from him.  I promised to take care of my mom and their cats.  He seemed grateful.  His eyes took on the look of the ancients--windows into an eternal soul.  I told him when I'd seen that look before in my daughter's eyes as she was sealed to us in the temple.  He seemed amazed by that.  I told him about the walk with the Savior two of my close friends had shared with me, recalling their Near Death Experiences.  "You're about to take that walk, Dad," I cried.  Though it was beyond his strength and ability, he reached up his arm to hug me and his head to kiss me.  Finally with all the strength he could muster, he grunted his last words, "I love you." To me.  His last words were to tell the daughter who unreasonably considered herself the cast-off, "I love you."  No balm of Gilead could ever be more healing. Suddenly, there was nothing left of the feeling that my dad didn't appreciate me. Absolutely nothing.  All those decades I'd lived thinking it was healed until he was on his deathbed when it resurfaced. And then nothing but complete, heartfelt love.

                His memorial service was a year ago today.  The day after that I felt like I was trying to hold onto life over the edge of a cliff.  I prayed for comfort and received the inspiration just to let go.  So I let go of the strain and the angst and found myself floating in love.  Many times over the last year, I've had a thought to share or a question to ask him.  Then it hits me in the gut that I can't talk to him anymore, so I move my thoughts heavenward.  I miss him and I hope I never finish my conversation with him.

Leslie Warren Williams

(1922 - 2014)

He was born to a farmer and teacher, John and Elsie Williams, the youngest of four sons. He nearly drowned in a watering trough as a toddler, but his life was saved by his twin brother, who caught their father's attention by circling the trough in alarm. 

In high school he ran the mile in 4:36 which was only 10 seconds more than the California state record and 30 seconds more than the world record at the time.

                He served in the US Navy during World War II as a radar technician because of his knowledge of Ohm's Law. (This despite the fact his technical abilities were such that, years later, operating a tape recorder took considerable coaching from his teenage daughter.)

He became intrigued by how differently sandy versus clay soils behaved, so he studied soil science at Brigham Young University.  This is where he met his lifelong love, Arlene Nelson.  The power happened to go out at a dance, but not before a lovely nurse caught his eye.  When her fluorescent watch glowed in the dark, he suavely approached her and asked if they could dance by the light of her watch.  A couple of months later, he asked her out.  She wondered what took him so long and then realized he had to buy a pink car for their courtship (she still laughs about this nearly 65 years later). They were married in 1951 and became the parents of six daughters.

                He mapped three million acres of land in California and Colorado for the US Soil Conservation Service (when mapping a mere million earned a life-time recognition award).

                He delighted in teaching Sunday School, loved writing and sharing poetry, took pleasure in gardening, and enjoyed reading about numerous topics, particularly Bible studies.  He loved folk songs of all heritages. He was a lifelong learner. He had some skill as an orator which he practiced in Toastmasters and on the stage of Springville's Villa Playhouse Theatre. He had a keen intellect, crunching numbers like a calculator, rattling off World Series stats and batting line-ups. He had the reputation that whatever he said, "you could take to the bank." One of his daughters quipped, "He was PC before it was PC to be PC," due to his genuine regard for human rights.

                My dad lived by the motto, "Do the duty that lies nearest to thee, and already the rest will be clear." He followed Langston Hughes' poem "Hold fast to dreams . . ." as a life theme.  He was extremely thoughtful of others. For example, when he drove past clotheslines with wash hanging out to dry, he would always slow down so as not to kick up dust.  He had impeccable integrity and inspired others with his poet's soul.  In his final months, it was a joy to serve him as he tenderly expressed gratitude for the smallest acts of caring.

My dad loved the sentiment from a verse in the apocrypha stating, "Let us now praise famous men," because it defines "famous" as those who have done good works and have posterity, for their glory will never fade. (Ecclesiasticus 44:1 - 14)

Here's to one of  the "famousest" of men.

For more, see lessons from Dad (and Mom) in Celebrating Sixty Years

Divine Musings

I was a quarter-mile behind everybody else on the mountain trail, laboring under the burden of over 20 pounds of water.  Then I saw a teenage boy come running back down the hillside towards me.  He took the 3 gallon thermos and carried it up the rest of the way.  I was so grateful to him and his parents for raising a young man who could be so thoughtful. 

That's when I picked up an even heavier burden. 

Where was my son on the trail? I had asked him to carry the water, which he did for a while, but then he set it down because it was too heavy and the mountain was too steep. So I sighed and picked it up.  I wasn't doing such a stellar job as a parent.

All my life I've been thinking we need to prove our worth by being contributing members of society.  Like Martha, I thought I needed to make myself valuable by working hard to serve.  I understood only the surface meaning of Jesus' council that Mary had chosen the better part.  Sure, stop and talk to the Lord when He is present.  But what I didn't get until recently is that we don't need to do one thing to prove our value to the Lord. 

As children of God, we have a divine nature which means our value is infinite.  Any good (or bad) we do is like adding (or subtracting) one and infinity.  Though we can develop greater virtue as we live and learn, our value is forever infinite.

Back on the hillside, we didn't end up needing the water after all.  My son's contribution was to question, "Why bother with this water?" Had I listened to him, it would have saved us, and the young man who ran to the rescue, a lot of trouble. It turns out that our value doesn't always look like what society thinks value should look like. 

Dante's Divine Comedy--An Allegory of Salvation

(This is the closer study I promised on 8/28/11)

As I sit writing this, I am a man in exile wandering through a foreign land.  Though I can see my home just across the way, when I try to travel there I am threatened by sins of the flesh and sins of wrath.  I conquer these by using my intellect to balance desire and discipline.  But then I am defeated by the sins swarming around me and my generation.  My will power alone is not enough; I can't make it back home on my own.

Then the Father of Reason, Virgil, joins me.  He points back to a trail of sorrow that traverses through Hell and tells me the only way I can get back home is to journey thence.  I take up the bitter cup and follow him. We spiral downward into the abyss of the devil's domain.  At each step we see poetic justice.  People who sought to fulfill their own will become what they sought, yet are denied the satisfaction of taking any pleasure in it.  This is not a punishment from God, but rather a consequence of making gods of their desires.

The capitol of Hell is the City of Dis, which is surrounded by the gate of heresy.  All those who dwell within are there because they chose to deny God and the hope of eternal life.  Though it is a despairing place, our path lies through the heart of Hell so we must pass through the gate.  Neither Virgil nor I can open it.  We pray for Divine Aid and wait. 

At first it seems our prayers our answered by an even greater torment as the Furies descend upon us, mocking.   They threaten to call Medusa to come and turn us to stone.  The moment Virgil hears her name, he commands me to look away.  Reason alone cannot answer doubts about God's existence.  Virgil covers my eyes, saying in effect, "Just look away from the question and trust in God."

After my faith denied heresy its victory over me, our prayers for Divine help are answered.  A Heavenly Messenger opens the gate and we are allowed to pass.  If I may offer a bit of counsel, await God's grace to manifest itself in your life.  It will come no matter how threatening the Furies surrounding you.  

An oppressive weight pulls us downward in Dis until we meet the author of evil, the founder of heaviness, the devil himself.  We grapple with him and, at long last, pass from the Inferno into Purgatory.  I will pause here to observe that I've noted a certain glamorization of evil in recent decades.  Make no mistake, there is NO glamour in Hell.  Satan attracts by covering sin with a glossy sheen, like the Siren's song. But rip away the exterior and what lies beneath is hideousness and entrapment of addictions. 

Upon entering Purgatory, Virgil and I are bathed in a baptism of water that washes away the stains of Hell.  Though things are much better here than in the Inferno, I admit to being plagued by lethargy and learned that laziness leads to depression.  I was visited by the Angel of Zeal and was energized by a creative spark which propelled me forward.

At last we come within sight of Paradise, the place I had set my sights upon when Virgil first joined me.  But I am horrified to see I cannot enter Paradise unless I pass through a baptism of fire.  Virgil, my Father Reason, persuades me to trust I will find my heart's desire on the other side of the wall of fire.  I submit to the scorching pain, then emerge outside of Reason's realm.  Virgil cannot follow me here because I am now no longer limited by reason.  I am taken under the wing of Personal Revelation, who is embodied by Beatrice. 

Though I grieve over my separation from Virgil, Beatrice scolds me for looking back.  She points out that since I have been purged from the will to sin, I'm in the presence of Divine Revelation and I no longer need Virgil's Reason.  She is right to scold because looking back prevents me from making use of the great gifts I have been given.   Understanding this, I repent.  This now allows me to drink from the river Lethe, which washes away all memory of sin from my soul.  Losing this last remnant of sin, I am now purified and free to pass into Paradise.

Upon entering Paradise, I am greeted by a tremendous pageant.  The Church, the Prophets, the Bible, the Sacrament, the Gifts of the Spirit are all personified in a joyous parade.  A Griffin (half-lion, half-Eagle) symbolizes the Savior (half-human, half-Divine) and is pulling the very chariot where Beatrice is seated.   Christ is the Author of Personal Revelation.

In Paradise I visit the realms of the planets, each representing a Cardinal Virtue (Wisdom, Love, Prudence, Courage, Justice, Temperance).  I learn that Temperance is nearest God's abode because it is the contemplative life which Jesus recommended to Martha in following Mary's example.

Looking back, I see how my progress through the Inferno taught me pity, or Charity; Purgatory taught me Hope, and Paradise sealed my Faith.  Through these Three Theological Virtues, I gain unspeakable joy.  I saw in my journey that the universe is enwrapped by the Divine Will of God.  The Heavens and all nature are an expression of the Mind of God.  In order to experience pure joy, we must be capable of comprehending its existence all around us.

Since writing my Divine Comedy, some have speculated that I may have had in mind the fulfillment of Joachim Fioretti's prediction that there would be Three Ages.  The Age of the Father was the Law of the Old Testament.  The Age of the Son was established by Christ's organization of His Church in the New Testament.  The Age of the Holy Spirit is to be fulfilled when the Spirit works directly through all people by means of the Everlasting Gospel.  Finding my Beatrice seemed to me a manifestation of the Third Age.  I challenge you to find YOUR Beatrice and promise you she is there.

Sources:

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighiere

Dante and His Divine Comedy by Timothy Shutt

The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces, Volume 1, by Maynard Mack, & etc.

Rule of Spirit

I was a wild filly.  I can see it in my childhood photos--my long, lanky limbs, my dark mane that flung wildly when I tossed my head, my untamed energy and my unbridled passion.

“This is too hard for you,” my mother tried to reason with me.  My little hands had barely shed their baby fat, yet I was determined to learn how to knit.  My mom worked and worked with me but I could not create the right tension on the yarn.  Before long, the knitting needles went flying in opposite directions.  *Click* and there you have a snapshot of one of my youthful tantrums.

Some ten years later, I smugly congratulated myself on how easily I had overcome my childhood fits of temper. I no longer was tempted to hurl the object of my frustration across the room.  I even learned how to knit.  For my first project since sending my tools flying at age four, I chose a sweater with a lovely lacework design in the bodice. When the clerk told me my chosen knitting project was too hard for me, I thanked her and left the store.  Later I snuck back when she wasn’t working, hid my beginner’s status from the clerk on duty, and confidently walked out of the store with my challenging pattern in hand.  With mentoring, I produced a beautiful sweater.  Life was good.

Another ten years passed and I discovered the temper that had plagued my early years had not been cured but had only lain dormant awaiting the proper provocation:  having another four-year-old in the house. Happily, once my kids outgrew their toddlerhood I was no longer tempted to display fits of temper, but I knew enough not to take pride in the fact.  By then I was convinced that my milder outlook had more to do with my kids’ personal growth than my own.

Now the cycle begins again as our household hits the teen years.

He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty;

And he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.

Proverbs 16:32

Acquiring the ability to "rule my spirit" has been a lifelong quest.  Only recently have I begun to rule my spirit through being Ruled by the Spirit. I’ve learned that to “Bridle your passions,” one must allow the Lord to take the reins to guide through life’s difficulties.  Accepting the bridle means submitting my will to His.  The trouble is that pride gets in the way so sometimes that's a very hard task. But little by ever-so-little, the harnessed energy moves me towards greater happiness.

Helen Keller & Anne Sullivan

1886 – 1936

(From the date Anne entered Helen’s life until Anne’s death,

they remained constant companions.)

Helen Keller was a frustrated child trapped in her private world without words.  Helen didn’t have the ability to communicate, other than the hand signals she devised as a desperate attempt to let her wants be known.   Often she would throw tantrums so her family caved to her demands in an effort to prevent her from falling into fits of rage.

Enter the mentor.

When Anne Sullivan arrived at Ivy Green, she recognized the root of Helen’s frustrations lay not in her blindness but in her isolation.  She immediately began to teach Helen by signing letters in her hands, but since the seven-year-old girl had no concept of words, they meant nothing to her.  Helen became angry and locked Anne in her room. 

 Anne quickly saw that Helen’s lack of discipline made her unreachable, essentially putting a lock on her private prison.  Anne insisted on taming the wild child.  What looked to Helen’s parents like restriction of her freedom to express her needs was really the key to unlock her prison.  Before Anne could teach Helen the power of communication, she had to teach her discipline.  The young Helen bristled at the call to obedience, but in time she submitted to her instructor and her prison of isolation was unlocked.

Once Helen was open to being lead by her mentor, she experienced her landmark epiphany:  connecting the letters w-a-t-e-r to the flowing of water.  Her life would never be the same.  Now she had vision and aim, beginning with the insatiable drive to learn the word for everything in her life.  Through words, her life’s horizons expanded to take in the whole world. 

Anne tried to begin instructing Helen through words, but the key to freeing Helen was not signing letters.  It was in taming her spirit through discipline.  A profound expression of how deeply Helen valued Anne’s key to opening the door to her world is found in her answer to a simple question.  When asked what her favorite word was, Helen spelled out, “t-e-a-c-h-e-r.” 

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched.

They must be felt with the heart.

Helen Keller